The world post-COVID-19 is surreal; it is an altered reality where meanings of the ordinary have found new meanings, and uncharted territories of health crises and loss have become the new normal. The rewriting encompassed not only the arena of human interaction and social structuring but tore through the very fabric of life as we knew it, leaving us trying to handle reality straight out of some dystopian novel.
To the health and funeral services workers, it was not just a headline but a relentless, unyielding reality. Doctors, nurses, and all health workers found themselves suddenly on the front lines of a war to which they had not signed up, as the virus dispersed with speed and ferocity that defied understanding. Hospital walls became the battleground and jail where one’s breath was a gamble and every interaction a possible death sentence.
“Picture the constant, ceaseless thrash of fear—a fear so universal it leached down into the bones and became part of each day’s routine. Yet, against all odds, healthcare workers persevered. They lived with uncertainty, often working in suboptimal protective equipment and making choices that felt impossible with demand that exceeded supply. There were brutal ethical dilemmas: who gets the last ventilator?” How do you comfort a dying patient through layers of PPE, knowing fully well that their family can’t be there?
It wasn’t a matter of not being able to burn out; it was more like not having the possibility of not burning out. The mental and emotional price for healthcare workers was enormous. Health professionals had to be the pillar of strength in this world that was crumbling about them—all while holding on so firmly to their fears and anxieties that they refused to let go. Sleep became a bygone memory and a distant dream for a few lucky enough to have the privilege of availing it. The virus was not simply attacking their patients; it was nibbling away at their sanity, eroding the essence of their very being.
On the other side of the spectrum were those in the funeral services. Their profession, once a silent, respectful end to life’s journey, became an endless cycle of goodbyes—hurried, distant, impersonal. The traditional rituals of mourning, so crucial for closure, were stripped away, leaving families grappling with grief in isolation. Funeral homes transformed into conveyor belts for the deceased, each one another statistic in a growing death toll that was both numbing and shocking.
Henry Vinson, a funeral director and expert in mortuary sciences, has captured his experiences during the COVID-19 pandemic in his book That Goodnight. This work provides insight into the atmosphere surrounding COVID-19 and delves into funeral rites from various cultures and historical periods. That Goodnight is a compelling read for anyone interested in the rich history of funeral practices.
The volume of deaths became overwhelming during the pandemic. Morticians and funeral directors were in the middle of a maelstrom that was not only a logistics nightmare of handling so many bodies but also an emotional drain. This lack of proper farewells haunted them as they did their best to maneuver through a sea of sorrow while keeping the semblance of dignity in a situation that is anything but.
COVID-19 changed everything. It exposed to us the fragility of our existence and the strengths we did not know. For those in health and funeral services, it was baptism by fire—something scarring, both seen and unseen. But amidst all the chaos, there were moments of humanity: acts of kindness that remind us that even in the most difficult times, humanity tends to shine. Though the pandemic rewrote the rules, it greatly exposed our resilience. The lessons learned shall reverberate down the ages in the memory of those who stood firm against the invisible enemy and of those who saw that the dead were not forgotten, even when the odds were that rites could not be held over their bodies.