马萨诸塞州沙龙。——一年来，米歇尔·佩佩每天醒来，背诵哀悼者的祷文卡迪什，亲吻父亲的照片。和她的罪恶感做斗争。

“‘爸爸，”她说，“发生这样的事我很抱歉。"

“这”是新冠肺炎。2020年3月，正当大流行在美国开花结果的时候，佩佩从波士顿来到了佛罗里达州为了她母亲的80岁生日。她认为她给了冠状病毒给她的父亲;伯尼·鲁宾几周后去世。

“一开始，人们会说，‘好吧，他是怎么得到它的?’从我这里。他就是这样得到的——他从我这里得到的，”佩佩抽泣着说。

“没人说过，‘这是你的错，是你给他的’，但我知道这是真的。我知道我救不了他。这只是我要带着去坟墓的东西。”

她的悲伤是时代的通病。在世界各地，无数人正在努力摆脱因新冠肺炎而失去亲人的负担。他们后悔旅行或对可能传播疾病的日常决定感到痛苦——通勤上班，拥抱父母，甚至拿起食物。

在她父亲去世周年纪念日的前夕，佩佩双手颤抖着拿着伯尼和菲利斯·鲁宾的相框，微笑着，周围是他们的10个孙子。拍摄于2020年3月8日，这是这对夫妇和他们家人的最后一张照片。

庆祝会结束后，佩佩留在佛罗里达州，在大流行期间照顾他们。她认为自己是在为父母购买食品杂货时感染病毒的。然后她的父母生病了。担心他的病情恶化，她打了911。他独自死在德尔雷医疗中心;家人无法探望他。

“我不应该放弃并叫救护车，”她说。“这就是困扰我，想着他，独自在那个房间...我知道他吓坏了。”

这只是一场短暂的、社会距离较远的墓地葬礼。佩佩继续照顾她患有多发性硬化症、正在从新冠肺炎康复的母亲，同时观看了《变焦距》。

佩佩从此与绝望作斗争。

“很长一段时间，我都很害怕，”她说。“然后我的一个女儿对我说，‘妈妈，我们以为我们失去了祖父，但是...“我们没有意识到我们也失去了妈妈，”我想我必须振作起来。"

佩佩加入了在线支持团体，在那里她遇到了其他悲痛的幸存者;去了一个灵媒那里，寻找迹象;并寻求拉比的指导，拉比教她如何背诵卡迪什。

4月13日，她醒来祈祷，点燃一根叶海泽特蜡烛，纪念她父亲去世一周年。“我们只需要熬过这一天，”她在去墓地的路上重复道。她戴着她父亲的金链子和高中毕业戒指。

在他的墓前，她把黄色的花放在墓碑上，上面写着:“亲爱的丈夫、父亲、小狗”——他的昵称——“和曾祖父。”在犹太传统中，家庭成员会留下小石头。

他们记得一个崇拜孙子孙女的人，每天打电话给他们，让他们了解红袜队的最新消息，或者邀请他们参加芬威公园的比赛。近年来，“他不能走得很快——除非是为了棒球比赛。然后他会变成卡尔·刘易斯!”米歇尔的丈夫鲍勃·佩佩说，他和岳父一起工作，30年来一直是他的密友。

鲁宾和他的妻子在1983年创建的家具店发展成为伯尼和菲尔的家具连锁店，在新英格兰有九个分店。

这对夫妇出现在电视广告中，最著名的是他们朗朗上口的歌曲。陌生人经常会在餐馆认出他们，并背诵标语:“哦，你是伯尼和菲尔的伯尼吗，质量、舒适性和价格?”

伯尼·鲁宾会附和，就像广告里说的:“太好了!”

墓地后，佩佩参观了公司在诺顿的总部。她欣赏挂着数百张棒球运动员签名照片的墙壁，这些照片是她父亲小时候开始收集的。她深吸一口气，走进他的办公室，里面装饰着另一个同样珍贵的收藏:他家人在游轮度假、成人礼、大学毕业典礼和婚礼上的照片。

她拿起她爸爸的工作电话，靠得很近，像往常一样拿着他的钱包、衬衫和古龙水吸一口，希望能感觉到他的存在。但是她什么都没闻到——新冠肺炎剥夺了她的嗅觉和味觉。

午饭时，一家人走到鲁宾最喜欢的餐馆，点了“伯尼·鲁本”，一种以他的名字命名的三明治。每天，鲁宾都会走进凯利家，点一份奶酪煎蛋卷，并和一名女服务员进行同样的喜剧表演。

“‘卡罗尔，我要在这里站20分钟吗?有10张空桌子。“你是如何经营这样一家企业的，””鲍勃·佩佩模仿伯尼的声音说道。“她会说:‘你能闭嘴吗?“你知道你坐在哪里，去坐下，”"

米歇尔·佩佩坐在丈夫旁边，放声大笑。后来，她抹眼泪。

“这是一种折磨，”她说。“但一年后，我在这里，我可以嘲笑这些故事。”

第二天，她醒来亲吻她父亲的照片。她看着日历，松了一口气。哀悼的仪式年结束了。

“如果我父亲想到我有多受折磨，他会很痛苦，我希望他快乐、平静，”她说。“只有我在这里，他才会那样。”

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美联社的宗教报道通过美国对话得到礼来基金会的支持。美联社对这些内容全权负责。

On a mission to heal after exposing her dad to deadly virus

SHARON, Mass. -- For a year, Michelle Pepe awoke every day, recited the Kaddish, the mourner’s prayer, and kissed a photo of her father. And coped with her guilt.

“’Dad,” she says, “I’m so sorry that this happened.”

“This” was COVID-19. In March 2020, just as the pandemic bloomed in the United States, Pepe traveled from Boston toFloridafor her mother’s 80th birthday. She believes she gave thecoronavirusto her father; Bernie Rubin died weeks later.

“At the beginning, people would say, ‘Well, how did he get it?’ From me. That’s how he got it — he got it from me,” Pepe says, sobbing.

“Nobody’s ever said, ‘This is your fault and you gave it to him,’ but I know it’s true. I know I couldn’t save him. It’s just something I’m going to have to go to the grave with.”

Hers is a common sorrow of the times. Around the world, countless people are struggling to shake off the burden of feeling responsible for the death of a loved one due to COVID-19. They regret a trip or feel anguish over everyday decisions that may have spread the disease — commuting to work, hugging parents, even picking up food.

On the eve of the anniversary of her father’s death, Pepe’s hands tremble as she holds a framed portrait of Bernie and Phyllis Rubin, smiling and surrounded by their 10 grandchildren. Taken on March 8, 2020, it’s one of the last images of the couple with their family.

After the celebration, Pepe stayed in Florida to take care of them during the pandemic. She believes she caught the virus while shopping for groceries for her parents. Then her father and mother sickened. Worried about his worsening condition, she called 911. He died alone at Delray Medical Center; family members were unable to visit him.

“I shouldn’t have given up and called the ambulance,” she says. “That’s what haunts me, and thinking about him, alone in that room ... I know he was terrified.”

There was just a brief, socially distanced graveside burial. Pepe watched on Zoom while she continued to care for her mother, who has multiple sclerosis and was recovering from COVID-19.

Pepe has been battling despair ever since.

“I was in a real funk for a real long time,” she says. “And then one of my daughters said to me, ‘Mommy, we thought that we lost our grandfather, but ... we didn’t realize we also lost our mom.’ I figured I have to snap out of it.”

Pepe joined online support groups where she met other grieving survivors; went to a psychic medium, searching for signs; and sought guidance from a rabbi who taught her how to recite the Kaddish.

On April 13, she awakens to say the prayer and light a yahrzeit candle marking the one-year anniversary of her father’s death. “We just have to get through this day,” she repeats on the drive to the cemetery. She wears her father’s gold chain and high school graduation ring.

At his grave, she places yellow flowers on a tombstone that reads: “Loving husband, father, pup” — his nickname — “and great grandfather.” In the Jewish tradition, family members leave behind small stones.

They remember a man who adored his grandchildren, calling them daily to catch up on the latest Red Sox news or to invite them to games at Fenway Park. In recent years, “he couldn’t walk very fast — unless it was for a baseball game. Then he’d turn into Carl Lewis!” says Bob Pepe, Michelle's husband, who worked with his father-in-law and remained his close friend for 30 years.

The furniture store that Rubin founded with his wife in 1983 grew into the Bernie & Phyl’s Furniture chain, with nine locations across New England.

The couple were featured in TV commercials best-known for their catchy jingle. Strangers would often recognize them at restaurants and recite the catchphrase: “Oh, are you Bernie from Bernie and Phyl’s, quality, comfort and price?”

And Bernie Rubin would chime in, as in the ads: “That’s nice!”

After the cemetery, Pepe visits the company’s headquarters in Norton. She admires the walls adorned with hundreds of autographed photos of baseball players her dad began collecting as a kid. She takes a deep breath and walks into his office, decorated with another, equally prized collection: photos of his family on cruise vacations, at bar mitzvahs, college graduations and weddings.

She picks up her dad’s work phone, leaning in close to take a whiff as she often does with his wallet, his shirts and his cologne, hoping to sense his presence. But she smells nothing — COVID-19 robbed her of her senses of smell and taste.

At lunch, the family walks to Rubin’s favorite restaurant and orders the “Bernie Reuben,” a sandwich named after him. Every day, Rubin would walk into Kelly’s Place to order a cheese omelet and go through the same comedic routine with a waitress.

“‘Carol, I have to stand here for 20 minutes? There’s 10 empty tables. How do you run a business like this?’” Bob Pepe says, imitating Bernie's voice. “And she’d go: ‘Will you shut up? You know where you’re sitting, go sit down!’”

Sitting next to her husband, Michelle Pepe bursts into laughter. Later, she wipes away tears.

“It was torture,” she says. “But a year later, here I am, and I can laugh at these stories.”

The next day, she awakens to kiss her father’s photo. She looks at the calendar and heaves a sigh of relief. The ritual year of mourning is over.

“My father would be so tortured if he thought about how tortured I was, and I want him to be happy and at peace,” she says. “And he’s only going to be that way if I’m that way here.”

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Associated Press religion coverage receives support from the Lilly Endowment through The Conversation U.S. The AP is solely responsible for this content.