Just before Easter weekend, we said goodbye to my mother-in-law, slipping away from us, alone, in a hospital bed in Midland, MI. A nurse, just off her shift, provided the phone that made those tearful goodbyes possible.
Irene was not a victim of COVID-19, but certainly a casualty of the rules necessary to keep us safe. At roughly the same time Michigan was locked down because of the coronavirus, Irene fell and shattered her hip. Ninety-one years of age, she faced an uphill recovery in a rehab hospital, a journey made more difficult without the presence of family and friends.
Before the rapid decline that necessitated her admittance into the ER, a caregiver took her own tablet to Irene’s bedside so she could Skype with her children. For over a week, the family laughed and shared stories together as if we were around her kitchen table.
I suspect more of us will have similar stories before a vaccine is developed to keep us safe, before we will be able to hold the hand of a loved one suffering in a
hospital, rehab, or nursing home bed. In our absence, we will depend on physicians, nurses, and aides to provide bedside emotional support as well as physical care; especially the aides—the caregivers who bathe, dress, change, and respond to the call buttons of the sick, the elderly, the dying.
Irene passed early Easter morning. And while prayers flow easily from my heart these days, at the top of the list is a prayer for those who made it possible for Irene to know she was not alone.
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