The phone rang. 1am.
Groan! Could I come to the hospital? Sergio (not his name) was dying. I'll be
there in 15 minutes.
It
was not an unpleasant walk to the hospital - a warm night, the street busy with
students going to or coming back from the pub, heading to their respective
colleges. I made my way through the night entry door with my swipe card -
silent corridors, a lift which immediately responded to the press of the
button, another silent corridor on the 8th floor. I walked quickly to room 18
and knocked, pushing the door open.
Suddenly
a hand on my chest - Sergio's wife, pushing me back out. 'Oh, Father, thank you
for coming. You can't go in.' 'Oh?' 'Yes, you can't go in, Sergio will think
he's dying'. 'Really? So I can't go in? But you did call me, didn't you?' 'Yes,
I did, I panicked.' 'Ok, so what do you want me to do? Let me go in and give
him the Sacraments.' 'Oooh, no! Please, Father!' 'Ok, so what do you want me to
do?' 'I'm sorry, Father, please just go home.'
[I
know, you think I'm making this up, don't you? Well, I'm not!]
It was an equally
pleasant walk back to the presbytery and I imagined my bed was still warm in
parts. Soon I was back in slumber land.
Ring! Ring! Oh no.
Hello. The nurse put Maria on. 'Yes, Maria, I'll come at once. Sorry to hear
that Sergio is dead.' The clock showed 5am.
Now the street was
different - colder, some traffic, no pedestrians except for me.
This time I was met at
the door. Maria was in tears. About 15 family members stood around the bed. I
gave Absolution and the Plenary Indulgence and anointed Sergio's strangely cold
forehead.
On the way out, curious,
I asked the nurse to check the chart for time of death. 3am!
