These days, I often hear about The American People — a strangely inclusive term, especially when spoken by the feuding politicians claiming to represent them. Usually it comes up in regard to a partisan battle, and is accompanied by accusation and wrath. One comes to feel The American People are a single item that can be ordered in quantity from Amazon by both Democrats and Republicans. The American People are generic.

At the same time, at work, I hear about people who have died. They are infinitely, honorably individualized. Recently, I learned about a couple, Wilber and Doris. Their son described them in relation to each other — because, he explained, they weren’t really whole otherwise.

They had six children together. Two daughters were born with cystic fibrosis and died in their teens. A third daughter died of cancer. A son had psychiatric problems. Wilber and Doris grieved each sequential sorrow, then continued raising the family.

After Doris’s health began to fail, Wilber turned to taking care of her. When he needed respite, he popped in to visit his nearby sons for a cup of coffee. The other respite was a vegetable garden; war with woodchucks, whose boots had landed on his ground, was quite therapeutic. When Wilber began having trouble in the garden, his sons knew to worry.

The night Wilber died, he kept pointing to the ceiling. A storm rattled outside, but his finger was not following the sounds of rain. His son is convinced it was following his three daughters.

Two months after that, Doris died. Her formal diagnosis was advanced COPD; her son knew it was Broken Heart. “What more profound expression of love for a person can you express?’’ he said.

These are corrosive times: Political speech is hypocritical, political commitment is self-serving. In their quiet, understated, magnificent lives, for no political gain at all, Wilber and Doris devoted themselves to family and each other. It was personal. They weren’t really whole otherwise.

The human story continues, separately and independently of politics. As long as people want to tell it, and as long as we want to listen, it will inspire us.

Elissa Ely is a psychiatrist.