This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

This was not happening again. I’d already dealt with my father’s death once. I remember being a little kid, my aunt trying to make me understand that my dad was dead. I just didn’t get it. I kept asking if he’d be back in time for the fair that summer, or for dinner that night, or for my first day of school. She had to keep telling me over and over that dead meant gone forever, not an hour or a day or a year but for always. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. I remember when I was older though and I finally did get it. I remember realizing he’d never be there for my ball games or my graduations or my wedding. I remember grieving the loss of a man I never knew. It felt kind of phony. How can you be sad about the death of someone you never knew?

I remember really grieving after my first son was born. Here I was a brand new father and I had no idea what I was doing. How was I going to be a dad when I had no idea what a dad was? I spent those first two years watching every parent-child interaction I saw with a stealthy intensity I wasn’t aware I had. I saw relationships I was envious of: had my dad been like that with me before he died? I saw relationships I was afraid of: had my daddy yelled at me like that before he died? I tried to forget all the bad stuff I heard and saw and focus only on the good stuff.

Then somewhere along the line my good buddy, Ted told me the best damn advice I have ever heard about parenting: “Be the parent you wish you had.” Well, hell, I could do that. And I did. Until that marriage went to hell and then I had to move in order to keep a job I needed and saw less and less of my kid. Bout tore me up. I never thought I’d be the type to give up my kid, but by the time I was able to fight for him he didn’t much want to be fought for and that was that.

The point is, my damn daddy had never been around that I could remember, and certainly not ever when I wanted or needed him, but now here he was fresh out the grave and at my local hospital? He had some kinda nerve asking for me.

“I’m here,” I finally said.

“Oh. Good. Thought I’d lost you. As I said, you’ll need to come in so we can discuss how to proceed.”

“I’m sorry doctor Voss but I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to proceed with the man you have in your hospital. You might just as well,” and here I was interrupted by my call waiting. Damn these phones and their features! I would have ignored it, too, except I saw it was my wife. Since I could count on one hand the number of times she had actually picked up a phone and called me and every one of them had been an emergency, I knew I needed to answer it. “You’ll have to hold on there a minute, Voss. I got an emergency call on the other line,” and I switched over.

“Glory, what’s wrong?” I asked.

“Hello, sir, you’re the emergency contact in a cell phone we’ve just found at the scene of an accident. We just want you to know we’re taking the victims to Clark County Hospital and should arrive in the next ten minutes.”

“Accident? Is everyone okay? My wife? My boys?”

“I can’t tell you anything more, sir. I’m only authorized to look for and call an emergency contact. You’ll need to speak with the hospital to learn more. You’ll want to ask for Doctor Voss’ unit.”

The line went dead and I heard the phone beep at me about switching back to the other line. The other line! Voss!

“Listen here, Voss, that was someone sayin’ they’re bringing my family to your hospital and I need to speak to you about it. What’s going on? Is my wife okay? My boys? What happened?”

There was no answer.

“Voss!” I shouted.

Silence. And then my phone did that boop boop boop noise it does meaning I’d lost the call.

~~~That’s an hour~~~

This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

“Ma’am, can you hear me? What’s your name, ma’am?”

The voice was so far away. Why was everything dark? She must have fallen asleep under the weighted blanket cause she couldn’t feel her body. Why couldn’t she open her eyes?

“Unresponsive. I’ve got a pulse.”

It was that same voice. Ugh, did she fall asleep in front of the television again? Must have. Geez, it’s been ages since she’s done that.

“I’m gonna notify Voss we’re heading his way. Find a cell phone yet?”

“Got it! Under the driver’s side seat. Musta flown off the dash. Aaaaaand, yes, an emergency contact.”

What the heck was she watching? Maybe it was something Paul was watching? Whatever it was she was glad she couldn’t see it. Probably one of those medical dramas with blood everywhere and people being cut up in an operating room. How was that entertaining?

She felt a breeze on her face and heard metal and the sounds of something rolling.

“We’re all loaded up. Make the call from the road.”

There was the sound of doors being slammed, a siren coming from somewhere close, and then that voice again.

“Hello, sir, you’re the emergency contact in a cell phone we’ve just found at the scene of an accident. We just want you to know we’re taking the victims to Clark County Hospital and should arrive in the next ten minutes.”

There was road noise and that siren still wailing away.

“I can’t tell you anything more, sir. I’m only authorized to look for and call an emergency contact. You’ll need to speak with the hospital to learn more. You’ll want to ask for Doctor Voss’ unit.”

More road noise. More siren. Seriously, why couldn’t she open her eyes?

There was an exhalation of breath followed by some mumbling. She could just make out what sounded like “gonna be okay,” before everything went quiet again. Completely quiet. A unique kind of silence she’d never quite experienced before…no, wait, it was familiar. Newly familiar. Luxurious and terrifying.

She woke to prayer. What the hell? She still couldn’t open her eyes or move her body. She’d never felt so tired in her life. What in the world was Paul watching? He must have fallen asleep too, she realized, because he wouldn’t be watching any evangelical stuff on purpose. She tried to say something like, “turn the TV off,” but wasn’t sure if it actually came out or not.

Ah, silence. He must have heard her and turned it off. Maybe he’d carry her to bed or come snuggle up with her. Something was running. The fridge? The dishwasher? She couldn’t quite place it. A rhythmic mechanical noise. Familiar. Otherwise, it was quiet. Not that thick syrupy kind of silence she’d been experiencing lately, that dangerous kind of silence. This was more of a sounds-of-the-night-as-you-fall-asleep-quiet. Lovely. Heavenly. The perfect kind of silence.

~~~This is not an hour, but the end of this piece.~~~

This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

I like to think I have the best team. All incoming nurses and interns vie for a position on my unit. I work my team hard but fair, and never ask them to put in more than I’m putting in. As such I’ve never had the energy to vet who I bring on. If I have to let someone go or someone actually quits, I have an immediate replacement. I never bother to screen them. If they think they’re good enough for my unit I give them a try. If they prove they aren’t I ask that they be transferred and someone else is placed with me. Easy.

And because it’s so easy and because my team is the best it’s been a very long time since I’ve had to let anyone go or lost anyone. So to say I was surprised by the gross lack of respect and sheer selfishness I saw on display in the break room tonight would be putting it lightly. It was especially surprising coming from miss Ditmire. I suppose there was something to that, seeing as how she could never stop talking. In fact, the only time I’d heard her quiet was for all of five minutes when she didn’t know I was there…which is probably why she wasn’t talking.

It was a few months back, when my insomnia was flaring up. I’d been unable to sleep at home and after accidentally waking my husband, who promised he’d start work on the addition to hold my exercise equipment that very day if I would just please go back to bed or leave before I woke the kids, I’d come back to the hospital to get an early start on the day. It was a relief really since my insomnia that night had more to do with a young patient than my usual unexplained bouts of sleeplessness. The girl was so young, just like my Janey before we adopted her, when she first came to foster with us. She had this look of nonchalance…no, more like she was unaffected, but really she was scared. So scared. I just had to make sure this little girl wasn’t scared, too.

After checking on her, she was sleeping peacefully among all the wires and tubes and beeping machines, I stopped by the nurses station to review my charts and there she was: nurse Ditmire. Silent. Sitting completely quiet in one chair with her feet up on the other eating what appeared to be a cupcake. I’ve never been so surprised. Until today. So while nurse Ditmire could talk a blue streak, I’d never before thought her cruel until that moment.

I’d all but decided to ask for her transfer later today when I was walking by the station and saw her give me a look. Her eyebrows shot up and she said “Easton” and I knew. Of course I wouldn’t make her handle that call. No one should have to handle those calls, but especially not a woman who’d just shown her complete lack of compassion. I motioned I’d take the call and hustled to my office. Taking a deep breath I clicked the button with the blinking red light.

“Mr. Easton? Dr. Voss. I’m going to need you to verify your identity by answering a couple of questions before we can proceed. Please tell me your fathers full name.”

“My fa,” there was the sound of a throat being cleared,” my father was Joesuf Paul Easton. With an f, not a ph.”

“Was?” I asked.

“I was told he died when I was young. Is there something…”

“And your mothers full name, please?” I interrupted.

“I, uh, I’m not entirely sure. I wasn’t raised by my parents. Only know my fathers name because of my aunt who raised me.”

“I see. Well, Mr. Easton, due to the nature of the situation I am going to take it on faith that you are the correct contact. Your father, Joe-s-u-f,” and here he spelled it out to be clear, “Paul Easton is here in the hospital now. His sister, Marlena Paula Easton, is his first emergency contact and we’ve been unable to reach her. You, his son, are his second emergency contact. I’m going to need you to come in as soon as possible to tell us how to proceed.”

It was silent on the other end. I didn’t hear the phone line disconnect, or the phone being dropped, or an intake of breath. There was nothing to indicate Mr. Easton was on the other end. Nothing at all. Just silence.

“Mr. Easton?” I asked.

But there was only silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

Mr. Easton. Of course I knew who Mr. Easton was. We’d all been waiting for him to call back for what felt like forever but was probably less than ten minutes. Still, as soon as he said his name I blanched. I never was a good poker player, can’t hide my emotions at all. It can be hard being a nurse without that ability to just become a wall when your shift starts, but I’m good at my job even so. Still, I sure was glad there was a phone line between us and not a desk.

The doc was walking towards me so I looked at him, raised my eyebrows and said “Mr. Easton,” and rifled some papers, pretending like I had to look for this guys info but really just waiting to see if the doc wanted me to handle the call or not. Boy howdy, I was not looking forward to handling that call. None of us were. We’d all done a rock-paper-scissors when we got the call that the ambulance was coming in. I’d won and had just taken a deep breath to let out a sigh of relief when the doc came in to tell us the ambulance was here and to knock it off, he knew what we were up to. He said he’d handle calling Mr. Easton himself. I don’t think I’ve ever been quite so ashamed as I was that minute.

When he told us a few minutes ago that he’d had to leave a message and to expect Mr. Easton to call in sometime today, why I thought to myself, “Virginia, here’s your chance to make up for that despicable display.” I was eager and almost hopeful to be the one to take the call. Until I heard his voice. Suddenly he was a real person who didn’t know terrible news and I was going to have to tell him. A man I’d never met. Over the phone. It just wasn’t right.

But the doc nodded his head and pointed toward his office; he was going to field the call. Hallelujah and thank you Jesus, cause I would have done it, and I would have done a fine job, but woo wee was I glad I didn’t have to. I put that Mr. Easton on hold so fast I was about as worried as I’d hung up on him on accident. But no, there it was, the blinking red light that told me he was still there waiting. Poor man.

A few minutes ago this place had been hopping, I mean really something to see. Sounds of sneakers scuffing the floors as they ran with gurneys, people speaking all kinds of medical jargon kinda like you see on television but without the chaos, tubes getting run here and there and machines being turned on. All the beeps and clinks and the shuffle of efficiency. I loved my job.

My favorite part was when I had graveyard shift, although we don’t call it that here…bit morbid for a place that’s supposed to be healing people. Still that late night to early morning shift when patients are sleeping, doctors are at home, and it’s just me and maybe a couple other nurses and a janitor. That twenty minutes or so between bed checks and chart updates when I’m wolfing down some sugary thing I got out of the machine down the hall (those chocolate cakes are the perfect jolt I need to get me through that three to four a.m. bit, but unfortunately they haven’t stocked the machine yet this week and the chocolate cakes are out and I’ve had to make due the last two nights with those snowball things. Yuck. Still, the only other choice is pretzels right now and what the heck am I supposed to do with pretzels at three o’clock in the morning?).

Everything is so quiet. Well, compared to the daytime anyway. At three in the morning, as I’m eating my chocolate cakes, it’s just me chewing and sipping on stale breakroom coffee. There’s the beeping of machines coming from every room, just about, but still and all…it’s almost quiet. It’s a silence I’m not used to and the closest to silence I can stand. I mean normally during the day I’m talking a mile a minute and my coworkers are everywhere and the patients are pushing those buttons needing pain meds, needing to pee, needing nothing but a bit of company rolled up in a request for water. But at three…silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~

This is part of a series. Refer to the Blog Index if you wish to read them in order.

If you’d told him at twenty that he’d be starting over at forty-five and be remarried with two not-yet-teenage boys at fifty-five he’d have called you a liar while slapping you heartily on the back and offering to buy your next round. He was still known to buy the occasional round, though no one ever saw him drink anymore. It would usually be a birthday. He’d turn up early the night of a buddy’s birthday, walk in like he owned the place, throw down a wad of crisp twenties, bang the gong, and holler “first round’s on me; Happy Birthday!” before clapping the birthday boy on the back and laughing that laugh.

He had the best laugh. Women of course loved it. But even the guys had to admit they lived for the sound of it. The laugh made everyone else laugh and brought out a light in even the darkest corner of that shitty small town bar. It was the laugh he’d be known for. The laugh they’d all talk about at his funeral (the one they had even though he’d expressly forbidden it in his will). But that wouldn’t be for another thirty-two years. At fifty-five he was still in his prime and very much the incredulous and grateful father of two as yet pre-teen boys and the husband of one soon-to-be-dead wife. And he was happy.

Sure, he sometimes found himself thinking what life would be like if he’d never had more kids. He’d still be drinking at the local every Friday night before slipping away when the evening crowd arrived, tab paid in full with a tip and his drink nearly empty. He probably wouldn’t have married that gal if he’d never knocked her up. He’d like to think they’d still be together though, even without the ring or the kids. Hell, he loved her before the kids but isn’t sure she would have stuck through some of his nastier traits without the little ones to consider. Still. He liked to think they’d still be together.

But that quiet life really wasn’t for him. He couldn’t think of anything he liked more than the sound of her whistling some tune he could never place as she pulled out dishes and directed the boys to set the table. All the sounds of life happening all around him. This was what he’d always wanted and he did his best to make sure they all knew it every day.

He’d just finished reading through his emails for the day, deleting most of them with no reply, and had wandered into the kitchen to scrounge up a snack which his phone rang. He could hear the damn thing clear across the house and he cursed as he realized he’d once again left the mobile phone immobile by his desk.

“It’s a good thing she’s gone or she’d be laughing at me,” he thought as he tried to make his lumbering into more of a jog so he could catch the phone before it went to voicemail. Realizing he’d never get there in time he considered just grabbing the snack he’d come in for first but continued toward the phone anyway.

Just as he took the turn through the doorway towards the desk his toe caught the door trim and the immediate blinding pain made him rock back.

“God damn it!” tore out of his mouth as he reeled about trying to plant his ass in the rolling chair so he grab his foot, as though through sheer power of massive hand squeezing he could stop the pain.

Sure enough the phone had stopped ringing and he heard the familiar tone indicating whoever had called had left a voicemail. After ensuring there was no blood and his toenail probably wouldn’t fall off, he picked up the phone and proceeded through the motions of discovering who had called and why. The area code was local but he didn’t recognize the number. He hit the button that would play the voicemail and listened to the strange emptiness all messages seemed to have before they got started.

“This is Clark County Hospital. Please contact us immediately at four-five-oh-six-two-two-one-three-two-five and ask for doctor Voss’ unit. Thank you.”

His first thought was that this was a mistake. His family had only just left, they were fine. None of his friends would use him as an emergency contact as they all had spouses or immediate family in town. The only other option would be his brother, who had lived in town his whole life too. But his brother was away on a fishing trip, some big river thing in Montana, and the voicemail had come from the local hospital.

Pressing the link that would return the hospital call he heard it ring once before a voice answered, “Clark County Hospital, is this an emergency?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so.”

“Please hold,” a voice said crisply. Before he could argue he heard a loud boop and then silence.

He waited patiently for about thirty seconds, then pulled his phone away to see how long he’d been on the call. He made a deal with himself that if the phone didn’t get picked back up in the next thirty seconds he’d hang up and call again. Just as he was about to make good on his deal, the loud boop came again followed by, “thank you for waiting. How can I direct your call?”

“I’m returning a call for Dr. Voss’ unit?” he said. He’d meant it to be a statement, but it came out like a question.

“One moment.”

The loud boop. Silence. Again. Funny thing this kind of silence though. It’s not the complete lack of sound. Is there ever a complete lack of sound? This silence was more of a technological silence. There was the strange whisper of being connected to someone somewhere.

“Dr. Voss’ unit, Nurse Ditmire speaking. How can I help you?”

“I’m just returning a voicemail from this number?” again, it came out like a question. He was irritated with himself and realized he sounded like his wife when she was confused.

“Yes, sir. Your name please?”

“This is Paul. Paul Easton.”

“Easton,” he heard her say under her breath as he heard what sounded like papers being moved around. “Ah, yes, Easton. Sir, I’m going to need you to hold for Dr. Voss please.”

And there it was again. Boop. Silence.

~~~That’s one hour~~~