faces of covid

“do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god?”

“i do.”

these, then, are the faces of covid. at least on this day and in this place.

there are four people in the room when the end begins, and all four are wearing masks. in a matter of minutes three souls remain, only two of which still have something covering their faces.

at the end, the patient lying in the intensive care unit bed is dead because a doctor is unable to find a pulse. after having an oxygen mask removed from his face just a few minutes earlier, and after being given comfort medications to make the transition more tolerable, the man takes his last breaths here on earth.

these are facts, not a political statement and certainly not meant to be judgmental. they are merely things that really happened on this day and in this place.

the chaplain and icu nurse are still masked when it ends, for even though the patient is no longer infectious, hospital policy requires everyone—staff and visitors—to mask up. meanwhile, the lone family member in the room—the only visitor the patient had during his long stay in the rural missouri icu—is wearing the hospital-provided mask on her chin. since it is no longer covering her nose and mouth, it is of no value.

“you and i both know i don’t need this,” she says with a knowing smile.

the chaplain hears what the woman says, but does not reply.

“god will take care of me,” she says.

ironically, just a moment earlier her family member died as the result of complications caused by the ailment she is denying and mocking. alas, god did not protect him.

and so the beginning of the end ends predictably.

the family member leaves the room hurriedly, all the while praising jesus for having the power over life, death and covid.

the chaplain walks with her to the elevator. along the way the woman tells him all the places she has to go and all the people she needs to see.

the chaplain hears what the woman says, but does not reply.

after the elevator doors close, the chaplain finds a quiet place to process what he has just seen and heard. the icu nurse does the same. each mourns privately over the death of yet another covid patient.

the last two years have taken a toll and their cups runneth over.

these, then, are the faces of covid, four of them in all.

one is no longer breathing, his mouth wide open with a crusty, lifeless tongue resting inside.

another leaves the hospital with a surgical mask perching on her chin, praising jesus and eager to get on with the day.

the other two remain in the icu reflecting on what they have just witnessed. worst of all, they dread the fact that history will no doubt repeat itself. after all, the last two years have consistently produced death followed by more death.

“do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you god?”

“i do.”

these, then, are the faces of covid. at least on this day and in this place.