I was familiar with ‘stat’ from television, but it was her
demeanor that took me by surprise, her dismay. I held onto Lewis’
hand, unsure what to think. His breathing was faint and yet
labored. Each breath was a struggle at life, a struggle to hold on. I
hadn’t realized. Each breath was weaker than the last.
hand. “Okay, I’ve got it,” she said nonchalantly.
“No,” the suction nurse corrected her quickly. “I need the
deep suction kit, the deep suction kit.”
Lewis’ breathing stuttered.
to say to him. Talk to him,” she goaded me.
I had no clue. I wasn’t prepared. “Lewis, Josey will be
okay,” I said loudly, aiming for his good ear. His face was a shade
don’t worry about Josey,” I repeated. His faced bulged, and his
tongue swelled out of his mouth, the semblance of a cough erupted
deep from his lungs and he relaxed back into bed, motionless, the
scarlet bleeding from his face.
*
The director sounds delighted when I pick up the phone.
It’s been two weeks since our last conversation. They found his
daughter. She’s already signed the paperwork, after assurances
she’ll be unable to attend the services. Did she have any children, I
ask? She did not.
something that will adequately express your love and concern for
your needs.
I’d like to let his kids know, and the grandkids, just in case
they change their minds. They should know about their father’s
funeral.
They’ve expressed a desire not to make contact, she says.
59