Among the first people to die during those two cruel days was a nurse in the Bronx, who collapsed after a shower at home. Later that morning, a restaurant worker once known for his spectacular drag performances died alone at Elmhurst Hospital Center in Queens. That night, the virus took a father on Staten Island who had traded a banker’s salary for the luxury of time.

As the next day broke, New York City lost another father, a grocer in Queens who wanted, above all, for his children to go to college. Then came the death of a grandmother of six who had fled to Brooklyn during the first Persian Gulf war. Just before sundown, a Baptist church deacon known for dispensing straightforward advice succumbed in Brooklyn.

They all died during one of the city’s bleakest periods: April 6 and 7, the two deadliest days since the coronavirus outbreak began.

Such a bitter milestone came at an incongruous moment. The days were warm, windy and bright, ushering in spring’s first full moon. And yet ambulance sirens tore through the streets as about 1,550 confirmed or probable deaths were recorded in those two days alone.