PROVIDENCE, R.I. – Doctors told Dan Remillard’s 43-year-old circle of relatives that his time was near. It had lasted six weeks, with a fan, but the virus had wraged.
While Remillard, a Woonsocket employee, a subconscious at the Rhode Island hospital, those who knew and enjoyed it piled up via Zoom to say goodbye. As a testimony of the number of souls Dan had touched, nearly a hundred were in the video call.
There’s an absence: Dan’s father, Ron.
Ron is also seriously ill with COVID-19 at Providence VA Medical Center.
While others said his last words to Dan, a VA doctor called Ron’s wife to tell her some difficult news.
Her husband, 72, had lost the battle.
Shortly after the Zoom rally, Dan Remillard’s war also ended, with father and son dying an hour apart, whether they suffered the coronavirus pandemic.
Dan first hit the virus.
His wife, Liz, 41, qualified practical nurse at The Friendly Home in Woonsocket, a 126-bed qualified care facility, suffered a foot injury at the start of the pandemic. His first week in early May, running with citizens with COVID-19.
On May 4, she underwent a viral control regimen for staff members and, two days later, had no symptoms, learned that she was positive.
Liz quarantined heed at her house. She temporarily developed moderate symptoms, adding fatigue, nasal discharge and no smell or taste.
As a precaution, Dan, a heavy appliance operator in Woonsocket’s water department, also locked up in his home.
On May 9, Dan also began to have symptoms: chills with mild fever. He tried and found out on May 10 that he had COVID-19.
He quarantined himself in a room.
Remillard’s 8-year-old daughter, Avabella, was also positive but had no symptoms. His 17-year-old son, Gavin, tested negative and everyone worked to protect him, hiding when they left their rooms.
At first, it looked like it would just be an edition of the flu.
Then Dan’s symptoms began to get worse.
On May 14, four days after testing positive, Dan’s fever rose to 104. Liz gave him Tylenol and bathed him with cold water. It looked like paintings: it went down to 99.
A day later, Dan’s left hand was partially numb. The doctor, involved with the blood clots, asked him to go to the hospital.
Dan, that’d be nice.
Then his temperature went up again and he stayed high. Dan coughing too. As the stage worsened, Liz became alarmed.
It seemed to his breathing. Dan found it difficult to convey the words.
Liz insisted that they go to the ER. Dan took an hour to get ready. He put on a shoe and then went to bed, exhausted.
They went to the emergency room at the Rhode Island hospital, preventing a tent from entering outside.
The workers saw that Dan was admitted. Liz had to say goodbye to her there.
He moved her and said, “I love you.”
He the same thing.
The virus wasn’t so bad for Liz. The pains and fatigues have subsided. But his tests didn’t come back negative for six weeks. That’s what can last, you learned, COVID-19.
He then learned that another father had the virus, his uncle Virgilio Jordao, 79. He had lived with a degenerative nerve disease that, years earlier, had placed him in the nursing home where Liz worked. He was one of the citizens she looked after.
Combined with its pre-existing challenges, COVID-19 has been devastating. Jordao died in mid-May at Friendly Home.
Normally, Dan would have helped Liz succeed over this loss. It is a reminder of COVID-19’s cruelty that she doesn’t even stop at her husband for convenience.
Two days after Dan went to the hospital, the afternoon nurse arranged a Zoom call with Liz and the children. Dan thought he was smart. She dressed in a transparent oxygen mask and may see him pronounce the words “I love you.”
They were given another call the next day. This time, Dan looked tired. He’s having a hard time talking.
However, his playful spirit intact. It gave the impression that Liz had a Portuguese background, which led a nurse to say, “Then you’re an intelligent cook.”
Dan shook his head to make fun of Liz, then raised his thumb.
When it comes to signing up, Liz optimistic.
But on the third day, Dan can keep his eyes open a little bit. His breathing had worsened.
The room, Dan, put on a fan.
Then his kidneys failed and he underwent dialysis.
He began a month-long vigil while Dan remained unconscious, the circle of relatives praying for him from afar.
On 20 June, Remillard’s circle of relatives heard from his patriarch, Ron.
Two years earlier, after memory disorders turned into dementia, they made the difficult decision to move Ron to a nursing home. He at the Morgan Health Center in Johnston, who provided the 24-hour care the Remillards were suffering for providing.
But they visited him often. Ron’s wife, Dianne, would take him home every weekend, and the family circle gathered around him.
Morgan Health examined citizens after the pandemic began and Ron tested negative for months. But on June 20, Dianne learned that he was positive, though asymptomatic.
Dianne Remillard saw how capricious COVID-19 can be. Her son Dan, a 43-year-old fort, in a serious condition, while her 72-year-old husband, with many challenges, showed no symptoms.
That’s about to change.
In mid-June, Dan will take a turn.
Around June 18, doctors said there was hope of removing him from the fan and dialysis.
But there’s also caution. COVID-19 had wraged his body and lungs, and patients may decline suddenly.
On June 21, Father’s Day, Dan was taken for a CT scan. It’s an arduous process; all his machines had to move with him.
Dan suddenly crashed. His breathing was blocked and his center stopped.
A CPR team and 12 minutes downtown Dan re.
A nurse told Liz things were so good that she had to go to the hospital right away. She brought her children.
It’s the first time he’s been with Dan in weeks. I’d lost a lot of weight.
After an hour, the children went out and only Liz and Dan were in the room. She took her hand and said, “I’m here with you.”
Complete with tubes and intravenous infusions, the machines rang and whistled.
He had come to know the nurses at Rhode Island Hospital enough to realize that they had also come to love Dan. They talked about his contagious smile and his faithful family. They hoped to see his recovery triumphant. Now they told Liz that if it was the end, Dan would never be forgotten.
Liz, heartbroken, prayed that Dan would join, believed that the Lord had a plan for everything.
The next day, a nurse Dianne Remillard from the VA about Ron.
He’s not asymptomatic anymore. Ron had developed breathing problems. As his oxygen subsided, he was taken to the Providence Veterans Administration Medical Center.
Serious stuff.
The Remillards’ father and son resisted all night. And the few days.
Dianne said it as if Ron felt her son’s situation. She’s convinced her husband won’t leave until Dan is able to accompany him.
A few days later, Dan’s doctor, Liz.
It was clear, the doctor said, that Dan’s center had stopped for so long that his brain was low in activity and did not recover.
Dan stays alive through machines. The doctor and Liz explained how there comes a time when a life extends abnormally.
Over the next few days, Liz prayed about what to do. I almost wanted God to be in a position to take Dan, so he wouldn’t have to make the decision.
On June 28, Liz went to a service at her church, which took place in the parking lot. Ocean State Baptist is a nearby network and many have told Liz that Dan is in their hearts.
The pastor said it was time to pray. Liz prayed for the third class and suddenly felt peace.
God, he realized, told him it was time to let Dan go.
She shared this with her family and, heartbroken, agreed.
Eventually, they set up a Call from Zoom, so that those who enjoyed Dan could say goodbye.
Dan’s sister, Cindy, asked Liz to take care of her in the hospital room. This assured Cindy that her brother would be alone.
Liz arrived at the extensive medical care unit on the fifth floor of Rhode Island Hospital around 2 p.m. June 28. Another guest allowed. Liz came here with Dan’s cousin, Lisha Hall.
The two masked and gloved came in.
“Can you do it?” Hall says. “There is so much peace in this room.”
Liz actually made God’s presence, she said.
“He loves you, ” said Liz to Dan. “And I love you.”
He didn’t mean the word “goodbye, ” so he said, “We’ll see you back in heaven.”
Liz took her husband’s hand, and with her mask, kissed him on the forehead.
They were surprised by the number of other people who came here for Zoom’s call: more than a hundred members of the circle of family, friends and others from the church.
“My son is a social butterfly, ” said Dianne.
While looking at the Zoom screen on his couch at his Woonsocket home, he had an idea of Dan’s smile and blue eyes and how he enjoyed the eagles so much, he tattooed one on his back.
One at a time, Zoom users said they said they wanted him not to have to leave.
“My God, men crying,” Dianne recalls, “telling how much Danny’s life was.
People thanked Dan for being there for them, either digging an alley or having coffee after a Bible study.
She beat Dianne just two days earlier, on June 26, when she had celebrated her 49th birthday with Ron. Two days before that, Liz and Dan celebrated their fourteenth. It’s as if the two men have clung to see their footsteps.
“My center breaks, ” said Dianne. “You are the son a mother can wish for.”
Dianne’s phone rang. She’s not responding. Then, along with her, came a call to her daughter Cindy.
Ron’s doctor in the VA.
“I’m sorry to say, ” he said, “but his father has passed away.”
Cindy and Dianne shared the sad news about Zoom.
Cindy told her brother, “Go with Dad, he’s waiting for you.”
In Dan’s room, Liz thought Dan would be with her two parents: her earthly father and the heavenly father.
Liz asked if she had anything else to say.
The hospital room was silent because of the noise of the machines.
The call ended, Cindy decided to stay, be with her brother until the end.
Liz told the doctors she was in a position to let him go.
A few minutes later, Dan was pulled off the fan.
Liz continued with her hand.
In a matter of minutes, he left.
Ron Remillard died of the virus on June 28 at 2:45 p.m.
His son Dan died the day at 3:48 p.m.
Dianne, Cindy and Liz, all remillards inside, are convinced that dad and son are now together.
Follow Mark Patinkin on Twitter: @markpatinkin.