When the pandemic began, my parents were understandably concerned. They reduced their social activities and only participated in major family events. However, as time passed, life had to move forward. They resumed grocery shopping and attended a few of their grandkids’ little league games, always wearing masks.
Then, a close member of their church small group entered hospice care for an illness unrelated to COVID-19. This long-standing group, which had met monthly for over 35 years, felt compelled to support their friend. With reported declines in COVID-19 cases and no personal connections to anyone who had died from the virus, they decided to host a dinner party. They prepared their new home—having finally downsized from their old place after nearly 40 years. This would be their first gathering in their new space.
I had my reservations, as did my brother, who is a lawyer. Still, we didn’t want to sound overly cautious. I didn’t see any immediate danger in them having friends over, and neither did my younger brother.
The gathering unfolded with dinner and Bible study, just like in the pre-pandemic days. But it’s hard to maintain social distancing during a dinner. Having not seen each other in over six months and with a friend in attendance who was sadly nearing the end of life, the atmosphere felt nostalgic. No one was particularly anxious about the virus; after all, they hadn’t known anyone personally who had contracted it. For them, it seemed manageable—like a mild flu.
During the party, masks came off, hugs were exchanged, and hands were shaken. But unbeknownst to them, one attendee carried the virus without any symptoms. This person worked at the church and only began feeling ill the following day. After testing positive for COVID-19, she promptly notified everyone who had been at the dinner.
I received a call from my father while dining out with my family. He informed me of their exposure. I wasn’t overly concerned; my dad had some underlying health conditions, but I thought he would be fine. The very next day, he tested positive. My mother initially tested negative but soon lost her sense of taste and smell. A second test confirmed she too had contracted the virus.
To monitor their health, I purchased a pulse oximeter and consulted with our family physician and other medical professionals. Given my father’s background in accounting for doctors, he had a wealth of medical advice at his disposal. On the third day post-diagnosis, he reported a slight cough and low-grade fever while my mom struggled with her sense of taste and smell. Dad assured me, “If it stays like this, I’ll be okay.” But it didn’t stay that way.
Just a week after exposure, he called for an ambulance when his oxygen levels plummeted to 88. I had just left his house after helping with yard work and returned to see him being loaded into the ambulance. It was the last time I saw him aware.
Initially, we thought he would return home after receiving oxygen, but the hospital was overwhelmed. It took nearly two days for him to get a room outside of the ER. At first, we were able to chat with him as he sat in the hospital, albeit uncomfortable due to difficulties lying flat from a previous hip replacement. However, his condition worsened, and chest X-rays revealed pneumonia caused by the virus.
After a week in the hospital with no improvement, doctors tried every available respiratory aid but to no avail. They moved him to the ICU as his lungs deteriorated. Communication became increasingly difficult; he could barely text, and phone calls resulted in dangerously low oxygen levels. We couldn’t be with him. Just before they planned to place him on a ventilator, we said our goodbyes over a conference call.
In a flicker of hope, he rallied for a day, showing signs of improvement and texting the grandkids. But the following day, I received a call from the doctor, who informed me that Dad’s condition had declined overnight. I rushed to gather my family, hoping Mom could see him one last time before intubation. We arrived at the hospital, but we didn’t make it in time.
What we witnessed was heart-wrenching. He looked like a shadow of himself, engulfed by chaos in the room filled with medical staff. Moments later, as they attempted to intubate him, both of his lungs collapsed. They managed to stabilize him with chest tubes, and we were left to wait, helpless.
Later that evening, Mom didn’t want to be alone, so we went to dinner on a patio. As soon as I returned home, the hospital called with devastating news: Dad had lost his blood pressure. We rushed back to the hospital, but it was too late. My brother was already there to deliver the heartbreaking news—Dad was gone.
As you plan your family gatherings this year, please reflect on this story. I would never dictate how others should celebrate, but this year, our Thanksgiving will be limited to just my mom and me. Because a seemingly innocent dinner party took my father from us.
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In summary, this tragic tale serves as a cautionary reminder about the risks associated with social gatherings during a pandemic. What may seem like an innocent dinner can have unforeseen consequences.
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