In World War II, exactly 405,399 American GIs were killed. Another 670,846 were wounded—over a million casualties.

All of them had mothers and fathers. Many of them had wives or husbands, and children. Their loved ones also suffered.

My dad was one of those casualties. He was captured in the Battle of the Bulge, shipped to a prison camp in the dead of winter, and for six months my mom didn’t know if he was dead or alive.

But that generation coped. My dad made it home. My mom was a very resilient person. And after the war, they went on with their lives, including raising me. The whole generation summoned up resilience.

That generation had a sense of solidarity and shared sacrifice. My parents’ generation benefited from leadership that was competent, inspired, and that evoked the best in Americans.

The pandemic generation has Donald Trump.

And so in addition to all of the daily suffering, the dislocation, and private family heroism that the pandemic produces, this generation is denied the sense of solidarity and common purpose that makes a national crisis a little more bearable. The resilience of which Americans are so capable also suffers.

It is one more horrific cost of Trump. How can more people not notice?