An Untimely Passing
John and I arrived at church the first Sunday after Christmas 2024. I drove the Chrysler; John drove the truck and trailer. His beloved side-by-side, an off-road vehicle, was carefully secured with tie downs to the trailer. John parked in the lot next to our friend, Richard, whose rig also held a side-by-side. The two friends were going riding at an off-road park after church. The weather was warm and balmy for late December, which was perfect for trail riding. John’s younger sister, Celia, and her grandsons, 15-year-old twins, were spending a few days with us for a post-Christmas visit. They had driven to Tennessee from Michigan. The twins were thrilled about going on their first trail ride. The plan was that one of the boys would ride with John; the other would ride with Richard. I had planned to take Celia out for lunch while John, Richard, and the boys spent the afternoon together.
John, Celia, the boys, and I spilled out of church into the parking lot. “Have a great time!” Celia and I shouted. We waved to the guys as they started up their rigs. The twins wore large smiles. I could feel their excitement and anticipation. About an hour later, Celia and I were enjoying our lunch when her phone rang. It was Richard. He had tried to reach me but couldn’t. I checked my phone. The ringer was off. “We have to leave now,” Celia said, as she hung up the phone. “It’s John.” I paid the check and we made our way outside the crowded restaurant. “What’s going on,” I demanded. “When they arrived at the park,” Celia recounted, “John went into the restroom to change into his mud clothes. The boys waited patiently and when he didn’t come out, the boys went in to check on him. They found John unconscious on the restroom floor.” John was now in an ambulance enroute to a hospital in Sewanee, Tennessee. Richard decided to drive the boys back to his home near Shelbyville. He and his wife, Gail, would stay with the boys until Celia and I returned home from the hospital. Celia insisted on driving. I didn’t argue. She drove quickly and quietly. I was too frightened to speak. I sat and prayed silently. I was too frightened to speak. I sat and prayed silently.
John was strong and healthy. He watched his diet carefully and took supplements and vitamins religiously. My phone rang. It was one of the ambulance attendees who was with John. “Does John take any medications?” he asked. “No,” I replied. “How is my husband?” I asked softly, tears streaming down my face. “We’re doing everything possible,” they answered. Words were pointless. There was nothing to say and I was glad that Celia was focused so intently on driving. Both of her hands were tightly gripping the steering wheel. We arrived at the hospital and hurried in. No one was at the front desk that Sunday afternoon. I raced around the almost deserted hospital until I found a nurse. “I’m Mrs. Schetrompf,” I said. “My husband was brought here from the riding park.” I looked her straight in the eyes. “Is my husband all right?” She shook her head gently. “No. Do you want to see him?” I nodded. Celia sat in the waiting room and I followed the nurse to a nearby room. John was stretched out in the hospital bed. A white sheet covered him from his waist to his feet. His eyes were closed. His skin was cold. I kissed his head and hands. I smoothed down his hair and gently outlined his face with my fingers. I held his hands tightly in mine. I loved his hands. They were callused, rough, working man’s hands. They were the hands that caressed my skin each night at bedtime. They were the hands that rubbed my head when I was sad. I then placed John’s hands underneath the sheet. I’m not sure how long I was with him. Celia had entered the room quietly. I left the room to give her time alone with John.
I sat in the waiting room, unable to process John’s untimely death. The nurse returned and handed me his wallet. “I’m so very sorry,” she said.