A LOVE STORY 13FEB2020

I kissed my mother on the cheek as she lay in her hospital bed. The steroids prescribed for debilitating arthritis had reduced the pain, but had just about eliminated her immune system.  Pneumonia was going to escort her through the veil in a few days. Through softly gasping breaths she whispered softly, “You smell….”  She had to pause a few seconds to catch her breath before continuing. I had time to wonder what I had done wrong. After all, I had just showered at home and shaved and splashed on some Polo after shave lotion.  Then she finished her sentence with another soft breath, “…good.” Then she just laid there with a smile of satisfaction on her face, knowing that she had set me up. 

My father had seen this before. In his decades of practicing medicine in Rigby, Idaho, it was not uncommon for him to sit at the bedside of his patients at times like this, after he had done everything that could be done. He may have been out of medical solutions, but he was not lacking compassion and chose to be with many of his patients at the time of death, providing comfort and escorting them through the veil. He was the kindest man I have ever known. His three great passions were my mother, Rigby, and Island Park.

Knowing the end was near, friends and loved ones came to visit mother, offering their condolences and to comfort my father. One such visitor was Delbert Groberg, one of my father’s lifelong friends and relative by marriage. Delbert was a prominent Idaho Falls businessman and had been the Temple President at the Idaho Falls Temple. His visit with mother was kind and brief. Then he strolled with my father down the long hallway on the second floor that went the entire length of the Sacred Heart Hospital. The floors were polished stone and immaculately clean. Correctly sensing that my mother’s condition was dire and that she would soon pass, President Groberg offered words of concern and hope. He kindly spoke of heaven, explaining the comfort and joy that comes with being released from this earth and a body tormented with disease.  When we reached the other end of the hallway, we thanked President Groberg as he went out of the door, then turned to walk back to my mother’s room.  

Outside, the mid-day August sun was bright and directly overhead. Inside, however, the light was now indirect, making the hallway seem dark as our eyes adjusted. The light softly reflected off the shiny floor of that dark, long, hospital-quiet hallway. As far as I recall we were the only ones walking there at that time. On the way back to my mother’s room, my father was upset. In a voice several octaves higher than usual, he began speaking emphatically. He told me that he had no problem with the message of salvation and that he had faith in a resurrection and life eternal. As he said this, he started to grumble and kicked at the shiny, stone floor with a childlike shuffle, the same as my grandchildren when they have to do something that they don’t want to. He seemed to take exception to what President Groberg had just told us about the comfort and joy of going to heaven. With some added passion he said, “Roger, they can talk all they want about how wonderful it is going to be—the glories of heaven, eternal palaces on high with heavenly hosts and great choirs of angels…” He paused only for a moment and then asked, “…but, what’s wrong with Rigby?”