Deaths that Didn’t Count
As an openly gay man who spent most of his life hidden in the evangelical church, the horror of dying isolated in a cold hospital room, alone, isn’t a new paradigm. Before there was COVID-19 there was GRID.
I’ll never forget sitting in the front of the megachurch I attended, in the family section, the envy of the thousands of members who longed to get close to The Bishop. Seated in the family section, subtly grasping my husband’s hand, I felt the weight of ten pink elephants on my shoulders and the grasp of unspoken truth around my neck.
At the double funeral of my husband’s grandmother and aunt, I sat feeling powerless and alone, yet surrounded by thousands of people. To my right is The Bishop’s youngest daughter, my husband’s cousin. To my left are my husband’s parents, Pastor and First Lady of the church I often ministered in. In my seat was a man living a double life, simultaneously wishing he was invisible and that he could visibly comfort his grieving spouse.
COVID-19 didn’t introduce isolation and social distancing, it made it universal.
For most of the 17 years my husband and I have lived together, should one of us take ill, the other’s ability to share space was in question. When he was in a car accident, the amount of paperwork required to prove our relationship was absurd. Thankfully, the hospital never kicked me out of his room, but we were fortunate. For many gay couples, the hospital room is more like a prison ward.
The end of life for gay couples has always been traumatic. For those who have never come out, the whispers of suspecting family members may pierce like a knife. The legalities around assets provide monumental challenges. The many who never have children now face the uncertainty of their last breath alone.
What America is experiencing as a result of COVID-19 mirrors what the LGBT community has always lived.
COVID-19 related death numbers are incalculable. The numbers of deaths directly attributed are astronomical, but the deaths that don’t count make that toll innumerable. The gay turned away from donating blood may have saved the life of your aunt with his blood, but couldn’t because of his orientation. That’s a death that didn’t count. The lung transplant patient marked “elective” that died waiting for her surgery didn’t count. The grandmother whose family had the choice of taking her to the hospital where she may live but would likely die alone or taking care of her at home where she would likely die but would be surrounded by the family she loved — grandma didn’t count.
The mother who contracted COVID-19 while working as a cashier at the local dollar store to feed her two children may have counted, but didn’t matter, at least not enough for the system to change.
The millions who are alive but not living don’t count. Those “bored in the house, in the house bored” don’t count. Those faking a smile every day so that others can maintain their illusions of comfort don’t count.
The hundreds of thousands who have died but were not counted still have the chance to matter. You and I can flatten the pyramid (Maslow) and live purposed lives that provide dignity, acceptance, and care for all living things. We can change the world if we try. Together, we can create a new reality where all lives matter, even brown, rainbow, and female ones.
This is our moment for revolution. This is our time to be who we are and shine brightly.
Let’s not let the uncounted deaths cease to matter. Let’s join together as one. We can live together as one — one race, one people, one humanity. It begins with living as ourselves, laying down the double-life for the authentic life, in full acceptance of our individual perfection and collective progression.
Today is a new day. Will you join the new way?
