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Pandemics apparently come with a lot of new language. 2019, a simpler time, during which I can confidently say that I never used the phrase social distancing. Or pandemic fatigue. Or anti-maskers. Or pandemic kindness. Or virtual happy hours for work-from-home offices.
Or 150,000 dead in our country alone. 706,000 across the world.
For the record, you would be hard-pressed to find someone who hasn’t been personally affected by this virus which cares not about upcoming weddings, college plans, economies, vacations, new jobs, or funerals. I consider myself incredibly lucky that the few interactions I have had with this invisible enemy fall into the category of mildly annoying, as opposed to life-altering.
Of course, I am getting tired of staring at the four walls of my bedroom. I got addicted to Tik Tok and bread making like the rest of the world. I get frustrated every time I naturally go in for a hug and someone responds “Sorry, I’m not hugging yet.” I missed seeing a few family members during our (very safely practiced) yearly vacation. I was home for months and only saw my grandparents a handful of times because we were worried about their safety.
Mildly annoying. Not life-altering.
And then Merrill Cowart passed away.
The funny thing is (well…not ha-ha funny, but you know what I mean) that the virus seemingly had nothing to do with this.
For a few moments, I was shocked by the outpouring of love from our little Pennsylvania community: not because Mrs. Cowart doesn’t deserve it (because she most certainly does), but because I thought we as a society had become desensitized to death.
And then I realized that was my own experience. I hear about the death on the news, but because I haven’t experienced it personally in relation to COVID, I couldn’t even come up with a way to mourn the lives of so many people.
Each and every one of the nearly 706,000 dead have a story, like that of Merrill Cowart. They have family, friends, students, mentors, and neighbors, just to name a few.
The situation we find ourselves in right now is no minor inconvenience. It is the loss of 706,000 Merrill Cowarts who worked hard, inspired others, raised children, shared kindness, spoke for others, laughed with friends, and did so much more in their own special ways.
Mrs. Cowart never had the chance to read all the notes written by friends and former students upon the celebration of her retirement, so I would just like to include a brief piece from my letter here:
“Without Mrs. Cowart, I wouldn’t have known to surround myself with those who push me to ensure that I am constantly growing. So in a funny way, Mrs. Cowart inspiring me to write, inspired me to never stop growing. A teacher of that magnitude deserves the greatest of recognition.”
In this life, too many stories are already cut short, and it is therefore our responsibility to ensure that as many stories as possible get their full endings…all the way to the happily ever after.
Merrill Cowart didn’t get her perfect ending, and that’s not fair. However, I had the luxury to learn from her, and I know she cared more about others than herself.
She would want us to carry on her legacy in kindness, by working to save the lives of as many people around us as we possibly can. By wearing our masks (perfectly matched to your outfit if you wanted to be in true Merrill Cowart fashion). By checking in on our loved ones experiencing pandemic fatigue and offering our support. By supporting local businesses while practicing social distancing. By donating our excess money, if we are lucky enough to have it, to worthy causes based in our communities. By treating our human friends and strangers just as kindly as we treat our furry friends and strangers, and vice versa.
If you are overwhelmed, like me, by the world we find ourselves in at the moment, it’s time to put Merrill Cowart’s teachings into practice. She deserves as much.
It’s our turn to tell her story by saving the stories of so many to come.
Rest in peace, Mrs. Cowart. And thank you.