I am alone. The door stands before me.  I press the button by the door to announce that I am here. A voice comes through the metal box asking if there will be others.

“No, I am alone.”

There is a buzz and the door opens. In the vestibule I am met by a gentleman in a well-appointed suit. He is wearing a breathing mask and at one time would have looked ridiculous with his suit. But not today. He leads me to a room and bows as he leaves, anxious to be gone.

The room is small and cold. It is lined with rows of folding chairs. I move forward, down the center of the chairs. At the front of the room is a coffin. A tiny coffin. In it lies my child. As I approach, the tears begin to well up in my eyes. They run down my face until they hit the mask I am wearing.

Just weeks ago we were playing at home. My child was smiling and laughing. I was smiling and laughing. Now, I cry.

We heard about the sickness on the news. Occasionally someone would tell of a friend who was sick and in the hospital. Then slowly people were attending funerals. And then more funerals. At first, people wore the small paper and cloth mask that doctors use but the sickness continued and so did the funerals. As the wealthy began using mask with respirators so did the rest of society. But it was too late for some. Now I sit alone at my child’s funeral. The tears won’t stop. I tear off the mask and put my hands over my face. I feel the warm tears.

My child, my beautiful child. Why? I wish I could trade places with you. I pull a chair closer to the coffin and lay my hand upon the cold flesh of my child.

There is no one here but me. Everyone – family, friends, teachers – are all scared of becoming sick. No one has come to say goodbye. I am saddened by this but not surprised. The streets are empty. Restaurants have closed due to lack of customers. People shop for food at odd hours of the night to avoid contact with others. Shoes and clothes are ordered online so the deliverymen can just leave them at your home.

Technology is being used for social interactions. People are working and socializing without leaving home. But even with technology and the lack of face to face contact, once a person becomes sick, everyone stops communicating with them.

As I look at my child’s cherub face, I cry harder. I sit alone and talk to my cold child and let them know how much I miss them. I recount the fun we had together. My heart is broken. I sob.

The funeral director comes into the room. He tells me that my time is about up. “There are others”, he tells me as he quietly walks from the room. I turn my gaze back to the little hand I am holding. The skin is soft. I look down, the tears return. I stand and look at my child. I don’t want to go because I know that when I leave, my child will be alone. It will be the last time I see them. We will part and we will both be alone.

Slowly, I remove my hand from theirs. Slowly, I walk toward the door. I turn one last time and say goodbye. As I exit the funeral director indicates that my mask is missing. I ignore him and walk out into the cold evening air as it begins to rain. The sickness has taken away my most precious thing, I walk without a heart because my heart died with the death of my child. The tears run down my face as I walk down the empty street.

I am alone.