A Plague, a Coup, and a Death

When the hardest thing to do is nothing

My stepmother died yesterday morning. It wasn’t Covid, which is a thing we must say now. She was 94 years old, frail and ill, sequestered in a nursing home not far from Washington, D.C. Due to the plague, no one has really seen her since March, except in brief chaotic Zoom calls and weekly “window visits” for my father. He would sit, bundled…

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