Mr. Mann

The charge nurse says, "Della, you're getting one from the ER. Mann, room 234. Stroke, 'DNR'. ER will call report."

The DNR tells me he'd be in the ICU otherwise. He's fucked. He's really knocking on deaths' door, "circling the drain," outta here. 

He's atop a gurney being pushed by transport to 234 and lifted to the bed. He's a black man who'd given a complete meaningful sermon that Sunday morning. It's Christmas Day. He's had a blood vessel 'blow' in the brain, and cannot talk. I ask the polite family to help me determine this mans' medical history. The 93 year old man was walking that morning. He was happy. He had a spiffy suite on as he delivered his spirit filled message to his congregation. I envisioned them singing Amazing Grace around noon.

Mr. Mann had a relaxed affect. He almost smiled as he opened his eyes to an understanding of his current situation. He said not a word. He looked as if he was a child next to ride the roller coaster at a carnival. His face was that of kind anticipation. He fell asleep, and passed on. I thanked God for the privilege of the opportunity to witness a child return home. I told myself from that day on, I've encountered my role model.