Houston mourns
Loved ones mourn the thousands in the region killed by COVID-19 who shared ‘a piece of themselves’
Remembering lives lost to COVID-19.
When the U.S. death toll from COVID-19 topped 200,000 Tuesday, a John Hopkins University public health researcher called the number “unfathomable.”
Across Texas, more than 15,000 people have died from the novel coronavirus, including more than 3,300 in the eightcounty Houston region. Of those, more than 2,500 have been in Harris County alone.
For now, at least, the state’s death rate has declined from a July peak. On July 23 — the deadliest day locally to date — 273 people died in Texas, including 53 in Harris County and another 17 in the Houston region.
What has not abated is the slow burn of grief for survivors trying to comprehend what happened, and how and why, to loved ones who were cautious about going out after the pandemic began. Many who have shared their stories speak of lives unfinished. The disease has touched people in every community of the region, of all ages, skin colors and ethnic backgrounds.
“We had lots of plans,” said a colleague of the Rev. Vickey Gibbs, who died July 10 at age 57. Just a few weeks before she died, Gibbs spoke out passionately against white supremacy during a vigil for George Floyd, the Black man who was killed by Minneapolis police officers. She wanted to do more.
“Vickey had lots of plans,” her friend said. “I was happy to go along for the ride.”
Former NFL wide receiver Earl Lewis Thomas, 71, was still active as a nationally recognized youth track coach. After his death on July 4, his family arranged a drivethru celebration with six tents in a University of Houston parking lot — he was that beloved.
Stadium and concert venue security guard George Longoria, 51, also built lasting relationships. After his death on July 10, tributes poured in on social media. Bryan Labbie, a co-worker at 5 Star Event Services, remembered Longoria’s “great love for the sights and sounds of his city. That part still hasn’t hit me yet. We’d see each other three, four, five times a week. I don’t know how it’ll feel when that starts again, and he’s not there.”
Not there.
Nora Aguilar felt the absence keenly when she saw a chore her sister hadn’t finished. Cyndi Rodriguez, who died June 24 at age 48, left her sewing machine on a table, surrounded by pieces of face masks she was making for food bank volunteers at her church. Aguilar also choked up thinking about how she and her sister, both longtime United Airlines ticket agents, were supposed to have been on a Disney cruise in August, celebrating their birthdays.
Earl Blair, who owned the nation’s largest mail-order catalog of film and comic memorabilia, left behind a huge cache of collectible objects but holes in the hearts of his extended family when he died May 20 at 73.
“What we are desperately missing right now is his warmth and humor,” said his stepdaughter, Leigh Stovall. “He was so easy for us to love.”
People felt the same about Akbar Nurid-Din Shabazz, 70, a Muslim chaplain whom admirers called “a rock in the foundation” of Texas prisons. The prayer leader for the first American to be executed by lethal injection, he coordinated services at the Wynne Unit in Huntsville for 40 years. He died April 23.
For many people, even the ceremony of funerals has become an exercise of absence. Stewart Duvall knew “loads of people” would want to share stories about his mother, Bobbie Crawford, if they could have gathered to exchange them. Crawford, a pioneering real estate agent who was a figure in Houston’s boom years, died early in the pandemic, on April 5, at 91.
The family of retired attorney John Sellingsloh, 97, also wanted to celebrate his full life more than they could. About as old-school Houston as Houstonians get, he was descended from Texas settlers.
“Being from the Greatest Generation, he never complained. Just hours before he was taken to the hospital, he told us he felt great,” said his son, Robert Sellingsloh. “That’s the type of man he was.”
Dr. Adeline Fagan seems to have had that kind of spirit, too. The 28-year-old New York native, who was in her second year as an OB-GYN resident in Houston, lost her nearly two-month battle with the virus Saturday. In a photograph her family shared, she flashes a megawatt smile, holding a newborn as proudly as if it were her own child.
Her family was raising funds to pay her medical expenses, and her father, Brant Fagan, described the moment Saturday “when the world stopped.” But he also saw the light his daughter shined. “Even in this darkest of times, there are good people willing to share a piece of themselves for the sake of another,” Brant wrote. “If you can do one thing, be an ‘Adeline’ in the world. Be passionate about helping others less fortunate, have a smile on your face, a laugh in your heart, and a Disney tune on your lips.”