A Touching Two-Minute Story on Ebola
Ebola is talked about constantly right now. Risks, fears, stats and information are shared every day and it can seem like such a daunting thing to try to fully understand. I've heard experts talking about it on the radio, seen articles about it flood my social media feeds, but it has been easy for me to just skim over it all since it doesn't seem to directly affect me or my life here in Richmond.
NPR features two and a half minute story segments on Fridays, and this one was deeply moving to me in light of this disease and all of the talk surrounding it. Take a listen to the short story below.
In just a few minutes, these two women strike a chord that resonates so deeply with me.
Despite all of the stats I've heard and all of the news stories I've read, it wasn't until this brief segment that Ebola felt personal and real to me. I imagined what it would be like to lose ten members of my family, and it made my heart ache. I haven't even lost one person close to me, so the thought of loss so great seems unfathomable.
And even though I'm not a big hugger, thinking about how grief like that must have enveloped that woman in such a dark and heavy way made me want to give her the biggest, longest hug of all time. To know that even something like a hug put others at risk for contracting the disease is heart-breaking.
This is such a example of what I love about stories, though. In under three minutes, these two women took this topic of a scary and spreading disease and boiled it down into a short story that touched me. They took something massive and made it memorable and meaningful. They told little bits of stories of individuals and small groups of people coming together in beautiful ways despite the risks and losses.
I love this about humanity. I love that when tragedy strikes or diseases spread or just straight-up horrible things happen, humanity unites for good. I love that even though it meant they would get sick and lose their lives, so many of those nurses cuddled that sweet, abandoned baby instead of leaving her alone in the box. I love that even the two epidemiologists could have stayed at home in the safety of their disease-free American towns, they traveled to the heart of the worst of it to help and serve and be present.
I love that even in the darkness, light still shines and hope still reigns and humanity is still fighting for the good.