Peace Be With You, Too

I was at work as a surgical nurse in the operating room. This was my first job as a nurse, and I was overwhelmed. There is so much new information to learn and people to meet in a setting such as the O.R.

That day had been an unusually tough one as I was encountering a lot that I didn’t know and felt inadequate. The entire morning was a blur as we were dealing with a patient with traumatic injuries, and my feet didn’t forget to remind me of it.

During a quick break, I glanced at my phone and saw a text from my mom: “Please call me when you can.” My heart leapt into my throat. My mom knew I was at work and wouldn’t normally text me unless it was serious. I asked if everything was OK, and she said, “Can’t talk now. Papa having issues.” I knew that he had recently been diagnosed with coronavirus, so I was instantly stricken with worry.

I looked up from my phone, and without a second thought, told my co-worker that I was leaving. I changed my clothes as quickly as I could and ran to my car. I sped the whole way to my grandparents’ house and couldn’t help but think the worst. What was going on? What was I going to walk into?

As soon as I got there, I threw my car in park and quickly made my way up the long sidewalk and to their front door.

The energy in the room wasn’t what I expected. Papa was sitting on the couch with his heating pad on his back, and my grandma was sitting in the chair next to him. The conversation between them and my parents was lighthearted and almost cheerful. It appeared to be just a normal visit.

They greeted me and told me that his back is feeling better after sitting on the heating pad. I told him that he should take Tylenol instead of ibuprofen in case he had a bleed somewhere in his body.

We talked about whether or not he should go to urgent care or the ER, but we ultimately decided that he would go to his doctor’s appointment tomorrow instead. My mom told him she would go home and make dinner for them and bring it back within an hour or two.

Before they left, my mom and dad asked him to walk from the couch to the kitchen to prove that it was safe for them to leave him. While he was obviously in pain, he was able to walk there and back.

I told him and my grandma that I loved them, and I left.This was the last time that I saw Papa alive. Looking back, there are a lot of “what ifs” that haunt me, but ultimately, I’m so glad that I left work that day and got to spend a last few minutes together. While short, I will cherish that time for the rest of my life.

It was 11:00 PM on December 22, 2021. I was plugging my phone into the charger as I was getting into bed. I was more tired than usual; my pillow was calling my name. I had gotten my coronavirus booster and was starting to feel the effects of it.

Right as I plugged in my phone, the screen lit up with a text from my mom. I didn’t think much of it and clicked on it. “You awake?”

I, not wanting to be disturbed, said that I was awake but was going to bed. I was hoping that she just had question that could be answered in a few words or less. “Papa is being taken by ambulance now to Iowa Methodist-had severe back pain. We are at the condo and ambulance is assessing and will be taking him soon.”

A jolt of energy ran through me. I immediately called her and could hardly hear her over the chaos in the background. She told me that his blood pressure was so low that the paramedics couldn’t get a reading, and I felt the dread pull my heart deep into my stomach.

I asked if we should meet them at the hospital, and she told me that she didn’t know whether or not I would be able to see him because of the hospital’s current coronavirus visiting policy, and I decided that I would sleep for a while and then reassess in the morning.

I laid down next to Hunter and cried in fear of what’s to come. I told him that I was worried that there might be a bleed somewhere in my Papa’s body, and he tried to convince me the doctors would take care of him and everything would be OK. I, too tired to argue, let myself believe him.

Hunter woke me up early the next morning and said that he had gotten a text from my mom. He gently told me that they had found a bleed from Papa’s mesenteric artery, and he had decided not to have surgery. I instantly felt sick to my stomach. Papa was the one of the healthiest people I knew. He was still, even at 85, so full of life and energy. I couldn’t believe it.

I looked at my phone to see what time it was and saw a text from my mom. “We have been down with papa and mema and dad in the ER since 2:30am. We are all coming home to sleep for a bit. You may be able to get into the ER and let them know you are family and they should let you go sit with him. He is mostly asleep now. Go if you can so he is not alone please.”

I rushed to get ready, trying to push what was to come out of my mind. We stopped by Smokey Row on the way to the hospital, but I wasn’t hungry.

Everything became so real as we got into the ER. Monitors were alarming and people were racing around, but I hardly paid any attention to that. I zeroed in on a staff member and asked them where Papa was. They led Hunter and I to his room.

His curtain was shut, and the sliding door was slightly ajar. I couldn’t bring myself to open it. Frankly, I was scared. I didn’t know what I was going to see, and I was terrified to see him in that condition. I tried to pull myself together to go in, but I couldn’t do it. I began crying in the hallway. Normally, I would’ve been mortified to cry like that in public, but it was as if the world around me didn’t exist. I was in my own little bubble of sorrow, and nothing else mattered. A nurse showed us a room where we could have some privacy.

I sat on the couch with my blanket on my lap. The lighting was dimmed and the national news was background noise. Hunter and I sat in that room for a while. I was trying to prepare myself for the rest of that day. I finally built up the courage to walk down the hall and into Papa’s room.

He was lying on his back with his head slightly elevated. His eyes were closed, but he didn’t seem to be in pain. The monitors in his room were turned off. The first thing I noticed was his breathing was very loud and then how pale he looked. He looked sick.

I sat down in a chair next to his bed and just existed for a while. I couldn’t bring myself to start to talk. I was stunned into silence. It felt like a bad dream.

Finally, I grabbed his hand and started to speak. I was surprised how much I had to say; words flowed from me like a dam that had just been released. I told him how much I loved him and was going to miss him. I talked about every single memory of us that I could think of. I talked about going to the pond in their backyard and looking for frogs. I talked about Summer Fest and our vacations together and him moving to Des Moines. I talked about how I was really sad that he was not going to be at my wedding physically, but I also knew that he would be watching from above. I talked until I had nothing left to say. I sat with him for a long time after that, praising God that I was given that time with him; a chance to say goodbye.

I left to get lunch from the hospital’s cafeteria once my dad and grandma arrived. I was feeling nauseous and feverish from the booster, but I was trying to push through it and eat a little bit. I ate a couple of chicken strips, bought some ibuprofen, and went back to the family waiting room.

Once in the waiting room, I struggled to pop the top off of the ibuprofen bottle. The bottle was sealed shut and wasn’t interested in cutting me a break. I picked up my phone to text Hunter to ask if he would come open the bottle for me when I got a text from my dad, “If you get this Papa is close to passing”

I tossed the bottle onto the table and grabbed my blanket, raced down the hallway, and thew open the curtain. My dad and grandma were on either side of him. His loud breathing had stopped, and the room felt different. I grabbed his hand, and it wasn’t as warm as before. I put my blanket on top of him. We all cried together.

After a while, we began to tell stories about Papa. My dad told us that the night before, when Papa learned of what was going on, he made a few requests. He first made them promise to take care of Mema and each other. He then told my dad to return his hearing aids because he had them less than a year and throw a party with the money. He then told my sister that he loved her and was proud of her. Finally, he told them, “Peace be with you.” This is not something we had ever heard him say, but it was exactly what they needed to hear. My dad said that he wasn’t afraid because he knew where he was going.

Today is Papa’s 86th birthday. Normally, we would’ve all gathered in my parents’ dining room and ate his favorite foods and chatted. We would’ve turned out the lights and lit candles and sang “Happy Birthday” in goofy voices. We would’ve watched him open presents.

This year, we decided to celebrate his day with some of his favorites: my mom’s homemade zuppa and brownies. He loved my mom’s cooking and never failed to tell her so. We will tell stories about Papa and enjoy the company of those still able to gather.

Today is a day of reflection and gratitude. While I am sad that he’s unable to celebrate with us, I am so grateful for the 24 years that I got to know him and be loved by him. He was a man of many inventions, stories, and jokes. He was always around to help with a project and never missed a birthday party. He was one-of-a-kind.

Peace be with you, too, Papa.