Dear UD,
It’s Memorial Day
weekend in 2020, a global pandemic still ravages, many states in America are in
the middle of a phase to reopen, and all across the United States, people are
preparing to gather together for the holiday weekend. Some Americans plan to
stay home, others plan to go out while practicing caution and social
distancing, yet there are those who don’t see a risk and simply want to have
fun and/or exercise their freedom. Simultaneously, the New York Times
major headline for this weekend reads, “U. S. Deaths Near 100,000, an Incalculable
Loss.” It is a historic front page—simply a list of names of those Americans
who have died from Covid-19 so far this year. The article then reveals
memories, snippets from obituaries across the nation, of those lost to the
virus during this pandemic; their positions, their hobbies, their
accomplishments, their gifts and talents, their loved ones left to mourn their
loss. The article honors them yet serves as a sober warning and reminder.
Uncle David, during the
last several years of your life, you wrote a series of full-length plays titled
Memorial Day Picnic (Morning 1919, Afternoon 1945, Evening 1976, Night
2007). I remember being one of your readers during that time and how much I
loved the plays and your brilliance. The plays, always set on Memorial Day, range
over the course of a century and include family drama, American history from
World War I to World War II to the Vietnam War to the Iraq War and all the way
to 9-11, and honor for the military personnel who have died while serving in
the U. S. military.
Of those who served in
those wars, there were a little over 100,000 deaths during World War I, over
400,000 deaths during World War II, over 50,000 deaths during Vietnam, and
close to 5,000 deaths during the Iraq War.
UD, can you imagine an
America where 100,000 people die from a virus in three months?
According to the NYTarticle, one of those was a 91-year old who “saved 56 Jewish families from
the Gestapo.” It is all mindboggling, UD, and lugubrious. Just like in a war,
there are now so many holes in so many families. Empty chairs, empty hearts,
empty places that were once full. Once whole. So much knowledge wiped out. Gone.
Forever disappeared.
Your plays span
generations, showing connections, collective mourning, and emotional trauma
passed down from one generation to the next. Likewise, this pandemic will span
generations, pass down emotional trauma, and spur collective mourning. That’s
already happening this weekend as we sit in our homes, reading the names of
those recently lost to the virus and as we contemplate all of those lost in
military service for our country and as we remember those loved ones we lost
too soon.
UD, I miss you. I miss
Mom. I miss Dad. I miss Grandpa and so many others. But I thank God for your
time on this earth and in my life, and I vow to keep your memories alive, to
pass your names down to the next generations, and to continue your values and
traditions even in the middle of a world-wide pandemic.
Love,
Rach
