A year in a life

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred moments, so dear

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes

How do you measure? Measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee,

In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,

How, do you measure a year in a life?

— “Seasons of Love” from the 1996 musical Rent by Jonathan Larson 

I woke up this morning with a song playing in my head, which I often do, sometimes for no apparent reason.

But today was different, and the reason was as clear as the Anna Maria Island sky in winter.

The song was “Seasons of Love,” from the Tony Award-winning rock musical Rent. (You’re welcome for having it living in your head today. Rent-free, shall we say?)

Here’s a memorable line:

In five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes,
How do you measure? Measure a year?

There was a good reason, since it was related to the grim milestone our nation reached yesterday: The number of confirmed COVID-19 deaths in the United States surpassed a half million in just over a year. 

Five hundred thousand people.

Think about that for a minute. It’s an inconceivable toll. More lives lost here than any other nation on earth.

This time last year, these beloved souls filled seats around kitchen tables. Their coats hung in closets. They took vacations. They ate popcorn at the movies. They shared cups of coffee with friends like you.

They laughed and cried. They loved.

Just how much is 500,000 dead? Unimaginable.

If you had a moment of silence for every person who has died from COVID-19, it would take nearly a year to finish paying your respects. More precisely, 347 days, or just 18 shy of a full calendar year.

This year, the 347^th day will be Monday, December 13. Don’t forget. Ask Alexa to remind you of the significance and play something from Rent.

If we’re lucky, most of us will be out holiday shopping and complaining about no parking at the mall.

One minute. Five hundred thousand lives lived.

One year. Five hundred thousand lives lost.

That’s more Americans taken than in World War I, World War II and the Vietnam War — combined.

“We have to resist becoming numb to the sorrow,” said President Joe Biden in yesterday’s somber White House ceremony marking the toll.

The president drew on his own personal experience to honor the dead and comfort those who have lost loved ones. Most of you know the story of Biden losing his first wife, Neilia, and their one-year-old daughter, Naomi, in a tragic car accident in 1972. Then his eldest son, Beau, died of brain cancer at 46 in 2015.

“I know all too well,” said Biden. “I know what it’s like not to be there when it happens. I know what it’s like when you are there holding their hands. There’s a look in their eyes, and they slip away. That black hole in your chest — you feel like you’re being sucked into it. The survivors’ remorse, the anger, the questions of faith in your soul.”

We’re all over COVID-19. But it’s not over us. Not yet anyway.

Mask up. Wash your hands. Maintain social distance.

Ask yourself: How, do you measure a year in a life?