Lament and Mourning for COVID 19
As our nation has seen over 100,000 people die from the coronavirus, faith leaders all across America have come together to pray for the end of COVID, for those who serve the sick and the destitute, for healing for those who are sick with COVID, and for comfort for those who grieve the loss of loved one due to COVID 19. Please join me in this Litany of Lament.
At Christ Church, Karen and Sarah together with Martine have come together to hang small wooden crosses on our fence. Each wooden cross represents one who has died from COVID. In Trumbull over 100 people have died of the virus. We need more crosses. You can help us with this public form of lament by hanging your own wooden crosses on our fence. Please email email@example.com for more information.
STORIES OF THE DECEASED
The following are stories of several people who have died of the coronavirus taken from this Washington Post Article. I commend this article to you as we remember those who have died.
Patricia Weissenborn, 100, attributed her longevity to white zinfandel, which she called “the pink stuff.” She had spunk enough at age 19 to go to a rural Montana courthouse and change her name to match a movie star’s. In her 20s, she ditched her job teaching in a one-room schoolhouse and headed solo to Oregon. She insisted on driving into her 92nd year, outfoxing her daughter — who had purposely locked the keys in the car — by calling AAA and then hiding her Oldsmobile. And after 10 days with covid-19, she seemed to have gotten the better of the disease. Then she climbed into bed and drew her last breath.
James “Charlie” Mahoney, 62, was an ICU doctor at SUNY Downstate Medical Center for nearly four decades and a friend to all, from the gift-shop cashier to the taxi drivers waiting outside. Mahoney mentored colleagues and cared for patients through the HIV/AIDS epidemic, through 9/11 and through the swine flu. He was on the brink of retirement when covid-19 hit — and his family tried persuading him to bow out. But Mahoney chose to keep working.
Nicky Leake, 45; John Leake Jr., 40; and Leslie Leake, 74,members of the same D.C.-area family, died within 20 days in the month of April. Nicky was preparing for her destination wedding in Hawaii. John was a cutup, the family clown. Leslie, their mother, was passing her golden days in contentment, doting on her grand- and great-grandchildren, assembling floral arrangements, singing softly to herself. They probably spread the virus to each other at Leslie and her husband’s immaculate old home in Congress Heights, the family’s heartbeat, the place they simply called “the house.”