The six, solid, black-and-white columns of words—names, and the occasional salient detail that makes human lives out of them—that comprised the front page of The New York Times today was characterized in the second half of the headline: An Incalculable Loss. The smaller print: “They Were Not Simply Names on a List; They Were Us.” Us. “Each one is more than a name. Each one had a unique life story. Each one succumbed to the coronavirus pandemic that swept across the globe, devastating families and industries and dealing a crippling blow to the world’s economy.” One. Hundred. Thousand. Humans. Parents. Grandparents. Aunts. Uncles. Daughters. Sons. Brothers. Sisters. Nieces. Nephews. Friends. Lovers. Co-workers. Acquaintances. Strangers. One Hundred Thousand American human beings are dead because of Covid-19, and we, the us that remain, are bonded in loss, in crisis, in fear, and, sadly, in some cases, in loathing.

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