No sooner had I more thoughts from Toronto to post here than Richard Pretorius came up with a brief, poignant update from Madrid. See the series of coronavirus diaries here ...
As I walked by an ambulance services depot with at least a dozen workers taking a needed break outside in Madrid, I thanked them all profusely in the Spanish I knew.
As I encountered the homeless along my health/mental health trek, I dropped a few euros into each seeking cup or box. And offered a kind word or two.
As another ambulance came down the road sirens blaring, I gave a thumbs up, hoping to catch the occupants' eyes.
As the death toll topped 2,200 in the land of amore, I wondered how anguishing the last moments might have been. Then the tears came. And rained and rained.
I told the person with a PhD who helps me live my best life in a Skype session today how much my heart bleeds every day, knowing full well a victim might have simply been someone standing too close to someone else in a tapas bar.
How many times could it have been me?
Yes the famed writer was right. In a city I have come to consider one of my true homes, every man's death does indeed diminish me.
And so the bell tolls.
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