Three weeks ago, I was looking down into my husband’s unblinking eyes, seeing blood spill from his nose and mouth, and feeling my hand trying to stop the bleeding from the back of his head.
In the background someone kept yelling, “Apply pressure! Apply pressure! Apply pressure!” For a fleeting moment, I was Jackie Kennedy sans the pink Chanel suit and matching pillbox hat.
Why? Because we had just said to a couple of men passing by us on the narrow sidewalk on our block, “Wear a mask!” In less than a minute, my husband was hit in the face and the back of his head with some kind of weapon and laid unconscious on the sidewalk.