I’d like to do something for Tony Sizemore, but there’s nothing I can really do. His girlfriend was the first person from Indiana to die from COVID-19, condemned by her job which required her to drive airport rental cars around the country. It figures she’d get exposed to the virus before anyone else in her state. Sixty-nine years old, suffering from diabetes, damaged lungs and high blood pressure, she wasn’t in strong enough health to fight the thing off. It didn’t help that it took them a while to figure out what was ailing her.

Sizemore is at home, self-quarantining. He’s looking at her clothes, her car in the driveway, her curling iron in the sink. He has no idea which bills are paid and which aren’t, and he just managed to get the power turned back on after a cut-off.

I haven’t eaten much, and it’s probably making me weak. I’m bone tired and coughing like crazy. They called me back to the hospital for a chest X-ray, but the doctors said I looked good. No fever. No trouble breathing. They decided not to even give me a test. They have 12 nurses quarantined over there now and a whole floor of people with the virus, but I got lucky. They told me I’ll be fine.

I know Tony is not going to be fine. He’s going to be sad and miserable. It’s a story that is going on all over the country, but it’s never easy be first or the live with what amounts to really bad luck. Sometimes bad luck is the hardest thing to digest. A friend of our family lost their niece last week when a tree branch managed to land on her head while she was riding her bike. With everything going on in New Jersey, it’s hard to believe that a family has to deal with that kind of tragedy. What do you do when the universe sends such a strong message that it doesn’t care?

I guess we do what people have always done. We process the pain and we keep moving.

But sometimes we don’t. Sometimes we just give up. The world can break a person.

That’s why I worry about Tony. I worry about all the people who are unable to mourn in the normal way because we’re locked in our homes, isolated from everyone.

Maybe his decision to tell his story will help. By his own admission, he’s not very tech-savvy, but I bet a lot of people will reach out to him–to share their stories, to try to console him, to offer him an opportunity that might help him keep the lights on and provide a reason to keep going.

We’re all in this together–me in Pennsylvania, Tony in Indiana, and you, wherever you are.