I’ve been writing this blog for – well, I’ve forgotten how long – but it’s been a long while. Each piece has related in some way to being married to a Filipina or living in the Philippines. Today I break that record.

We all know that the last two months has been unique and terrifying for each one of us. The frightened responses of nearly every human being on the planet have been at times inspiring, reminding us of the power of our collective will and genius. But just as often the responses have been petty and inhuman.

If I listed the incorrect assumptions and decisions we have made over the last three months, the typed list would wind around the block. That’s not my purpose here.

But there is one disturbing trend which I have noticed over the past month – the shaming of the dead. It started 3-4 weeks ago when several public figures, who had publicly downplayed the virus, contracted Covid-19 and died. Posts and memes were posted saying the individuals had gotten what they deserved. Really? Someone deserved to die because he was wrong or because he chose to take a risk?

I have also recently noticed posts, articles and video commentaries, a few even by physicians, essentially stating that if it weren’t for those people who don’t take care of themselves and therefore have existing conditions or co-morbidities, we would have much better mortality statistics. Is this what we really mean to tell people as a society?

Let me get this straight. You’ve lived till 85 or 90, in many cases because medical science has given you a longer life than you would have had 100 years ago. You’re old but hanging on. But you have high blood pressure or heart disease, cancer, diabetes, pre-diabetes, or you’re obese. And if Covid-19 gets you – it’s sort of your fault. You ate too many Snickers bars when you were a teenager. Or did you? Let’s do the math. In fact, when you were a teenager, you were living through the depression and were lucky to eat anything. Or you were fighting in WW2 or Korea; not many Snickers bars on the battlefield. But it’s your fault – you fucked up the stats.

BTW, the obesity statistics are based on BMI and are pretty bizarre. According to BMI I am supposed to be 118-145 pounds. I kid you not. I haven’t been 118 pounds since my early teens. By the time I was 16 I had hit my final and massive height of 5’6″. I remember clearly (the memory of youth). I had a 27″ waist and was 129 pounds. When I turned sideways I disappeared. But I wasn’t 118.

To make matters worse old age has screwed up my BMI. I’m no longer 5’6″; I’m a hair over 5’5″. This may be the spinal shrinking of old age. More likely it’s the hair loss. It used to be pilled up good on my head and probably gave me an extra 1/2″. Bottom line, at 5’5″ my BMI weight is supposed to be less than Dr. Fauci. And I didn’t eat the Snickers bars either; Milky Ways and Baby Ruths were my preference.

And don’t get me started on the nursing home issue. One of the reasons I moved to the Philippines is that there are no nursing homes here. As you get old and sick your family takes care of you as best they can. Over the past 2-3 generations in the US, you’re deposited in a nursing home. It apparently is coming as a great surprise to some that this means a bunch of old people are crammed into small spaces and share germs; who knew.

And now here we are in late April and many of the world’s governments are dipping their toe into the pond of re-opening their countries. And the reaction of some to those hoping that their world will re-open is – you’re gonna kill yourself and kill us too. Millions of people are suffering from the pandemic and just as many from the lockdowns. And what do we say to anyone who makes the tough decision to go back to work? “We wish you well.” I’m not hearing a lot of that.

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I know, I know. I’m pissed and this blog piece is a bit morbid. Bear with me – it’s gonna get worse. I have a bit of experience here which I will share.

My mother died at 40 after a battle with breast cancer. It was the 60s and a cancer diagnosis meant death in the minds of most. When she first felt the lump she delayed going to the doctor; just for a month or so, but her fear made her wait.

Her GP delayed as well. She had gone to him her entire life; he literally was the doctor who delivered her. He told her to come back the next month and they’d check again.

So my mother delayed and her doctor delayed and when she died there was a certain amount of finger pointing. It was their fault.

It was my fault too. I was in college and going through a typical college issue (aka smoking weed) which was stressing out my mother. When she died months later her best friend came up to me and told me that I had basically killed my mother. I thought I must have heard her wrong but I hadn’t. I was actually mature enough for a 19-year old to realise it was her grief talking. But clearly I wasn’t that mature. My memory is foggy but I’m pretty sure I never spoke to her again.

All this leads to the simple and not particularly profound conclusion that – no one wants to die of Covid-19 and no one wants to kill you. But whether we lock down the world for months more or gradually open it back up, people will catch the virus and people will die. The dead and their families deserve our sympathy and our love. Let’s find a way to give it to them.