Finding Strength Through Grief

Durham, NC — Over the last few months, there have been a few very special moments that shine a light on how we can get ourselves out of this pandemic mess. Last week was one of them.

Wednesdays from noon to 1, there is a weekly virtual meeting that started back in March that brings together local, regional, and state leaders who are committed to supporting the Latinx population during the pandemic. We call it Latin-19.

The meetings started with a dozen or so people, but as the pandemic intensified and struck our local Latinx population especially hard, the audience has grown to nearly 100 people. It comprises people who care: government, private sector, health care delivery organizations, university faculty, community-based groups, church leaders, and more.

Teams report successes — recent PSA announcements in Spanish, appearances in media outlets to spread information, food distributed, masks given out — and frustrations. At times, people get angry. Angry at the local health department, angry at the state health officials, angry at the health care delivery systems. ‘There’s not enough testing.’ ‘Why are we relying on the local Walgreen’s for free testing?’ ‘Our public institutions and health care systems are failing us. Again.’

People ask hard questions to leaders who then keep coming back. The county’s deputy director of public health presents an update every week. The numbers are horrible. 80% of new infections are in the Hispanic population. 13% of the local population is Hispanic. She shows up, takes the heat, and tells the audience how she and her team are responding. People from the state show up talking about contact-tracing. The audience asks why they’re not hiring more community members. And they are not satisfied by the answers. We each take turns acknowledging the limitations of our under-resourced efforts. The discussion is tame compared to the chat, which is typically on fire.

Last Wednesday, we talked about hospital visitation policies. A few weeks ago, one of the nation’s first pediatric deaths from COVID-19 complications happened at the University of North Carolina. A previously healthy 8-year-old Latina started having seizures, was rushed to the hospital, and died days later in the hospital. You can still feel the tremors her death sent through the local Latinx community.

A pediatrician talked about how parents don’t want to bring their sick kids to the hospital, because they’re scared to be separated. Parents are scared their kids will have COVID-19 and be put in isolation, where they will die alone because the parents won’t be able to visit.

“Our community feels entering the hospital is like crossing the border,” explained family medicine physician Dr. Viviana Martinez-Bianchi. “We are the border patrol separating the adult or child with COVID from their family at the hospital border. Imagine how terrifying it is.”

A priest talked about how he’s getting more calls to visit people at home. People who want to talk through the process of dying at home. People who are scared and want to be with their families.

The Zoom gallery view was filled with tears at this point. Physicians in white coats, white liberals, Latinx leaders and community members, church leaders, people of color. Crying. Grieving. Not a dry eye in the shared virtual space. It was the closest this group has felt to each other since this ordeal started. Everyone, together, grieving.

The strength in our closeness felt unstoppable. We hold each other accountable. We keep showing up week after week. We do the most we can with the resources we have. And as we share our pain, we move forward.

One of the group leaders closed the meeting saying ‘together, we’ll kick COVID’s butt.’

Dr. Mark Sendak leads population health and data science at the Duke Institute for Health Innovation and is a leader of the Pandemic Response Network, a bilingual nationwide effort to bring COVID symptom monitoring and information to people in their homes.