The Trauma of Covid

So much lost, so much forgotten

I am curious how many of you end up opening this installment of my newsletter. 

I guess if you’re reading this, you’ve made it this far. And I thank you. 

I fear there is something about seeing the word Covid in a headline or title that creates a deep ambivalence about whether one wants to engage. I often feel it as well. 

I know it is important. I know it was devastating. I know it is still with us. I know it changed our world in profound ways. I know it is one of the most important stories of our time, inextricably wrapped up in other narratives around our democracy, our economy, our mental and physical health, the education of our children, the vibrancy of our cities, our relationship with the rest of the world, and on and on. 

But there is something about this accumulated trauma that drives at least my survival instincts to want to move on. How crisp are your memories of disinfecting groceries, wondering when or if you would ever travel or gather in large groups again, the terror of being near someone who just coughed?

When I summon these snapshots, I remember those days of isolation and unknowing. But it is as if they exist in their own photo album, profoundly different from memories before and since. 

As I spent the last few days walking around New York City — the epicenter of death and suffering when the virus hit four years ago — I am struck by how, on the surface, you would basically never know it. 

The restaurants are full. The streets are crowded. There is rarely a mask in sight. 

And yet, the damage I know lurks in crevices of ourselves and our communities in ways many of us are oblivious to or wish to ignore. 

Not everyone has that luxury. 

First and foremost, I know that many families were torn apart by the disease that claimed over one million deaths in the United States alone. There are empty seats at the dinner table, missing loved ones at family reunions, and friends who will never return a phone call again. My heart aches for all of them. Countless more still suffer the effects of long Covid. Lives, often of those still quite young, are forever altered. And then there are all of the unknowns about how Covid will affect our long-term health. It will take decades of study to determine that cost. 

If the physical pain and suffering were the limits of the disease, it would still deserve far more attention than it gets, but that is sadly only the beginning. I look at my children and wonder how this timespan when the world stopped shaped their sense of self and their futures. I know we are relatively fortunate. Many children will never catch up from the years they lost away from school and socializing with others. 

I look at my beloved city of San Francisco. It is still early in its recovery act, but it will be a profoundly different place because of the societal disruptions from Covid. I think about my job as a science communicator and bemoan how cynical political actors shattered critical bonds of trust between scientists and the public. I think about how, far too often, we bury the terrible news of the past rather than learn from it. 

I lived in New York after 9/11, and I think about how that horrific act is memorialized in the city and the nation. How we vow never to forget. And then I think of the scale of destruction from Covid and how we are eager to move on, except for all those who cannot. In some ways, it reminds me of the war in Iraq that followed the terrorist attacks; it was a burden borne for years by only a tiny percentage of the population, while the rest of us could afford to skip past the headlines for that tragedy as well.

Americans are good at moving forward. Something in our national character, emotional makeup, and basic human instincts propel us to look at the road ahead and not in the rearview mirror. It is a source of strength and resilience, to a point. We have had one of the best recoveries from Covid of any nation. 

But there is also something that is being lost. We owe it to those who died from the disease and their friends and loved ones not to forget. We need to study our myriad mistakes — at the level of government, public health, individuals and so much more. We need to make sure we avoid them in the future. We need to confront the disunity the disease exacerbated. 

I hope that, with time, the passions that tragically politicized this pandemic and resulting public health catastrophe will subside. On the fourth anniversary of Covid being declared a national emergency, we can find a path to more profound healing. 

I know there are a lot of challenges facing our nation, but I don’t want to discount the profound effects of this horrible disease and what it wrought. 

It might not seem a priority, but I join those calling for a national Covid memorial in Washington. On the National Mall. 

Often, the things we most want to ignore and forget are precisely what we most need to remember.