Christmas Memories
‘A Simple Wish’: A wife shares her words of wisdom about life and love
Bernie and Jack Price were happily married for many years before Jack suddenly died in December of 2011.
By Bernie Price (Special to The Criterion)
I am known to my friends and family as the one who does not share personal feelings. Instead, I am the one who always has to come up with the first joke or remark about everything. So there may be a few expressions of disbelief on the faces of family and friends as they read this Christmas note.
In life and in death, we never know what surprises and challenges may come our way. No “special” orders are honored in life and death. It is not for us to say or control when the death of a loved one will take place. With that being said, I want you to know that my words are from the heart for all of you. Please take a few moments to walk down the path with me of “a simple wish.”
It was Dec. 21, 2011. I had just arrived home around 9 p.m. from work. I unlocked the back door, and I heard a faint voice say, “Bernie, where have you been?” It was the voice of my husband, Jack, and it sounded very strange to me, as he was always very familiar with my work schedule.
He was not sitting in his usual chair working on his computer. As I passed through the kitchen, I saw him lying on the dining room floor. When I bent down to touch his hand, I immediately realized that he was not able to move. I called 911 and then told him in a very calm voice, “Jack, I have called 911 for help. Everything is going to be fine.”
The ambulance arrived within five minutes. As the emergency medical technicians were preparing Jack, I began to gather all of his medical information. A list of his meds was close at hand, which was very helpful upon our arrival to the emergency room.
Jack was 6 feet, 4 inches tall and quite stately, so we were all doing our best to hold him down on the emergency room table and keep him comfortable. I knew by the look in his eyes that he had no idea where he was or what was going on inside him. His body began to feel very cold.
When the first doctor came into the room, I could tell by the expression on his face that we were in the middle of a critical situation. I looked at him with determination and strength and said, “Tell me what is going on. I want all answers straight up, with no sugar-coating or maybe’s or might’s.”
He was very honest with me and explained that Jack had severe abdominal bleeding. He added that in some cases this can be catastrophic.
I did not ask any questions, but answered questions about Jack’s medical history, his medications and any other information that I could provide the medical team. Jack’s last and only words to me in the emergency room were, “Who is going to take me home?” I knew by the sound of his voice that this was not the Jack that I know. His voice had the sound of sadness and desperation, which was not his nature.
It was now close to midnight. We were beginning to struggle a bit trying to keep Jack comfortable, warm and even steady on the emergency room table. This went on for several hours. About 3 a.m., we were taken up to the intensive care unit where the team confirmed that the internal bleeding was very severe. They also said they would not be able to perform any type of surgery due to the severity of the bleeding.
Again, I asked the team of doctors and nurses as they gathered, “What are his chances of survival?” The doctor immediately responded, “If Jack should survive, it will be a long and very difficult recovery.” I went with my gut on this one and said to myself, “You begin to prepare not only yourself, but everyone around you for what is about to happen.”
My mind began to process the order of events that I knew were yet to come. Jack and one of our best friends were scheduled to go to Ireland on Dec. 27. We were scheduled to take a cruise down the Amazon River in several months. And Jack was signed up to teach a full schedule of classes at two local universities. My thoughts began to turn to my organizational side, by writing notes and listing priorities.
About 6 a.m., my first phone calls were made to a couple of close friends, to family and to my co-workers. My words to all of them were, “Jack is in the ICU unit, and his chances of survival are not very good at this point.”
I explained to them that this happened very quickly. All were welcomed to come up, if they were comfortable with it. These were very painful phone calls to make because I knew what the reaction would be to my news. I also realized that, as the leader, I needed to stay focused and to be strong for everyone around me. I was very aware that many were about to lose a son, brother, mentor and friend.
During the next two and a half days, hundreds of people gathered. It was the Christmas season, so out-of-towners were beginning to arrive for their family celebrations. I made a point of updating everyone from time to time as I spoke with nurses and doctors.
Ours was an open door policy. All friends and family were welcomed into Jack’s room. I wanted everyone to feel as comfortable as possible. After all, I had Jack in my life for over 40 years. It was their time to be with him.
At one point, the doctor handed me Jack’s wedding band. I immediately placed it on my thumb. Somehow, this gave me such a sense of closeness and comfort. I would not let go of the ring—for this was the symbol that made it all very clear what life and love is all about.
At 1:30 p.m. on Dec. 22, I knew that Jack was not responding to the dialysis. I told everyone camped in the hospitality area that he was not getting any better. I knew that within a day or two I would have to make the decision to continue Jack’s infusions or let him pass away naturally. This was not up for discussion as I had to be the one to move forward.
As I thought about this, I returned to Jack’s room and saw how comfortable and peaceful he looked. He was unconscious and not able to respond, but I knew that a sense of fairness had to be my priority, not only to Jack, but to family and friends.
Later that evening, I allowed the team to do one more round of infusions. I told myself that if there was no response we would discontinue this process.
The next day was a day of waiting, reminiscing and hugging—and believe me I am not a “hugger.” At 6 a.m. on Christmas Eve, I told everyone present that it was time to let Jack go, that it was time to let him be our angel to watch over us.
Two hours later, as the sun rose, Jack passed away. I knew that he was at peace.
We waited until after Christmas to have the calling and the funeral for Jack. More than 1,500 people attended the calling. With the help of family and friends, we were able to spend a personal moment with each one. We planned our celebration around a quote from Helen Keller: “What we have once enjoyed we can never lose. All that we love deeply becomes a part of us.”
On the day of Jack’s funeral, we packed the church. The celebration was amazing. At the end, I got up and shared the closing words. I never even felt a knot in my stomach. I was so relaxed that it was almost scary. Jack was truly watching over all of us and giving us strength.
As I began to speak, a big grin came over my face. I was very brief in my words, but spoke of the Jack I knew and loved. He was a great husband—faith-filled, very kind, smart and witty. He also had an extreme sense of fairness and an appreciation of diversity.
I projected with enthusiasm “my simple wish” that everyone should be as fortunate as I am—to have a relationship with a great person like Jack for more than 40 years, to know where you stand with someone every day, to be thankful for your faith, family and friends. I also told everyone to always remember to leave nothing unsaid.
At that point, I asked everyone to rise and to give a standing ovation for a great guy. As we processed out of the church, I knew in my heart and soul that we were all in a good place.
Jack was my best friend. I miss him very much. He will always have first place in my heart and soul.
If you are in a situation that you think is impossible for you to handle, you can take control or you can let it control you. I chose to take control. This is “my simple wish” for all of you.
(Bernie Price is a member of Good Shepherd Parish in Indianapolis.) †
