Some weeks are harder than others. Most of the time we drift along, dancing between the raindrops, eyes focused on that empty space in front of us. We never seem to realize how fragile our house of cards really is. We get up each morning and go about our routine. We get in our cars and drive to work or school or Wal-Mart. We kiss our spouse and children on the way out the door and have no doubt whether we’ll see them again that evening.
This week I’ve had a series of “bad news” calls. You know the kind. We don’t know they are bad news calls until we’ve answered and hear the voice on the other end. The tone is different, strange, broken. Even with one or two words of greeting, we know something is wrong. Our tone changes too, our heart pumps a little faster. Depending on who is calling you, your mind races through the gamut of possible tragedies that you are about to be told. We prepare for the worst.
Last Friday I was waiting for a call from Connie about Shelby’s audition for a music scholarship at Carson Newman College. When the call came, her voice was not what I expected, sadder than it would have been if Shelby had not done well in her audition. She was at her Dad’s house and he had fallen. We tend to forget that he is almost 90 years old because he not only appears much younger, but he is sharper and more full of life than most people half his age (that includes me). He lay on the floor for over an hour before being found and was pretty weak. Fortunately, no bones were broken and he appeared to be okay. Connie and the girls stayed for much of the evening, and her brother came over to spend the night, just in case.
He remained weak throughout the weekend but did not want to go to the Emergency Room. He was pretty sure he had exhausted himself trying to get up from his fall, and that made good sense. He wanted to be at home, and he wanted to rest. On Monday morning, he was feeling worse and had developed stomach cramps and a fever, so the family took him to the doctor. The doctor quickly realized that there was something more serious at work and sent him to the Emergency Room.
When I’m travelling, I usually talk to Connie at least twice a day. I’m sure sometimes I annoy her with questions about what’s going on and what they are doing. I’m not checking up on them or being nosy. I just hate being so separated from their lives. She and the girls are the reason I travel, and also the reason that travel is so hard. I need to hear her voice to keep me balanced. I need to hear about what they are doing so I can feel a part of Home.
It’s hard hearing her voice when she’s standing in a hospital. Her tone is hushed, her timbre on the edge of breaking into a cry. I can’t hug her from 500 miles away, and that’s what I want to do. I feel totally useless and that’s pretty accurate. Depending on what the doctor tells them, I can arrange to fly home, but it won’t be as quick as I want it to be. Someone has to fly here to take my place and schedules have to be coordinated. I start planning for a worst case scenario, but hope that particular call doesn’t come.
It’s determined that he has a kidney infection and septicemia (blood poisoning). His fever drops and then spikes again as he is given Tylenol and it wears off. After hours of exhausting tests, they decide to put him in ICU for observation overnight. Connie calls and updates me, her voice tired, worried. She, her sister Diana and her husband Ken will spend the night at the hospital. Our girls will be alone at home, which bothered me despite the fact that Shelby is almost nineteen and more mature than I am most of the time.
I called my parents to let them know what is going on. No matter what the news is, good or bad, after I’ve talked to Connie, the next thought in my head is to tell my parents. No one in this world will ever understand me, love me or give me a sense of comfort like those three people.
My brother David called to check on Connie’s Dad, and he also had bad news to share. The mother of our cousin’s wife had passed away suddenly on Monday. Her story was eerily similar to Connie’s Dad in that she had started feeling bad on Friday and continued to feel bad through the weekend, but refused to seek treatment. She finally went to the Emergency Room on Monday, and while there had the last of several heart attacks that she had apparently been having and ignoring all weekend.
More bad news came on Tuesday, when a co-worker and friend back in the office at Oak Ridge let us know that her father in Colorado was having complications during what had been considered to be a minor surgery. A little over an hour later the news came that he had died on the operating table. She was understandably devastated, and also frustrated that she could not be there instantly for her mother. I could relate to that feeling. You can’t get there fast enough.
I will never forget the call I received a few years back. I was attending a conference in Sanibel Island, Florida, which is paradise compared to my typical travel locations. Midway through an eight day trip, I was having dinner with some fellow travelers at Cheeseburger/Cheeseburger when my brother Wayne called to tell me that my Mother was in the hospital and that she was not doing well. Her blood pressure had plummeted and she was drifting in and out of consciousness. The doctors said that family should be notified, which is never a good thing. He said he would call me as soon as he knew more.
I was trapped. There were no flights out that night and it was at least an 18 hour drive to Kentucky from South Florida. It was a miserable feeling, and an interminable hour waiting for an update. When it finally came, the news was better. She had stabilized, and the next morning she was even stronger. Surgery was planned for later that week, and I was able to be there. I was greatly blessed in that situation, but it also made me mindful of how delicate our hold on those we love can be.
Connie has two sisters and two brothers, and all five of them have been at the hospital throughout the week, taking turns staying with their dad each night. Despite the seriousness of the situation, Connie said it was good to be together. It was a rare time to just spend time with each other without the need to be somewhere else. All the other priorities and schedules that seem so important during any other week or any other day were pushed aside. There was nowhere else more important to be than right there.
Connie’s Dad continued to be weak and have problems with fever through the day yesterday, but this morning when she called her tone had changed. She was more of herself, and I could visualize her beautiful smile just from the sound of her “Good Morning.” When she had arrived at the hospital today, her Dad was out of bed and together they walked down the hall. He told her and her siblings that he felt better than he had in weeks.
Dan Dunkel is an optimistic man. In the twenty four years I have known him, I can’t remember a negative word ever crossing his lips. He is a retired Baptist Minister who actually lives what he preached. When he gave up his own mobility to stay home and care for his invalid wife, he started an email ministry that now reaches over 500 people each day. His positive outlook and spirit has touched many lives and invoked many prayers on his behalf this week. Last night, as he lay in his hospital bed, he told his five children that the first email devotional he would write when he gets out would be about how he is a little disappointed that he didn’t get to go “home.“ He said God must have decided it wasn’t his time.
His family and friends are very happy with God’s decision. We still want to see him. We want to read more of his PTL’s and hear his prayer at family meals. We still want to get his advice, hear his stories, and watch a UT ballgame with him. We are amazingly selfish creatures.
We desperately cling to life when we are surrounded by death or the threat of death. Even if you have a strong faith in the hereafter, it’s difficult to let someone go. This week the sting of death hit people I care about, and someone even closer was passed over for a time yet to be determined. It was a reminder to me, as I waited on those phone calls of good, bad and worse news, that we should never waste a minute of this constantly diminishing lifespan. We all have our own measure of sand in our individual hourglass. There are no guarantees how many grains are left to fall.
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