Chip's Fear of Dying Alone

Chip wasn’t afraid of very much at all. He climbed mountains, swam with sharks in South Africa with his son George, and married a highly emotional woman, with 5 children, who overanalyzes. He wasn’t afraid of receiving years of cancer treatments or signing up for a clinical trial. He wasn’t scared of going under anesthesia for stent placements and endoscopies when his body was weak and tired. He wasn’t afraid of the risks of countless blood transfusions. He told me many times that he wasn’t afraid to die.

The only time I ever heard Chip say he was afraid of something the whole time I knew him was when he expressed his fear of dying alone. He expressed the fear multiple times in the last year or so. The fear presented itself more frequently during the COVID-19 crisis when hospitals weren’t allowing family members to be at their sick or dying loved one’s bedside. He spoke of his fear of dying alone often to me often during this time. His fear of dying alone was at the root of his refusal to go to the hospital several times during March, April and May when he probably should have gone. It was at the root of our debate the entire afternoon of May 30th about whether we should drive to the ER or whether we should call 911. He wasn’t feeling great that afternoon, but he didn’t want to go to the ER and then be admitted for a bunch of tests or an overnight stay on a Saturday, forcing him to have to wait alone in the hospital until decisions would be made on Monday morning by his oncology team.

Several times in the last 6 months or so, when he expressed his fear of dying alone, I promised him (and I don’t take making promises lightly, as my 5 children can attest) I wouldn’t let him die alone. I kept my promise and stayed with him in the ER room where the medical team worked for hours and hours to stabilize him. I held his hand when there was space next to his ER bed to do so. I stroked his face and told him I loved him immensely. Whenever his bedside was crowded with team members working relentlessly to save his life, I called out to him from across the room “I’m still here with you!” and “You’re not alone.” I was there with him until his heart beat for the last time, and stayed for 4 or so more hours after that as life left more and more cells of his body.

A friend of mine named Talena, whom I met and got to know (and like so much!) during my involvement in a political group I belong to, is a nurse in Georgia. She wrote something on Facebook, after her experience of being the only one in the room when someone died during the COVID-19 crisis. It hit me hard when I read it (in April? early May?) and I saved it, knowing I would need to read it again and again if Chip were ever to be alone when he died.

Talena wrote:

One day someone is going to write "expired" by your name. I hope it isn't me, but I hope it is someone like me. I hope that they pray for you when your heart malfunctions. I hope they pray for your comfort and peace as you make your transition from this life to your next.

I took a break after this. I called my husband. He immediately knew. He knows. He has learned that when I call him in the middle of the night when I am at work and just sit quietly that I just watched someone's life slip away. He always asks if I am ok. I am always ok. I am here.

Wherever you are ... I hope you are at peace.

And, I hope my prayers brought comfort. I hope you left this life feeling love.

Thankfully, I was able to keep my promise to Chip. My heart and prayers go out to families whose loved ones died alone without a caring medical professional like Talena present or, worse yet, 100% alone in their hospital room.

May God grant peace to their souls and to those whom they left behind.