Hyacinth has been my friend since she became my mother's caregiver in 2003, after mom had her first stroke. Originally from Jamaica, Hyacinth has a lilting island accent and she would yell, "Marion!" to get my mother's attention to get her to eat, do her physical therapy exercises, walk, and just to keep her engaged. Hyacinth tended my mom and did some light cleaning of of my folk's small condo in Fort Lauderdale. And she played poker with my dad. They both cheated.
Once Dan played poker with the two of them when we were down there visiting. Hyacinth winked at Dan and gave him a sly grin. And Dan knew she was on to my dad's tricks. When my mom finally passed away, after a second stroke in 2005, Hyacinth stayed on to care for my dad. Unlike my mother, he wasn't sick then. Mostly, she just came cleaned the house, played cards with him for a few hours, went shopping with him, and kept him company. And they played practical jokes on each other.
Hyacinth had a key to get into his apartment. Once, she came up and found him lying on the floor in the early morning sunlight. With her own heart racing, she leaned over him to see if he had a pulse. His eyes flew open and he said, "Boo."
Between laughs she threatened, "I am going to get you, old man." And she did too.
I think she kept him alive five years longer than he would have lasted by keeping friendship, pranks, and laughter in his house. But finally, he succumbed to the ravages of a lifetime of smoking and a history emphysema, and lung cancer.
I went down to Fort Lauderdale to be with him when he went into hospice care. When he was taken to the hospital to the special hospice wing, I called family who lived locally so they could say their good-byes. At first the doctor and nurses thought he'd rally and be able to go home for a few weeks, maybe even a few months. But surrounded by family, he deteriorated rapidly. I think he was ready. Indeed, when I first arrived at his hospice room, he had out his favorite picture of my mom from when they were newlyweds. He was staring at it wistfully. I told him, "I'm going to miss you a lot, but I will be okay. It's okay to go to mommy."
A day later. he slipped into a coma. I leaned over at one point, and whispered to him, "I know I said I was okay and you could go to mommy, but damned, I didn't mean this fast."
I heard his labored breathing, the only sound in his room. Then, his death rattle started - yes, it's a real thing. I'd always read or heard about it in novels but now I heard it. After watching his bed and listening to his struggle to breath for most of that day, singing him songs, and praying for him, Dan and I left his bedside to get a quick dinner and a few hours sleep. At about ten that night, a hospice nurse called to tell us that if we wanted to say our truly last good-bye to my dad, we should get back to the hospital right now.
We flew out the door. En route, I called Hyacinth on my cell phone. She would've been so hurt if I hadn't told her. We pulled up at the hospital at the exact moment she and her husband, Chamberlain, did and walked into my dad's room together. They stayed with Dan and me until my father's final breath. Suddenly, the room, which had been so noisy with death rattle, was silent. Utterly, eerily silent. I called the hospice nurse, Nicole, one of my dad's favorites.
She looked at him sadly and said, "Good-bye, Irving, this world isn't for you anymore."
Hyacinth and I still keep in touch. We are joined together by shared experiences, both the laughter and the tears. She still works as a home healthcare aid, still comforting the sick and elderly and their families, still making last days more comfortable. And Hyacinth, going into all those old people's homes in Fort Lauderdale is now elderly herself. She lost Chamberlain a few years ago. And now she works in one of Florida's hot spots.
After speaking to Hyacinth, I called my cousin Alan. I hadn't spoken to him or his wife Ronda in months. Alan and Ronda live in Bergen County, New Jersey. It's a hot spot too. Bergen is a bedroom community that feeds New York City's offices its professional and business people. It's a close hop by car or public transportation into the city. Bergen has been among the most hard hit spots in the tri-state area around New York City. Ronda told me they have three friends who died of the virus. They know countless more in just their little town who have caught it. So far, they've remained safe.
Compared to my modest safety routines, they take draconian steps to keep the virus at bay. They have a large home with a big yard and a connecting garage. When Alan goes out to take his walk, he puts on his outdoor clothes. When he returns, he takes them off, goes immediately into a shower and then changes to indoor clothes. Ronda does not go out. She used to go to a gym; now she works out in their den. When they bring groceries in, they leave packages in the garage for three days first. If it's perishables, they remove and discard the outer wrappings and transfer food into their own containers before bringing it into the house for the fridge or freezer. They work hard to keep everything threatening out of their home.
I let the threat in and neutralize it to the best of my ability. Without a garage I don't have any other choice. When I first started wiping down groceries, Dan would give me dubious looks. But lately, he's been helping me disinfect our groceries. We've got a good assembly line going, where he hands me stuff right from the bags, I wipe them down and put them on a clean counter and then we wash our hands and put it all away. But neither of us changes clothes or showers when we go out. I thought he'd think they were excessive when I told him what Ronda and Alan do. So it surprised me when he said, "Well yeah, look at where they live. Of course they have to do all that. We would too"
Dan is one of the last people to panic or overreact. In fact, I've always secretly thought he was the kind of optimist who gets everybody else into trouble with his sunny confidence that everything will be okay. He's the guy whose default is "calm down; it's going to be okay." So, when he says to be cautious, it would behoove you to take it seriously and be cautious indeed.
Then, I spoke to my cousin Linda, who lives in an even hotter hot spot. She's in lower Manhattan. During the aftermath of 9/11, her neighborhood had a toxic fog from the airplanes exploding into the towers that lingered in the air for months. She smelled chemicals, soot, and death from the Twin Towers as the miasma floated from the Wall Street to Houston and Grand Streets.
I worry most about Linda. She lives in a high rise building on the 13th floor. She takes elevators and walks through narrow hallways before she can get anyplace. Linda shops - she has to to get groceries. Delivery services are spotty and the waits too long. In a small Manhattan apartment, you really can't stock up or store more than a week's worth of supplies. And she takes walks for her sanity. She does as much social distancing as possible in the situation, avoiding the most crowded times in her supermarket, sticking to empty streets, keeping a wide berth from others, and not entering an elevator with other people when at all possible. And lately she wears a homemade mask.
So, four of the people I care most about all live in hot spots and harm's way. So do I. Northern Virginia, part of the dense Washington DC Metro area, is supposed to be an emerging hot spot, with Fairfax County"s numbers of new cases and deaths climbing. But we get glimmers of hope too. Our hospitals have not yet been overwhelmed and we are not expecting a shortage of ventilators and other crucial supplies, though people are sewing or donating masks, and they are scrambling for other protective equipment, as every other region is.
Despite a slow start and a reluctance to shut down restaurants, bars, and other nonessential businesses, our governor seems to have done the right thing, after all, and is expressing a determination not to open up again too soon and undo the hard work and sacrifice we've already made.
Of course, our economy is in shambles. Same as everywhere. We have the same debates about when it will be safe to open back up. And the same fears. Wait too long and it is unsustainable for business and the economy. Be too impatient and the death rate goes up. Behind every number, every statistic in that mortality rate is a flesh and blood person with loved ones they leave behind to mourn.
Every number is a Hyacinth, Ronda, Allen, Linda, Dan, and you and me. And our parents, children. We are all in harm's way. All in hot spots. And we all long for normality.
Be safe, wash your hands, and stay inside!
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