LETTER TO THE EDITOR

Over the weekend my husband and I had the good fortune to enjoy a meal at a restaurant with a group of friends. It was noisy there, and I struggled to keep up with the conversation on both sides of the table as the pandemic has left me alternately desiring to be alone in silence and wanting to be in the center of raucous noise.

I was sitting at a window facing the front of the restaurant and about half way through our meal, emergency lights appeared and there was a commotion in the entryway. A woman standing just outside the building was clearly distraught; she wanted to get into the lobby and a police officer was skillfully talking her down. EMT’s were moving about briskly, in and out of the lobby. It was surreal as nothing inside the restaurant had changed. People came and went, waiters scurried from table to table, diners enjoyed their meals; it was, I imagine, a typical Saturday night. But clearly, things were far from normal for the woman outside the building and whoever was in the lobby.

I did not want to gape at the pain of others so I did my best to continue with conversation at our table; but I was drawn to the drama unfolding before me—both the human suffering and the people trained to help in emergencies such as this. After some time, a stretcher was carried in and a man was wheeled out, covered with a sheet from head to toe, and carted away in the ambulance.

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