Pink Tulle and Cholera

My daughter, covered in pink tulle and melted chocolate, rode her scooter through the graveyard.

This was somewhat early into 'social distancing' measures and I was happy to have found a safe way to play outside and deflect the daily barrage of questions about why we can't go to the park or the library or the museum or the cafe... At the time I didn't feel like I had an answer to these questions that would satisfy a 3-year-old. After having pondered this for some time, I still don't feel like I have a good answer.

While my daughter scooted about I stood for a while near a concrete marker that denotes the final resting space of hundreds of nameless people. They made the long trip across the ocean from Ireland to Hamilton, only to find death and despair at the end of their journey.

In 1845 more than 550 of Hamilton's 16,000 residents died within a few short weeks. (It was not lost on me, in that moment, that this figure corresponds to a mortality rate of about 3 per cent.)

This was the first epidemic in Hamilton.

Cholera.

The light spring rain misted down over me, my daughter in her goofy princess dress, and the tombstones, monuments to all that the world has taken from us.