It was a pretty big funeral. Large enough that I was nervous. The owner of the funeral home was the funeral director that day, but I was the person who was tasked with making all the little details work together. It was May, 2008. I was dealing with some pain and not in the best of moods. As far as anyone could tell, I was my normal self. But I knew better. I didn’t want to get irritated because, as David Banner would say just before turning into the Hulk, “You wouldn’t like me angry!”

         The day before our maintenance man ran into an issue where he needed some help. He needed to move something heavy. He asked me if I could help him for about five minutes. I did so and managed to wrench my back. I also came away with a pain in the middle of my chest. In the middle of the night I was called and needed to go to a home and help pick someone up who had just died. This did neither my back nor my chest any favors. So, the funeral was not a welcomed thing.

         But it was what I did during that phase of my life. It was a wonderful time to minister and work with people in a dark place in their lives. That day went off without a hitch, so it was good.

         When I got back to the funeral home from the cemetery, I went to the owner’s office. “Trevor, I need to go home. When I helped Joe yesterday I hurt my back and I think I pulled a muscle in my chest.” Trevor was just a few years older than my son and really pretty young to be in his position. His father, the former owner, was helping him with the transition. But his Dad had been off for a few days because of a slight heart attack. Trevor leaped to his feet so fast it startled me.

         “Your chest is hurting?” “Well, yeah, I think I pulled a muscle and…” “Sit down, right there! I’m calling an ambulance.” It registered to me then that Trevor’s father’s close call had weighed heavier on Trevor than I had realized. And, Trevor’s Dad was just a few years older than me. Of course he would think I was having a heart attack.

         “Whoa, whoa, Trevor. It is just a pulled muscle, man! I just need to go home and relax a bit! Really, it’s OK.” “No way! You aren’t going to have a heart attack on me, too!” So we had a little argument that drew the attention of several others, each telling me I needed to go to the hospital. Finally, I got Trevor to agree to letting me go home so long as I promised to have Marsha take me to the ER. I figured I would walk into the house and tell Marsha that my back was hurting and then sack out on the recliner for the afternoon. But no. Trevor took me home, explained to Marsha what was going on and made her promise to take me in. After Trevor left, I laughed and told her I was going to sack out. She informed me that we were going to the hospital or she was going to call Trevor and let him call that ambulance. So, we went to the hospital.

         In October 2016, I had a chest pain while walking in downtown Wabash. In April 2017 I had my surgery. During the interim I had a series of tests to determine if I needed surgery. On that day in May of 2008, I had all those tests in about two and a half hours. The end result was that my heart was fine and I had pulled a muscle in my chest. But the doctor was worried about my back. I explained that I had chronic back problems, but he said no one needs to have pain. I had an MRI, which the doctor didn’t like, so he decided I needed a draw of my spinal fluid to see if there was blood in the fluid. Now, Brothers and Sisters and all you little boys and girls, let me tell you; during that I learned what the definition of pain really was. Yes, sir! I can now tell you what it is like to see pure white while some idiot says, “This is going to pinch a bit.” Oh, yeah!

         Finally, it was over. (For the record, I had a muscle pull in my chest and a muscle spasm in my back. If I had just been allowed to sack out in my recliner….. But I am not bitter.) I had never before, nor have I since, had pain enough to cause tears to run down my face. The nurse was about 20. She said, speaking loudly so the elderly could hear, “Sir, I can give you something for pain. Would you like that?” In my mind I am thinking, ‘Last night I picked up a dead person. I CAN ARRANGE IT SO YOU ARE MY NEXT PICK UP!!!” But all I said was, “Yes, please, that would be great.” She came back pretty quickly with a pill in a little cup and another little cup with water. I swallowed the pill and laid back, waiting for the pill to ease the pain.

         In just a few minutes I began to feel strange. Not better at all, just weirder than I had ever felt. It clicked in my head that this wasn’t right. I took a deep breath and bellowed “NURSE!”

         When I opened my eyes I was in a completely different room. A room with all sorts of monitors that beeped and buzzed, with red lights and green lights. I was in a bed and I was wearing a hospital gown. I had a headache and my hand went to my head. As it did I brushed my cheek. I was surprised to feel some serious whiskers. What? Where? Then I remembered why I was in the hospital. I’VE HAD HEART SURGERY! But the only tape I could find on me was the tape holding in the IVs. And then I realized that I had my funeral home cell phone in my right hand. That made no sense. (I was told later that I wouldn’t give it up in ER, which I remembered. I always considered myself on call. Seriously. They told me after I passed out my hand was so clenched around the phone that they finally decided to let me keep it.) There was a window, sort of, in the room and it was dark outside. I had been here a while. I thought about Marsha probably worried. I needed to call her and let her know I was OK. I turned the phone on and was shocked to see that it was 2 AM and I had been in there for three days. I hit the speed dial, got no answer and so, figuring she was asleep, I left a message. “Babe, just calling to let you know I am OK. I don’t know what happened, but I’m here in bed and I am thinking of you. Love you, Babe.” And that was all I could do. My battery was dead. And I fell right back asleep.

         In a few hours I scared the cleaning woman half to death when I said ‘good morning.’ She rushed out and in about thirty seconds a doctor and a nurse rushed in. It turned out that the ER nurse had given me the wrong medication. They actually didn’t know if I would live. They called Marsha at home and in a little bit, she and our son came in. All was going to be OK. Another day of observation and I could go home.

         That afternoon, the hearse driver from the funeral home, Jimmy Trisket, and his wife came in. I had only met the wife once before, but Jimmy was good people. Right now, Jimmy’s wife looked stern and a little angry and Jimmy looked sheepish. “Hey! What’s up to the Triskits!?” Mrs. Triskit pulled out a cell phone, punched in some numbers, turned the speaker on and I heard this coming out of Jimmy’s cell phone, “Babe, just calling to let you know I am OK. I don’t know what happened, but I’m here in bed and I am thinking of you. Love you, Babe.” I had called Jimmy’s cell at 2 AM thinking I was calling Marsha. “Pastor (everyone called me ‘pastor’ there), please tell Betty there’s nothing going on between you and me!”

         What prompted this recollection was the fact that Steve Runkel’s uncle had surgery today. When he went into surgery, he had no family there and when he woke up, there was no family. Family is not allowed right now. I remembered waking up in that hospital room, disoriented and unaware of what had happened, and it was frightening until I was able to order my thoughts. Among all the other things this virus has taken away from us, it has also seemingly taken away our humanity. Remember those who are so terribly isolated. It is a lonely and scary feeling.

         Blessings.