SEDRO-WOOLLEY, Washington (AP): With dish soap, brushes, and plastic water jugs in hand, Carole Rae Woodmanse’s four children wiped the headstone her mother shares with her father, Jim. Each bush shone engraved letters that wrote his mother’s name and the days of his birth and death: March 27, 1939, and March 27, 2020.
Carole died on her 81st birthday.
That morning marked one year since he died of complications from COVID-19 after contracting it during a choral practice that sickened 53 people and killed two, an event that would become one of the most fundamental episodes of transmission. to understand the virus.
For the brothers, the shady anniversary offered a chance to close after the pandemic derailed their grief. They finally celebrated a memorial appropriate to their mother’s footprint in the community.
“The most difficult thing is that there was no farewell. It was like I just disappeared, ”said Carole’s youngest son, Wendy Jensen.
After cleaning, the brothers remember. They say his father should be happy to have been back with his wife for 46 years. They appreciate them being good parents and remember how their mother said “mine” before calling their names and those of other loved ones.
“I was always‘ my Bonnie, ’” Bonnie Dawson tells her siblings. “I miss being ‘My Bonnie.'”
“Dad had been missing for a long time,” adds older sister Linda Holeman. His father, Jim, died in 2003.
Of the more than 550,000 people who have died of the virus in the United States, Carole was among the first. His death came just weeks after the first outbreak was reported at a nursing home in Kirkland, about an hour south of Mount Vernon. Carole, who survived heart surgery and cancer, had fallen ill at home. Bonnie cared for her until they called the paramedics.
“You are trying to say goodbye to your mother and they tell you to come back. It was very hard, exciting … having to shout, “I love you, mom,” as she’s coming out the door with men at the foot of the garden ten feet away because they didn’t want to be near our house. ” Bonnie.
The rehearsal for the Skagit Valley Choir, a community choir made up mostly of retirees and not associated with the church where they practiced, took place two weeks before Governor Jay Inslee closed the state. The heart had taken the precautions known at the time, such as distancing itself and healing itself. But someone had the virus.
“The same heart called us directly and left a voice message. The voicemail said she was a positive person at heart, who now had 24 sick people, ”said Lea Hamner, head of communicable diseases and epidemiology at Skagit County Public Health. “It immediately became apparent that we had a big problem.”
Hamner and his team went to work interviewing choir members, often repeatedly, and those they came in contact with after the practice, a total of 122 people. They meticulously gathered at night, tracking things like where people sat and eating cookies or stacked chairs.
That level of access and detail is scarce among outbreak investigations, Hamner said, so when cases fell in the county a few weeks later, he sat down to write a report.
“There was a lot of resistance to calling it air disease,” Hamner said. “But we have found this midpoint of this disease that can be both by drops and by airborne transmission. So it was a big change. After the document, the CDC began to recognize air transmission. “
The outbreak had gained notoriety after a Los Angeles Times article, which prompted other researchers to study the event, and they bolstered the conclusion that the virus was traveling through the air in the trial.
“I think this outbreak in the heart looks … like the only event that really woke people up with the idea that the virus could spread through the air,” said Linsey Marr, a Virginia Tech professor and expert on air transmission. Marr was one of 239 experts who successfully lobbied the World Health Organization to change its transmission guidelines.
The other person who died due to heart practice was Nancy “Nicki” Hamilton, 83. Originally from New York, Hamilton settled north of Seattle in the 1990s. She posted a personal ad to the Everett Herald and so she met her husband.
“We went down to Everett’s bowling alley,” said Victor Hamilton, 85. “We picked him up from there.”
Hamilton has not been able to keep a memory of it. Her families are spread all over the country and if possible she would like to have her in New York City. He’s looking forward to June 21 – his birthday.
At nearby Mount Vernon, family and friends head to Radius Church and contemplate the installation of a few dozen photos of Carole that the brothers gathered. Wendy also shows a quilt her daughter made with T-shirts from Carole’s music camp.
Pastor Ken Hubbard tells attendees that the service is not really a funeral, but a memorial, an opportunity to share stories about Carole.
“I’m sure his prayers saved my life one or two times,” says grandson David Woodmanse.
Loved ones remember Carole’s devotion to her family, faith, and music. Others remember how he welcomed them into his family, gave piano lessons, and did volunteer work for his church.
They sing “Blessed Assurance,” their favorite anthem. His letters were his last words to his children in the hospital.
After the service, the family returns to the cemetery to lay flowers. They also sing again, closing the day with a spontaneous, smile-filled rendition of “Happy Birthday”.
Later, Wendy reflects on the practice of the heart where her mother contracted the virus, pointing out the knowledge she gained from it that helped advance preventive measures.
“As far as we know, that was God’s plan, for her to help with that.”
“I think my mother would be willing to give up her life to save lives,” Bonnie said. “That was the kind of person he was.”