Column: We owe each other better than the toxic, tragic self-interest on display at that Rose Garden ceremony

In March, I wrote about a Lincoln Park couple who canceled their big, formal wedding and got married via Zoom.

It seemed like such a novelty at the time. A wedding via Zoom! Friends and relatives tuning in from across the world! Toward the end of the ceremony, an online poll popped on the guests’ screens, inviting them to speak now or forever hold their peace.

Since then, I’ve met dozens of people who’ve sacrificed joy, comfort or ritual to protect themselves, their loved ones and their larger communities from the coronavirus, which is transmitted by air, thrives in crowds and can, as we know all too well, prove fatal.

It’s been a privilege to witness humanity and creativity in action, as people scramble to mark sacred milestones in ways that feel both responsible and memorable.

High school principal Jason Patera canceled in-person graduation ceremonies and drove 400 miles over the course of two days in May, hand-delivering diplomas to his seniors. Patera arrived at each home wearing a mask, stood at a safe distance and delivered a short speech, while proud parents watched and cried and snapped photos.

Viki Noe’s class of 1970 canceled its long-awaited 50th reunion -- the one where she and her Nerinx Hall classmates were set to gather in person and hug and bond and discuss all that’s happened in their lives since their senior year, which was tragically marked by the Kent State shooting. One classmate was killed in the Sept. 11 terror attacks. The alums decided to stay away from campus in June, instead writing letters to each graduate about surviving turbulent times with grace.

Katie Hession watched as her 83-year-old dad, Bill Hession, lay dying from acute myeloid leukemia inside his South Loop condo in March and knew she couldn’t safely hold the big, Irish send-off she had imagined for him. She posted flyers around the neighborhood asking anyone who knew him to stand below his sixth floor window at noon on a Saturday, look up and wish him well. And they did.

I’ve interviewed people who’ve said their final goodbyes to loved ones via FaceTime, and I’ve interviewed the health care workers who’ve held the phones for those calls.

“Now, I really understand what makes these deaths so hard,” Carol Miller told me. Her younger brother, Al Spinner, died from COVID-19.

“No hugs, no last ‘I love you,’“ Miller said. “You cannot even hug those left behind.”

So when I see the coverage of that Sept. 26 White House event for Supreme Court nominee Amy Coney Barrett, with dozens of guests mingling and laughing together, maskless, inside the White House Diplomatic Room, and rows upon rows of more than 100 attendees sitting shoulder-to-shoulder and leaning in for hugs in the Rose Garden (again, mostly maskless), I’m filled with sorrow and rage.

Sorrow for all that’s been rightly given up in the name of public safety, rage that we have leaders who would thumb their noses at science and sacrifice.

At least eight people present at the White House that day have now tested positive for COVID-19: President Donald Trump, first lady Melania Trump, White House press secretary Kayleigh McEnany, former White House adviser Kellyanne Conway, Notre Dame President John Jenkins, former New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie and Republican Sens. Mike Lee and Thom Tillis.

More infections may still arise from that event, both among the people who were present, and among the family members, friends, colleagues and essential workers with whom the ceremony attendees came in contact.

It’s inexcusable.

My friend Allison Batzel has been watching, mostly from a distance, as her grandma deteriorates, lonely and isolated, in an assisted living center. The family moved her to hospice on Friday and they’ve been allowed to finally visit her in person, wearing head-to-toe protective gear.

“I’m not even able to hold her hand without rubber gloves on, or kiss her,” Batzel told me Sunday. “She deserved and deserves better, but we followed the rules. I’m happy to do my part to protect her and the residents and staff where she lives.”

But it’s galling, she said, to see the people tasked with leading and serving us behave so cavalierly.

“It’s like I’m grieving goodness,” she said, “and shared sacrifice and belief in the value of weathering hard things together as a country. And taking care of each other.”

These are just a handful of the stories playing out across the country and the world, as this virus continues its ruinous rampage.

We owe each other better than the behavior at that ceremony.

We are better than the behavior at that ceremony. I see it every day, in the people I interview and the stories I read and lengths that human hearts and minds will go to in order to accommodate love and longing and grief and joy, even through a pandemic.

Our goodness is still there. It’s on us to make it louder and more lasting than the tragic, toxic self-interest currently on display in Washington.

Join the Heidi Stevens Balancing Act Facebook group, where she continues the conversation around her columns and hosts occasional live chats.

hstevens@chicagotribune.com

Twitter @heidistevens13

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