The Phone Call

 

It was 11:45pm.

Finally, the COVID cough was seeming to clear up.

I was jolted awake by the ringing of the house phone. For a moment, I thought, “I want this to be a sales call. Please don’t be what I think it is…”

The caller ID on the receiver read, “BAE Systems”. The ICU unit in Amarillo, Texas. I recognized it and just for clarification showed it to my wife, Heather. “That’s the hospital. Answer it.” I intuitively knew it was. This call was no cold call. I just wanted the go-ahead from her while I was still in a dim haze. My thumb started to tremble slightly as I touched the Answer button.

“Hello?”

“Is this Brian?

“Yes, it is.”

The voice on the other end introduced herself as a nurse in the Intensive Care Unit in Amarillo, Texas. They had tried to reach my mother, but she had not answered. She went on to explain what I feared. My father was taking a turn for the worse.

COVID-19 had attacked his lungs, and he was not getting enough oxygen. The only option now for him to possibly recover was to put him on a ventilator. If you are not familiar with survivability after being placed on one of these…yes, it is a case-by-case basis, but the probability tends to be somewhere around a 50% chance. It seems most often to be a 50/50 shot, especially during the COVID pandemic.

I will admit…if they were going to leave the decision solely in my minds, I know my Dad better than to place him on something that “would just prolong his death”. His faith in God is too strong. However, it was made clear to me that Dad had given the staff on the ICU floor to go ahead with trying the ventilator.

“DAD said yes to this?” I pleaded.

“Yes, he has given us permission to go ahead. I want to put him on the phone with you. Let me get my phone as close as I can so you both can hear each other.”

I felt Heather’s arms pull me toward her and hugged me tight around my waist as we sat, and I clutched the phone tightly.

I have never denied a call from my father that I can recall in my entire life. So many calls between the two of us: calls home from my duty station in the Navy, calls home from college, calls from our house to assure Mom and Dad that we had made it home safely, birthdays…too many to count. His voice is tattooed on my heart, instilled in my spirit, and will always be a sweet melody in my ears. His first words (unless it was about to be a stern lecture/dressing down, etc.) would always begin with, “Hey, Brian! How’s it going, man?” ALWAYS his “little knucklehead”. ALWAYS his “man”.

This voice belonged to my father, alright. However, it hurts to even describe it now. He could barely enunciate his words. I knew he wanted to reassure me of so many things! …But, he sounded so tired. So overwhelmed… It just was not his normal tone. He was trying to talk while so many tubes were inserted into so many parts of his body. I THANK GOD every day and every night that when I said, “I love you, Dad,” that I understood his attempt to say back that he loved me, too. This was the last time I would ever hear his voice over the phone in this lifetime.

The conversation with the nurse afterward was a blur. She explained in thorough detail the next steps we would take and not give up hope.

~

…Reflecting on this now, I want my readers to know that hope prevailed. God HEALED my father, Truman. Selfishly, I wish it could have been in this life. He chose to heal him by calling him home. His eternal home! As the hymn proclaims, my Daddy “fought life’s final war with pain” and gained The Victory. He has seen the splendor of the King.

Yes, I will always miss him. Yes, I selfishly wish I had more talks with him over the phone. Yet, I am forever grateful for these calls and these memories. Yes, I am thankful for our brief and final talk together on the phone (even though it still hurts as his feeble voice rings in my heart and in my ears to this day…)

~

Thank you, family and friends. Until next time, readers: this is “The Truman Blog”. 

I love you, Dad. Always and forever.

Your loving son,

~ Brian