William Kienzle - Deathbed

Koesler noticed the slightest quiver at the corners of Haroldson’s mouth. The priest was touched at this sign of emotion.

“And now,” Haroldson continued, “they expect me to leave it. Just, one day soon, stay home instead of coming to where my life is. Just because a man reaches an arbitrary age, he is expected to die.”

Strange, thought Koesler, the similarity of reaction to retirement on the part of Haroldson and Sister Rosamunda. “Oh, come now, John,”Koesler said, “that’s painting it rather more bleakly than necessary, don’t you think? Especially with your background, there must be any number of fulfilling things you could do. Teach, for instance.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Who?”

“Sister Eileen.” Haroldson almost spat the name. “She doesn’t understand. You don’t understand. Nobody understands. A man can die when he’s forced out of his life’s purpose. Father, I’m fighting for my life!”

“John, I’ve known people who dreaded retirement every bit as much as you do. And they managed to live through it. Even thrive on it.”

“You don’t understand. You just don’t understand . . .” Haroldson picked up his tray with its now-empty dishes and left.

Easily half of Koesler’s lunch remained. It was cold and now unappetizing. That was all right, he thought. Selecting that much food had been an imprudent whim. It was just as well to leave half of it uneaten.

He sat for a few minutes pondering his conversation with Haroldson. Koesler had learned much. Perhaps it was true that every organization needed at least one hatchet man. And perhaps John Haroldson was that man on behalf of St. Vincent’s Hospital.

On the other hand, it might be true that to understand was to forgive all.

* * *

“Aren’t you finished with this story yet?”

The peevish tone took Pat Lennon back to her youth when, as she liked to joke now, nuns were nuns and religious sisters were prone to admonish young Catholic students to “cast down your bold eyes!” But she was utterly unprepared for any harsh statement from Sister Eileen Monahan. So, Lennon was startled by the question.

“Why . . . yes, as a matter of fact,” she replied, “I am almost finished. Another interview or two and I’ll have all the information I need. Then there’s writing it up for the magazine. But that’s a rather flexible deadline. Was there some hurry, Sister? I wasn’t aware of any.”

“It just seems that it’s taking an awful lot of time.”

Lennon hesitated. “Is there something wrong, Sister?”

“Wrong?”

“You don’t seem yourself.”

Eileen pinched her brow just over the bridge of her nose. “I have been abrupt, haven’t I? Sorry.”

“No need to apologize. On the contrary, you’ve been most patient and cooperative. Everybody at St. Vincent’s has been. Especially you. That’s why I was surprised just now. It is perfectly reasonable for you to want me out of your way. But it seemed sort of . . . out of character for you.”

Eileen smiled, it seemed in spite of herself. “Well, I’m glad we’ve managed to give you a good impression of St. Vlncent’s. All the more reason I feel ashamed I was short with you just then.”

“Is there something . . .”

“No. No, I’ve been having some headaches and a little dizziness lately, that’s all.”

“Are you taking anything for it?”

“Some aspirin. A little Terpin Hydrate, but that’s for a kind of constant congestion. It’s probably just the onset of a cold. We’ve got the kind of weather for an annual Michigan cold or flu. It’s nothing to be concerned about. I’ll be all right.”

“I don’t know . . .”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay. And even if I do get sick, I couldn’t be in a more appropriate place, now, could I? Where better to get sick than in a hospital? And even if worst came to worst and I were to die—well, this is a Catholic hospital and I assure you, dear, I am well prepared. Now, let’s get on with this interview. And take your time. There’s no hurry.”

Eileen tried to smile, but involuntarily winced. It must be the headache pain again, thought Lennon. She was concerned for the nun. In a very short time, Pat had come to care greatly for Sister Eileen. Thus, when the nun brought up the subject of her own death, it sent a shiver through Pat.

She had a premonition of danger and evil. The feeling was associated with this hospital and converged on Sister Eileen Monahan. Eileen’s articulating the possibility of her own death intensified Pat’s apprehension.

She felt as if she should somehow protect this nun. But there was no way of doing it. As long as she remained in this hospital, Sister Eileen would be vulnerable to anyone here who wished her harm. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

* * *

“ Father in heaven, through this holy anointing grant Alice Walker comfort in her suffering. When she is afraid, give her courage; when afflicted, give her patience; when dejected, afford her hope; and when alone, assure her the help of your holy people. We ask this through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

This was nice, Father Koesler reflected. For almost the only time in his priestly career, he had the comparative leisure to minister properly to the sick.

In his early years as a priest, he was rarely called to a sickbed without its also being a deathbed. Back then, the sacrament was known as Extreme Unction—a last anointing. And, while the rite contained several prayers for a return to health, popularly it was looked upon as a one-way ticket to eternal life in the hereafter. So, although priests periodically instructed parishioners to inform their clergy when anyone became ill, generally, it was a useless plea. Catholics, by and large, continued to view Extreme Unction as a final statement that they tried to postpone as long as they possibly could. Thus, Koesler was accustomed to anointing people who were apparently dead.

Then came the Second Vatican Council and, among other things, liturgical renewal. And the sacrament that had been known as Extreme Unction was modified and given the more updated name of the Anointing of the Sick. However, by that time, most sick people died not at home but in hospitals, where they were ministered to not by their parish priest but by chaplains. And that was the role Koesler found himself playing now as he substituted for his classmate.

Of course this was a little more than Alice Walker had bargained for. All she had asked of Sister Rosamunda was confession. Indeed, Alice had confessed her few sins of impatience, anger, and borderline despair in the early portion of this rite. But Koesler correctly judged that a woman of Alice Walker’s advanced years, facing major surgery, was entitled to the Anointing of the Sick. And, after her initial apprehension that this priest was trying to slide her into eternity with Extreme Unction, Alice admitted she felt consoled by this rite. Until now, she had never heard of the Anointing of the Sick.

But then, there were many interesting things going on in Catholicism of which even most Catholics were ignorant.

“God of compassion,” Koesler continued with a prescribed Prayer Before Surgery, “our human weakness lays claim to your strength. We pray that through the skills of surgeons and nurses your healing gifts may be granted to Alice Walker. May your servant respond to your healing will and be reunited with us at your altar of praise. Grant this through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

Koesler continued with the rite of Communion, then prayed the concluding blessing: “May the God of all consolation bless you in every way and grant you hope all the days of your life. Amen.

“May God restore you to health and grant you salvation. Amen.