I wasn’t prepared or interested in thinking about COVID again. But my friend Monica Moore invited me to the closing of The Heart Project: A Third Dimension.
Once there, I wasn’t expecting to be moved to tears, but I was. The frontline workers’ piece tugged at me. Remembering how disposable healthcare staff became triggered memories I wanted to forget. Thinking about the craze of unwillingness to take a vaccine that could prevent death, or severe illness, sent me back to feeling frustrated with societal ignorance (as if that frustration isn’t an everyday experience now, AS IF).
Although I wasn’t a frontline worker, I worked in mental health at the hospital and tended to our essential businesses in the community. But I heard from my coworkers who worked on the frontline. I heard about their lack of supplies and support. I heard about the demands on them, yet many did not receive adequate reimbursement. Many got sick or died or lost their loved ones, while still required to work and watch helplessly as their patients died. My role, in reality, was a second-line worker. In mental health, we received the second wave. The fallout from COVID trauma. We listened to our traumatized patients. Helped them process the experience and work toward rebuilding their lives. But again, art reaches a place that words cannot. And I think that’s why Monica’s project hit me so hard.
A.B. Merritt
