My oldest brother, Jim, died this past July 30. He was seventy-six years old. He didn’t die from Covid-19 but nevertheless he died alone.
He was a patient in a skilled nursing facility. His death was sudden and unexpected. The only solace I can find in it, is that he went peacefully and painlessly. He didn’t endure the agony of a long painful debilitating decline but I wish that my other brother, Chuck, and I had been able to see him, be with at the end and able to say goodbye.
We hadn’t been able to visit him since March 13 when the ban on visits to nursing facilities and nursing homes went into effect.
After that, the high point of his day was a deli sandwich that one of the family or friends would drop off at the facility. In a matter of weeks, all food parcels were forbidden and the only pleasure that he had was prohibited.
I didn’t begrudge the prohibitions on visiting and food packages, we were in the worst and most dangerous pandemic in my lifetime and although I’m not a Cuomo fan, I thought he handled the crisis as best as anyone could.
If that wasn’t bad enough, the telephone provider that we arranged, instead of sending us the bills, began calling him at the facility and demanding payment. Since he had no way of making the payment, he would call me and tell me the amount they wanted. I would mail a check to the provider with the telephone number in the memo portion of the check. The check would be cashed but his account was not getting credited and they claimed that they had no record of his payment. Eventually, they cut off his ability to make outside telephone calls which was his only lifeline to family and the outside world. Chuck proclaimed it the cruelest situation he could imagine.
I spent an entire day on the phone with the provider trying to straighten this mess out. They kept insisting that they had to know the account number and I explained that since we had never received a bill that no one knew the account number Even though I provided them with the telephone number and the dates and check numbers of the payments they had received, they maintained there was nothing they could do to ameliorate the situation. Finally, completely exasperated, I made a formal complaint to the New York State Public Service Commission. That got the attention of the executive staff of the provider in New York and the situation was resolved by the end of the week and his outgoing service was restored.
As the weeks turned into months and his isolation continued, I began to order the latest books concerning politics and public figures so that he could pass the time feeding his addiction to all things political. Apparently, because the books were coming in the mail, there was no problem with his receiving them. Along with the unfolding presidential election, it gave us something current to discuss in our telephone calls. Chuck would spend an hour each day reminiscing with him about past events, experiences and humorous memories they shared.
On July 30, he was gone in an instant. I can only take solace in the fact that he went peacefully and painlessly. Nevertheless, he was gone without either one of us being able to offer him support, comfort or getting to say goodbye.
While the Irish are renowned for our wakes, calling hours in the middle of this pandemic were out of the question. We had a funeral service in which social distancing and masks were required and a brief grave-side service with similar precautions. A celebration of his life will have to come later.
At this writing we have over six million Covid-19 cases and in excess of one-hundred eight-five thousand deaths. We are witnessing a failure of leadership at the national and state levels of catastrophic proportions. While some states like New York have flattened the curve, others such as Florida, Georgia, Texas and Arizona have thrown caution to the winds and are seeing their death tolls rise. At this rate, scientific experts project that over three-hundred thousand of our fellow citizens will die by December 1st. This estimate doesn’t include people like my brother who, because they are quarantined, will die alone.
The English clergyman and poet, John Donne, proclaimed that there is a certain democracy in death; “Death comes equally to us all and makes us all equal when it comes.”
That may be true but I pray it doesn’t come to those who are alone.