The news was bad. I should have realized it was bad when my sister made an unexpected siblings conference call. And especially since she did it just one night after our Easter family Zoom session. Moments before, she’d received a call from the assisted living facility where our dad resides. The staff had heard his cries for help and discovered him lying on his bathroom floor.

An ambulance trip to the local hospital. X-rays. A fractured left hip. Another ambulance ride late that night to a higher-level hospital. Surgery the next noonday.

Every part of this journey he faced alone. Despite the fact he’s 92 years old, is quite frail, and struggles with dementia, no family member was allowed to be with him.

It’s now been five days, and still none of us has even spoken with him. He’s been on a steady morphine regimen to alleviate his pain. Maybe soon we’ll be able to call, but will it make things better or worse, given his mental state?

What is he able to comprehend? He’s in strange, new surroundings. Does he think we’ve all abandoned him?

If he shows signs of improving, he’ll transition to a skilled-care facility to begin physical therapy. If not, it may be comfort care—hospice.

In actuality, he’s been miserable ever since Mom died over four years ago. He can’t recall her passing. Sometimes he believes her to be in the other room, and sometimes he thinks she left him for someone else. He no longer wants to stay at their home, but most of the time he hates his assisted-living apartment. It’s been so long since he’s felt truly happy and comfortable.

Maybe to him, death would be a welcomed blessing.

We don’t want to lose him—not now. Because of the coronavirus, it’s been weeks since we’ve spent time with him. We long for another chance to comfort and reassure him. We want more time to tell him how loved he is and how grateful we are for him.

Those opportunities may happen or not. As much as we wish we could control the events as they unfold, we are powerless. And so all we can do is hope and pray. Pray for his healing? Guilt flutters within as I confess I just don’t know.

We are just one family trying to care for our loved one from afar during this pandemic. Hundreds of thousands more around our country and the world are now struggling to navigate these same unprecedented waters. They feel helpless, unable to touch, unable to hold their own suffering or dying loved one. What they would give to stroke their beloved’s hair and whisper into their ear for what may well be the last time.

My throat tightens and the tears begin to overflow as I whisper the only prayer that makes sense to me in this moment. Trying my best to release it all to God, I utter a prayer for peace and for comfort.

For our Dad. For all the sick, the injured, and the dying. For the overworked healthcare workers risking their own lives to save ours. For workers everywhere who continue to supply our needs even as they increase their personal chances of exposure to the deadly virus.

For every one of us, a prayer for peace and comfort.

Until these days of the pandemic finally end.