Dad died Sunday morning, October 11.
I was not there. My sisters were not there.
We could not be there. COVID-19 did not allow it.
On Wednesday, October 7, dad tested positive for COVID-19. Yes, he was already dying. That’s why he was in Hospice. But COVID accelerated his death…and isolated his dying.
Of all the pains of this pandemic – and there are many – dying alone has to be one of the most intense. That dad was alone when he died haunts me.
Oh, I know the Bible verses that assure us that “we are never alone,” but you get the point, don’t you? I know without a doubt that God was there.
But we weren’t.
I also know that the kind, competent, considerate nurse was at dad’s bedside minutes before he died, but she had to step out. When she stepped out, dad slipped away. I don’t blame the nurse. Not one little bit. Medical staff across the country have been heroic as they have served on the front line. They are angels of mercy holding the hands of the dying and spiritually placing those hands into the hands of other angels. But they do not replace loved ones whom the dying need to be with, speak with, be with, one last time.
And the loved ones need to be there one last time.
I don’t understand those who deny the severity and impact of the virus. I get a little mad about it. Today, I just feel sad about it.
Where is the compassion toward and empathy for the dying and for the displaced living? Are people unable or just unwilling to feel it?
Our heath care workers get it. They have it. Compassion and empathy.
Thank you health care workers for not just caring for the body, but for the soul.