We do a unit on trauma in my Doctor Who class. Thus, I find myself watching “Father’s Day” a lot.
It always triggers tears–I lost my own father to a car accident; I don’t remember him. When I was a teenager, I also learned awful things about him that contradicted the rosy picture my mother had tried to paint.
I watched it again, but what I’m thinking about today is how two of my students have lost their fathers to Covid this week.
Two.
This week.
Yesterday, I spent the better part of an hour doing impromptu grief therapy for one of them. I had to remind him that although his father’s dream is for him to finish college (and thus the student thinks he must push through this quarter, despite the loss), he also has to cut himself some slack–to heal and protect himself since his dad isn’t there to do it anymore.
This week, I’m torn between sadness and anger.
Trump should have been honest about how dangerous this was. We should have listened to the scientists, and we should have had a plan. Instead, he made this a partisan issue.
His party is still lying, even about the basics of wearing masks.
These students’ fathers did not have to die.
