I'm flying to Florida tomorrow. I'm nervous about flying, but I'm vaccinated.

My sister graduates from grad school on Sunday. This week, she passed her licensure exam — one step closer to starting her career as a mental health counselor.
But unfortunately, this happy occasion (as well as a gender reveal originally planned for Saturday) is overshadowed by the COVID-19 pandemic.

My aunt was rushed back to the hospital in Orlando today. She is still battling bacterial pneumonia along with COVID-19.
My uncle remains in the ICU on a ventilator. He was transferred to a different hospital this week for more specialized, critical care. He's been on a ventilator for ten days now.
What should be a happy time — watching their niece/goddaughter walk across the commencement stage for the third time, finding out the sex of their second grandchild — is instead a scary one.

Instead, they are fighting for their lives.
My aunt and uncle were integral in my raising. Part of my daily life, they parented me as much my own parents did. My aunt is my mother's best friend and my heartbreaks for them both.

The pandemic isn't over, y'all.
"Vaccination rates in Alabama, Louisiana, Mississippi and Tennessee are 36% below the national average in approximately 200 counties where Trump won the 2020 election by 25 percentage points or more," @BrettKelman and @VincentDGabriel right.
More than a year into this pandemic, situations like my aunt and uncle's could be avoided. I hate saying this, but I know it to be true.

Neither of them were vaccinated.

They ate out at restaurants, casually waved off masks and traveled in the weeks before they tested positive.
Why some Americans, especially conservatives, refuse to get the vaccine is officially unknown.

But rampant misinformation is a contributing factor.
I'm not sharing my aunt and uncle's story — my family's story — to promote this project or to make a political statement.

But inherently, unfortunately, this vaccine is political.
And it shouldn't be.
Despite the ten people I love the most in the world living within 15 miles of each other in purple, Central Florida counties — in my own family, who is vaccinated and who isn't tracks along political lines. Along levels of education and trust in science.
I don't know how we reach those who are scared or those who are doubtful. I don't know how long the vaccine will protect us. And I know it's scary.
But I also know that my cousin got his first COVID-19 shot this week. To protect himself and his pregnant wife. To protect his 16-month old son, who is too young to be vaccinated.

I wish it didn't take what my aunt and uncle are going through to convince him.
As lawmakers and local government officials lift restrictions and mask mandates, as society tries to proclaim 'We're open for business! Life is back to normal,' please think carefully about your choices.

Do what you can to protect yourself, your family and your neighbors.
Get vaccinated.

And if you're the praying type, please pray for my aunt and uncle and the families of the millions of Americans who have faced this virus and are still fighting.
(And, if you're feeling especially loving after I asked you to get vaxxed and to pray, consider subscribing to The @Tennessean. Our journalists are members of your community, facing the same struggles as you and we need your support ➡️ https://cm.tennessean.com/specialoffer ).
Last tweet I promise: Enjoy this photo (circa late nineties). My aunt & uncle are in the back (you can't tell that she is pregnant with her second son).

The little one on the front left is my sister, graduating with her master's degree this weekend. Yours truly is on the right.
You can follow @memangrum.
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