Friday, February 16, 2007

Valentine’s Night

It’s been a long Valentine’s Day evening in the hospital.  And it all started before I even came to work, an argument with my wife.  Something I had forgotten about again … the kids’ teacher conferences?  A ballet lesson?  I don’t remember.  I’m tired, and just waiting for the next chaplain to relieve me at midnight.  But then my pager beeps one more time.

I call the number, a nurse on the medical floor.  An 82-year old patient named Stanley had just died.  A nephew was bringing the wife in from a nursing home.

When the elevator bings, an elderly woman emerges in a wheelchair, pushed by her nephew.  She’s wrapped in a man’s overcoat.  I bend down and introduce myself but the woman, whose name is Evelyn, doesn’t look up.  I follow them into the patient’s room, where a darkened heart monitor hangs above the bed.  The nurse quietly explains that Stanley had too much fluid in his lungs and “his heart just gave out.”

Evelyn listens, then asks, “How did he get here?” The nurse says that he came in by ambulance from the nursing home. Where Evelyn also lives.  Evelyn frowns.  “That’s expensive.  Couldn’t he drive here?” The nurse repeats that Stanley hadn’t been breathing very well.  “I’ll say,” says Evelyn.  “Just look at him.”

Evelyn stares at the body a minute, then says, “You know, he looks very familiar.” The nephew tells her that it’s Stanley.  Her husband.  “Oh,” she says, “I see.” Evelyn notices the ring on her hand.  “How long were we married?” The nephew says 56 years.

Evelyn drums her fingers on her purse, then asks, “When did this happen?” I answer that he died about 11:20.  Evelyn jerks her head around.  “Who are you?” I tell her I’m the chaplain.  “Chaplain?” she says.  “Well, I didn’t do anything wrong.” She points at me.  “You better call somebody,” she says.  “Ma’am?” “Well, he doesn’t look very good, does he?”

The nephew places his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder and softly says that Stanley is gone.  With Jesus.  Evelyn looks around at our faces.  “He’s dead?” We all nod.  “Well,” she says.  “If that doesn’t take the cake.” Evelyn sits awhile, then shakes her head.  “I don’t remember this,” she says.  “I must be losing my mind.”

Evelyn turns back to the bed.  “So this is my husband,” she says. “What is his name?” The nephew tells her again: Stanley.  “Stanley,” she says.  “That’s a nice name.”

Then Evelyn leans forward.  She reaches a wavering hand out toward Stanley and pats him on the elbow.  “You look like a good man,” she says.  Her hand remains on Stanley’s elbow.  The wall clock ticks away for a long time.

Then Evelyn says softly to Stanley, “Goodbye, my husband.” She sits back in her wheelchair, turns it around, and wheels herself out of the room.

I get home later than usual, and crawl into bed.  It’s dark.  My wife looks asleep, but then she mumbles, “You’re home late.” “Yeah,” I say.

And she gets a hug.  Even though … we won’t remember it.

Broadcast by Jeff Nixa on February 16, 2007
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