When the pandemic began, my parents were understandably anxious. They minimized their social interactions and refrained from attending all but the most significant family gatherings. However, as time went on, life needed to move forward. They started grocery shopping and attended a few of their grandchildren’s little league games, always donning masks.
Then, a member of their church small group entered hospice care for a non-COVID related illness. The close-knit group, which had met monthly for 35 years, felt compelled to see their friend. With case numbers and hospitalizations declining, and knowing no one who had succumbed to the virus, they decided to host a dinner party. It felt like a celebration in their new home, which they had recently downsized into after nearly 40 years in their previous residence. This was to be their first time entertaining in their new space.
My brother, a lawyer, voiced concerns about the gathering, but there’s a limit to how much one can express worry without coming off as overly anxious. I didn’t see any issue with my parents hosting their friends, nor did my youngest brother.
The group gathered for dinner and Bible study, just like they had for years before the pandemic disrupted their routine. It’s tough to wear masks while eating, and after six months apart, the reunion felt nostalgic. With an old friend attending who had been battling illness, the atmosphere was warm and relaxed. They had not witnessed the virus’s impact on their circle, and any instances they were aware of resembled mild flu cases. Comfortably together, they embraced, shook hands, and removed their masks.
But it wasn’t safe. One guest unknowingly carried the virus, working at the church and feeling perfectly healthy at the time. The next day, this individual developed symptoms and tested positive for COVID-19. I received a call from my father while dining out with my family. He informed me of their potential exposure. I wasn’t overly concerned; while my dad had some underlying health issues, I believed he would be fine.
The following day, he tested positive. Initially, my mother was negative, but soon she began losing her sense of taste and smell. After another test, both confirmed they had contracted the virus. I promptly purchased a pulse oximeter, and we consulted their family physician, along with other doctor friends, given Dad’s extensive experience in accounting for medical professionals.
On the third day after his diagnosis, Dad had a slight cough and a minor fever, while Mom continued to struggle with her senses. He assured me, “If it stays like this, I’ll be okay.” Unfortunately, it didn’t remain stable. Within a week of being exposed, he had to call for an ambulance due to dangerously low oxygen levels. I had just left his house after helping with yard work when I returned to see him being loaded into the ambulance. That would be the last time I saw him awake.
We thought he’d return home soon after receiving oxygen, but the hospital was overwhelmed, and it took nearly two days to secure a bed outside the ER. Initially, we could speak with him while he waited, but as time passed, it became increasingly difficult. Chest X-rays revealed pneumonia from the virus, and his condition was deteriorating. After a week in the hospital, despite the doctors’ efforts, he showed no signs of improvement. They tried every breathing device available and flooded him with oxygen, but his lungs were severely damaged. Eventually, he was moved to the ICU, where speaking became nearly impossible for him.
We were informed that they were considering putting him on a ventilator, but the chances of survival were slim. We gathered for a conference call to say our goodbyes, which was excruciating. My mother was allowed a brief visit, and for a day, he showed some improvement. He even managed to text the grandkids, who expressed their love and hopes for his recovery. However, the following day, I received a call from the hospital about the urgent need to intubate him. I was shocked; he had seemed better just hours earlier.
In a frantic rush, I gathered my mother and brothers for a call with Dad. He couldn’t respond verbally, but we knew he was listening. We urged him to fight. When we arrived at the hospital, we found him in a state of distress, surrounded by frantic medical staff. As they attempted to intubate him, both of his lungs collapsed. Although they stabilized him with chest tubes, we were left helpless, waiting for any sign of improvement.
Later that night, while out to dinner with my mom, I received the devastating news that Dad’s blood pressure had dropped to critical levels. Racing back to the hospital with my mother, we encountered my brother, who delivered the heart-wrenching news: Dad had passed away.
As you prepare for your Thanksgiving this year, I urge you to reflect on this story. I wouldn’t presume to dictate how you should celebrate with your family, but this year, my mother will be the only family member joining me. A dinner party took my father’s life.
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- How to safely host gatherings during COVID-19
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In summary, the pandemic has profoundly affected many families, sometimes with devastating consequences. A seemingly harmless dinner party led to the tragic loss of a loved one. It’s essential to prioritize safety over tradition, especially during uncertain times.