拜登总统悼念50余万名因新冠肺炎而过世的美国人
总统：我每天都拿到一张小卡片，放在口袋里，和我的行程表放在一起。卡片上写着因感染或死于新冠肺炎的美国人数。今天，这个数字爬升到令人悲伤、心碎的阶段：死亡人数达500,071名。一年来因疫情丧生的美国人数超过一战、二战和越战里丧生的美国总人数。我们因病毒失去的生命比世界上任何国家都还要多。
当我们认识到美国所失去的生命是如此之多时，我们追念每一个逝去的生命和他们在世间的日子。他们是我们认识的人。他们是我们觉得熟悉的人。去看看那些讣闻和悼文。那个做儿子的，每晚打电话向母亲问安。那个做女儿的，照亮了父亲的生命。那个做为挚友的，始终相伴。那个做护士的，还不只一位，让她所照顾的病患有求生的意志。
我最近到密歇根州卡拉马祖的一间辉瑞疫苗制造厂。我进去时遇到了一名男士，他的岳父因感染病毒而生命垂危。他很伤心。我问他是否可以给他岳父打个电话。他说他的岳父病入膏肓，无法说话。他接着问我是否可以为他岳父祷告。
我们都认识这样的人，那些一生不断奋斗、有理想、有希望的美国人。那些彻夜长谈他们梦想的；那些穿着制服为国家效命的；那些奉献他们的爱，为人祷告，总是随时伸出援手的。
我们经常听到人们被形容是“普通美国人”。没有这一回事，他们一点都不普通。我们所失去的性命都是不平凡的。他们来自不同世代。有的生于美国；有的移民美国。但是就这样，这么多人在美国孤独地咽下了最后一口气。
做为一个国家，面对如此残酷的命运，我们不能束手待毙。虽然我们对抗疫情为时已久，但是对这些哀痛，我们绝不能变得麻木不仁。我们不能把生命只看作统计数字，只是晃眼云烟，或只是新闻内容。必须如此我们才能对得起逝者，同样重要的是，才能照顾活着的人和那些被留在身后的生者。
对于生者的心情，我太理解了，我知道见不到最后一面的感受。我知道当你随伺一旁，紧握他们的手的心情。你眼睁睁的看着他们的生命消逝。你的胸口似乎有个黑洞，而你感觉整个人就像被吸了进去一样。那是生者的哀痛。愤怒。你的心灵对信仰产生怀疑。
对你们有些人，这也许是一年前、一个月前、一周前、一天前、甚至一小时前才发生的事。我知道当你看到餐桌旁空着的椅子时，一切记忆再次涌现，无论那是多久前发生的事，好像所有的事情都发生在你看到那张空着的椅子的那一刹那。没有他们的生日、纪念日、假日。日常的一切，林林总总、芝麻小事，都是你最想念的。打开衣橱时的那个味道。经过以前会一起漫步的公园。你们相遇的电影院。早晨一起分享的咖啡。他笑起来时弯弯的嘴角。她的盈盈笑声。
去年复活节时，我收到一封一个做女儿的信，她的父亲因新冠肺炎去世。她和孩子们，也就是她父亲的孙辈们，心情沉重地开始四旬节，一个反思和重新出发的节日。因为无法好好哀悼，她在信中问我，“在这么多重重的失去中，我们丧失了什么?”
这就是残忍的地方。这么多可以抚慰我们的仪式，可以帮着我们对逝者致意的仪式，都无法进行。亲人相随身旁的临终祈祷。丧礼之后追悼逝者生前轶事和思念的聚会。部落首领过世却无法在圣地上举办最终的神圣文化传统。
做为一个国家，我们不能也不可如此继续下去。这就是为什么在我就职前夕，在国家大草坪的倒影池的新冠疫情逝者悼念会上，我说到要愈合。要能追念，才能愈合。我知道很难。我可以向你打包票，我知道很难，因为我记得。但是那样才能愈合：你必须要追念铭记。同样重要的是，整个国家要一起来做。
对那些失去至亲的人，我所学到的是：他们从未真正逝去。他们会永远在你的心中。我还知道，也许很难相信，但是我向你打包票：终会有那么一天，当你想起挚爱的人的时候，嘴角的微笑会比眼眶中的泪珠先出现。会的。我向你保证。不过，我会替你祷告，祷告那天尽早来到。到那时，你会知道，你会没事的。你会没事的。
对我而言，度过哀伤和悲痛的方法是找到一个使命。我不知道你们当中有多少不久前失去至亲的人曾经问过自己：“他们以我为荣吗？这是他们想要我做的事吗？”我知道这是我的感受。我们可以找到使命—一个能荣耀逝者的有生之年，对得起我们挚爱的国家的使命。
因此今天，我请所有美国人都追念铭记：对于逝者和生者，念兹在兹。但是当我们追念铭记，所有人都缅怀时，我也要请各位付诸行动。要持续小心谨慎，保持社交距离，戴上口罩，轮到你接种疫苗就接种。我们必须杜绝分裂家庭、社区、国家、造成太多人丧生的政治操弄和虚假信息。因病毒而丧生的不是民主党人或共和党人。是我们同为美国人的同胞。是我们的邻居、我们的朋友、我们的母亲、我们的父亲、我们的儿子、我们的女儿、丈夫、妻子。
作为国人，作为美利坚合众国，我们必须齐心打这一仗。我向你保证，这是我们唯一能战胜这病毒的方法。唯一能减少伤痛和失去的方法，唯一使我们国家不会再一次悲痛地面对这些数字的方法。不要让它成为我们跌得多重，而是让它成为我们如何爬起来的故事。我们做得到的。
在这一个充满失去的年度里，我们看到你们所有在前线的人的傲骨勇气。我知道你们所承担的压力、重挫和悲伤。但是你们给我们希望。你们帮我们打气。你们提醒我们，我们是会彼此照顾的。我们绝不会丢下任何人不管。虽然我们有所不足，但是我们从未放弃。我们是美国人。我们做的到，也会做到。
再过几分钟，吉尔和我，卡玛拉和道格，将在白宫–人民之家，你们的家–默哀。请各位和我们一起追念，让我们能够愈合，找到未来的使命，证明黑暗中仍有光明。
这个国家会重现欢笑。这个国家会再看到阳光灿烂的日子。这个国家会再次欢天喜地。当我们做到时，我们会想起每一个逝去的生命，他们所度过的日子，他们所留下挚爱的人。我们会挺过来的，我保证。但是我为你们心痛，为你们每位正在苦苦度过的人心痛。
愿上帝保佑所有人，特别是那些痛失亲人好友的人。上帝保佑你们。

Remarks by President Biden on the More Than 500,000 American Lives Lost to COVID-19
Cross Hall
6:01 P.M. EST
THE PRESIDENT:  Each day, I receive a small card in my pocket that I carry with me in my schedule.  It shows the number of Americans who have been infected by or died from COVID-19.  Today, we mark a truly grim, heartbreaking milestone: 500,071 dead.  That’s more Americans who have died in one year in this pandemic than in World War One, World War Two, and the Vietnam War combined.  That’s more lives lost to this virus than any other nation on Earth.
But as we acknowledge the scale of this mass death in America, we remember each person and the life they lived.  They’re people we knew.  They’re people we feel like we knew.  Read the obituaries and remembrances.  The son who called his mom every night just to check in.  The father’s daughter who lit up his world.  The best friend who was always there.  The nurse — the nurse and nurses — but the nurse who made her patients want to live.
I was in — just in Kalamazoo, Michigan, at the Pfizer vaccine manufacturing facility.  There, I met a man when I walked in, whose father-in-law was dying of the virus.  He was sad.  I asked if I could call his father-in-law.  He said his father-in-law was too sick to speak.  But then he said, but could I pray for him — could I pray for him.
We all know someone — fellow Americans who lived lives of struggle, of purpose, and of hope.  Who talked late into the night about their dreams; who wore the uniform, born to serve; who loved, prayed, and always offered a hand.
We often hear people described as “ordinary Americans.”  There’s no such thing; there’s nothing ordinary about them.  The people we lost were extraordinary.  They spanned generations.  Born in America.  Immigrated to America.  But just like that, so many of them took final breath alone in America.
As a nation, we can’t accept such a cruel fate.  While we have been fighting this pandemic for so long, we have to resist becoming numb to the sorrow.  We have to resist viewing each life as a sta- — as a statistic or a blur or on the news.  And we must do so to honor the dead, but equally important, care for the living and those left behind.
For the loved ones left behind, I know all too well — I know what it’s like to not be there when it happens.  I know what it’s like when you are there, holding their hands.  There’s a look in your eye, and they slip away.  That black hole in your chest, you feel like you’re being sucked into it.  The survivor’s remorse.  The anger.  The questions of faith in your soul.
For some of you, it’s been a year, a month, a week, a day, even an hour.  And I know that when you stare at that empty chair around the kitchen table, it brings it all back, no matter how long ago it happened, as if it just happened that moment you looked at that empty chair.  The birthdays, the anniversaries, the holidays without them.  And the everyday things — the small things, the tiny things — that you miss the most.  That scent when you open the closet.  That park you go by that you used to stroll in.  That movie theater where you met.  The morning coffee you shared together.  The bend in his smile.  The perfect pitch to her laugh.
I received a letter from a daughter whose father died of COVID-19 on Easter Sunday last year.  She and her children — his grandchildren — enter Lent this season, a season of reflection and renewal, with heavy hearts.  Unable to properly mourn, she asked me in the letter, “What was our loss among so many others?”
 
Well, that’s what has been so cruel.  So many of the rituals that help us cope, that help us honor those we loved, haven’t been available to us.  The final rites with family gathered around.  The proper homegoing, showered with stories and love.  Tribal leaders passing [with]out the final traditions of sacred cultures on sacred lands.
As a nation, we cannot and we must not let this go on.  That’s why the day before my inauguration, at the COVID-19 Memorial at the Reflecting Pool on the National Mall, I said to heal — to heal, we must remember.  I know it’s hard.  I promise you, I know it’s hard — I remember.  But that’s how you heal: You have to remember.  And it’s also important to do that as a nation.
For those who have lost loved ones, this is what I know: They’re never truly gone.  They’ll always be part of your heart.  I know this, as well — and it seems unbelievable, but I promise you: The day will come when the memory of the loved one you lost will bring a smile to your lips before a tear to your eye.  It will come.  I promise you.  My prayer for you though is that day will come sooner rather than later.  And that’s when you know you’re going to be okay — you’re going to be okay.
And for me, the way through sorrow and grief is to find purpose.  I don’t know how many of you have lost someone a while ago and are wondering, “Is he or she proud of me now?  Is this what they want me to do?”  I know that’s how I feel.  And we can find purpose — purpose worthy of the lives they lived and worthy of the country we love.
So today, I ask all Americans to remember: Remember those we lost and those who are left behind.
But as we remember — as we all remember, I also ask us to act.  To remain vigilant, to sa- — stay socially distanced, to mask up, get vaccinated when it’s your turn.  We must end the politics and misinformation that has divided families, communities, and the country, and has cost too many lives already.  It’s not Democrats and Republicans who are dying from the virus.  It’s our fellow Americans.  It’s our neighbors and our friends — our mothers, our fathers, our sons, our daughters, husbands, wives.
We have to fight this together, as one people, as the United States of America.  That’s the only way we’re going to beat this virus, I promise you.  The only way to spare more pain and more loss — the only way these millstones [sic] no longer mark our national mourning — these milestones, I should say — no longer mark our national mourning.  Let this not be a story of how far we fell, but of how far we climbed back up.  We can do this.
For in this year of profound loss, we have seen profound courage from all of you on the frontlines.  I know the stress, the trauma, the grief you carry.  But you give us hope.  You keep us going.  You remind us that we do take care of our own.  That we leave nobody behind.  And that while we have been humbled, we have never given up.  We are America.  We can and will do this.
In just a few minutes, Jill and I, Kamala and Doug, will hold a moment of silence here in the White House — the People’s House, your house.  We ask you to join us to remember, so we can heal; to find purpose in the work ahead; to show that there is light in the darkness.
This nation will smile again.  This nation will know sunny days again.  This nation will know joy again.  And as we do, we will remember each person we’ve lost, the lives they lived, the loved ones they left behind.  We will get through this, I promise you.  But my heart aches for you — those of you who are going through it right now.
May God bless you all, particularly those who have lost someone.  God bless you.
6:11 P.M. EST