Day 30 of coronavirus shutdown in Alabama – a month since Gov. Kay Ivey warned the virus is “very real” as she forced non-essential businesses to close.

Almost 6,000 people have been afflicted by the virus in the state, that we know of, and two more hotspots popped up in east Alabama in recent days. Across the country 50,000 Americans have died. More than we lost in Vietnam. Hundreds of thousands of Alabamians have lost jobs or face threats to their businesses. More than 300,000 since February – a number that would amount to 15 percent of the entire labor force – have filed for unemployment.

One month in, and a conflicted Alabama grapples with its isolation, pondering the value of money, and lives, and health. Thirty days in, and we descend into madness.

Oh wait, that’s just me. Mostly me.

But the concern is so real, from doctors who describe heartbreaking video calls with patients, like one in which a woman told in sad detail how she called an ambulance for her husband, but because of coronavirus precautions was not able to go with him. He got into the ambulance, and she never saw him again.

People die without their loved ones, or lose their loved ones with farewells unspoken. And the toll is real.

Others put off medical care – personally or by mandate – because they fear infection worse than their current condition.

Jennifer Freeman of Homewood took her mom to an ER, where she had a heart procedure. She probably needed more rehab, but left, worried about contagion.

“My family was too afraid for her to stay and no one could visit her,” Freeman said. “It was very scary. She’s home now and we are relieved.”

A few Alabamians have marched to demand a return to work, a return to normalcy even if nothing is close to normal. The sentiment is understandable, especially from those struggling to keep a business alive, especially for those living on a shoestring, counting on jobs for healthcare, if they are lucky, and on healthcare to keep them well enough to work.

But we are torn, individually and collectively, by our empathy, and by our circumstance.

People like Jessica Buckner would love to go back to work, but it’s just not possible. Her right lung was removed at the age of 2, and she suffers from asthma on top of that, so on the best days breathing is a chore. She has long worked in pharmacies, but self-quarantined after coming into contact with a customer who had a likely case of the virus.

She misses her job and her work and she worries, like so many of us, over things left undone and up in the air. She frets for her mom, who insists on getting her own groceries, and she beats herself up because “I should have visited her before all of this hit.”

In isolation it is easy to worry. But she does not dwell too long. She wants to be productive and helpful, so she joined a group – Birmingham Face Masks – making cloth masks for those who need them.

But she is a reminder that a speedy return to work is not a return to normalcy at all. She – like so many others – is a reminder that scoffing at social distancing isn’t a display of individual rights. It is a callous clear and present danger to those with existing health issues or compromised immune systems.

We try to balance, to understand. But it is hard. Those elected to lead us flip and turn so often it is hard to follow. Lt. Gov. Will Ainsworth, once a voice of caution about the virus, has begun to push for reopening the economy, while Gov. Ivey, once reluctant about shuttering the state, has resisted the push to reopen without more time and testing.

Of course many are angry, and worried, about loved ones or their own health, about jobs, and careers, and kids, and futures.

Hannelore Melville put her passion and expertise into growing a small business as a personal chef, but worries about what comes next.

“We are surviving at home, but I'm increasingly worried about whether or not I'll have a small business left after this,” she said. “It's just not safe for me to do what I do.”

She fears clients will come to see her as dispensable during the pause, or that their own economic uncertainty will give them little choice.

But being a business owner is only half the worry when you are also a parent. She worries about her children who are to start college this fall, and if it will even happen. She mourns what her children will miss.

“I feel we are in suspended animation,” she said, “making plans and staying busy to fill up the day.”

Many feel it. And though some take to the streets to shout their confident positions from placards and pickup trucks, many more simply try to survive and adapt, to stay out of the darkest parts of their heads, but to take time for some introspection and empathy.

“I've been sad for my granddaughter missing out on 5th grade,” Jill Bates of Birmingham wrote to me in response to a question. “I've worried about people I care about who could be vulnerable. I've spent less money this month and more time alone with my thoughts. It has hit home that we need the earth, but it does not need us.”

I asked on social media for people to describe their feelings. The responses, for the most part, were inspiring, and beautiful. They were sad and hopeful at the same time, longing both for return to life, and change in hearts.

I leave you with one, from Wendy Price:

“The world keeps on turning but it's never gonna be the same and maybe that's good. Maybe that's the best news out of all of this suffering and uncertainty. As it was, we were in a rut, on a treadmill walking, running, at times crawling along, on and on without looking up. I'm sorry for the people who are hungry, living in a violent home, losing a business or worse - a loved one. I've realized the brevity of life more during the last month than any other time in my 55+ years …

“I'm not hungry, so I count myself lucky.

“I'm not without someone to talk to, so I count myself blessed.”

Thirty days in. Compassionate, concerned, thoughtful, fearful. Changed.

John Archibald, a Pulitzer Prize winner, is a columnist for AL.com. His column appears in The Birmingham News, the Huntsville Times, the Mobile Register, Birmingham Magazine and AL.com. Write him at jarchibald@al.com.