My brother Johnny had emergency surgery in early March 2020. He was released to a NY nursing home for short term rehabilitation with the expectation of recovering and going home in a month. He arrived in the nursing home and the next day it was closed to visitors because of the Covid Pandemic. No one warned me and if I knew this I would have taken him home. When I asked a higher level medical professional if the facility knew there was Covid present, her response to me was that they cannot divulge this information. To me that said we were not warned.

Then I discovered immunity was given to all facilities by Governor Cuomo which as a health professional myself I can understand. However I should have been forewarned when my brother was placed into the Lion’s Den of Covid. There should not be facility immunity for this.

Cuomo then added another directive for overcrowded hospitals: Nursing homes can accept Covid positive patients if they can manage them. I have worked in nursing homes and know infection control can be challenging during normal times. This was extremely poor judgement and involuntary homicide in my opinion. My brother caught Covid after this directive.

Where is the justice? Where is the accountability? It was awful that I could not get into my brother’s facility and barely got any communication during that time. I still can’t believe this nightmare was real. I am sorry Johnny, as I tried my best but I could not protect you and neither did anyone else.

Hi Daddy,

Well, August came and went. Another year without you here. G celebrated his 10th birthday. I remember when he would sit on your lap and play. You would call him ‘Bubba’ to get his attention, only to have him start calling you that. You were his Bubba. The great grandson with his name the same as yours. He misses you but his memories are fading, and he gets quiet when we talk about you. You would love him to pieces; he’s such a good kid.

We should have celebrated your 81st birthday with G on Sanibel and gone to The Bubble Room. We didn’t go down there this year. We haven’t been the last couple of years due to hurricane damage. The two trips down there before that, were hard without you. It’s just not the same. You were the center, and everything fractured after you died. We rarely get all of us together anymore.

You should have been here to hold the great grandbabies as they joined the family. There are seven now. Two girls and five boys. The all-girls spell has been broken. So many times, I’ve wanted to ask you something or call and tell you about … anything and everything. I still do. I just don’t get a response back.

I retired at the end of August, Daddy. I wish I could have shared it with you. The whole family would have went out to celebrate with wonderful food, cake and drinks to toast. None of that happens anymore. It’s just us and Mom. Everyone else has either gone their own way or are too busy. I miss how we used to be. How even when we were kids we would go to Grandma and Grandpa’s, and everyone would be there. It’s all gone now. Somehow without you … everything collapsed.

It’s not fair. The ones filled with hate are still here. They got the medicine that could have saved you, because of who they were. If you had gotten Covid a year later, you’d probably still be here. This is my reality now. Every happy moment has a small shadow over it. Every accomplishment seems not as… important. Life is less without you in it.
I love and miss you.
I always will.
Your daughter,
Dawn

As a child, he would wake us up on chilly mornings singing “Baby It’s Cold Outside.” He had an obsession with donuts and ice cream. He loved nothing better than when the entire family could be together. Christmas was his most favorite day of the year. He was the most proud “Pa” to his grandkids that you’d ever meet. He worked with his hands and loved with all of his heart. There was nothing he couldn’t fix, and he loved fishing, even if he rarely caught anything. He did not have to die like this, he deserved to grow older and enjoy life.

I was listening to a Heather Cox Richardson podcast on Youtube, which I often do, and she was discussing that it’s time for all of us to redefine what it means to be an American. As a physician who worked through the worst of the early days of Covid, I feel I have a certain perspective on this that is unique. I will be haunted for the rest of my days by those first few months of the virus in NYC. And so, I pledge to remember the pandemic with accuracy, to honor the patients I lost (so damned many I still cry for), and to speak for my colleagues who can longer do so, for various reasons.

I am an American physician. I remember it all.

I would be celebrating my brother Johnny’s 71st Birthday on August 9th this year but he died of Covid five years ago. I still cannot believe he is no longer with us.

I often try to connect with him since he has passed. The Celtic tradition speaks of the “thin places,” places where the spirits of the dead move between heaven and earth. I believe our memories, our dreams, and our quiet reflective times are such places and we can discover these places. On Johnny’s birthday I will remember the Celtic Saying: “ Heaven and earth are only three feet apart, but in thin places that distance is even shorter.”

I think I am genetically wired to appreciate the thin places found on my very recent trip to Ireland. My Irish grandmother believed and appreciated the mysteries of Ireland’s thin places as told by my father. Johnny believed in them too. The thin pIace I recently found in Ireland last month was the rugged beauty of the Cliffs of Moher. It was a divine and sacred landscape with breathtaking scenery. I felt Johnny’s presence and wished him an early Happy Birthday.