His Name Meant Happiness

As I entered the room in the Intensive Care Unit, he barely acknowledged my arrival.  He was propped up on the bed, with breathing tubes in his nose, and looked tired and worn.  He had a couple of days growth of beard making his already pale skin look even more so.   He looked so sad and uncomfortable.  I smiled my “Hello” and moved to the next bed, where my “Church Uncle”, nearly ninety-two and hospitalized for an infection, lay sleeping.  The kids took up their accustomed positions—Ginny perched on the window sill and Mike sprawled in the armchair, but constantly alert to move if anyone else came into the room.  They pulled their Game boys out of their pockets to keep quietly busy until “Uncle” roused and noticed them.

We were there because “Uncle” was unaccustomed to hospitals, having been able to avoid them except to do League of Mercy visits for most of his ninety-two years.  The fever from the infection had him pretty well “out of it” for most of the time, but when he was awake, he was afraid to be alone.  His family was unable to make daily visits, so we filled in the gap, acting as the eyes and ears of the family members, keeping the lines of information open and flowing.    

“Uncle” opened his eyes, noticed us, and after the requisite inquiries about family and his church friends, wondered if I was going to sing to him today. 

I asked the man in the next bed if he minded if I sang softly, since it helped “Uncle” relax and rest.  He whispered, “It will not bother me,” so I took out my harp from the case. The man in the next bed seemed fascinated by the instrument.    

After a couple of “Uncle’s” favorite hymns, he was asleep.  The man in the next bed seemed to be sleeping, as well, but his eyes popped open as we left.  I asked if we had disturbed him and he said “Oh, no.”  I introduced myself and the children and asked his name.  He said, “My name?”  He seemed almost surprised by the question.  “My name is Felice.”        

“Felice means ‘happiness’ doesn’t it?” I asked him.  His haggard face transformed into a thing of beauty.  I have never seen such a smile that grabbed me and warmed me to my toes.  “Yes, it does.”      

The next day, Felice was sitting up in bed, had shaved and was “waiting for his concert.”   After “Uncle” went to sleep, Felice requested “Amazing Grace” and silent tears spilled down his cheeks as I sang all the verses.  He mouthed, Thank you,” as we left.  On the way out we asked the nurse if we could bring treats to “Uncle” and Felice the next day.  Since there were no dietary restrictions, it would be fine.  The nurse remarked that Felice had previously had no visitors and wondered if we were family, since he seemed so much happier and anticipated our nightly visits.    

The next day “Uncle” was transferred to a general floor, but the kids insisted on taking Felice his share of the cookies we had baked.  They ran up ahead, but came back, saying Felice’s bed was empty.  I asked the nurse where he was, but she said, “I’m so sorry, but he’s gone….”

His name was Felice.  It meant “Happiness.”
     

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