As this oldest son resumed the task of calling his family, his mother’s nurse came in and, unobservant of what he was doing, said, “You may want to telephone your family.” He reacted angrily, “What the hell do you think I’m doing!” He then mumbled gruff words under his breath. Taken back by his anger, the nurse said that she had not realized he was trying to reach family. She then asked if she could get him anything, like a cup of coffee. He brushed aside the offer, which led her to say, “I’m just trying to be helpful,” and then leave the room.

At an appropriate time I told the son that the nurse was just trying to be helpful. Later, as the nurse portrayed him to another nurse as “the angry family member,” I told her that he was upset at the difficulty he was encountering in reaching his family. A challenge for any hospital staff person is to understand the emotional dynamics of grief, and how an unresponsive cell phone can lead to the boiling over of frustration—and of anger when a staff person is also not tuned in.

It took four hours for the family to gather at the patient’s bedside. During this time, I responded to the oldest son’s request by calling two Massachusetts correctional institutions in an attempt to inform two brothers of their mother’s death. When the one incarcerated brother was informed that his mother had just died, he became aggressive, wanting to hit anybody, and had to be separated from the rest of the prison population. The other brother had become a Muslim and changed his name, which led me to obtain his correct commitment number by calling his wife, who was in Florida. During our conversation, I gave her the telephone number of her mother-in-law’s room, which allowed her to talk with family members directly.

Some 15 to 20 family members gathered around their dead loved one’s bedside, with her oldest son, standing closest to her, stroking her brow and offering a down-to-earth eulogy: “You are the best mother in the world. You were always there for us. Whether we were right or wrong, you protected us. Always!” He then said to those surrounding her bedside, “We have to do something about this diabetes. We have to protect ourselves. We pledge, Mama, that we’re going to do something about it.” “Yes,” many responded.

Ironically, a February 5, 2006 New York Times editorial, called “Declare War on Diabetes,” states, “Most of those who have diabetes have Type 2, in which obesity and poverty are key contributors, especially among blacks and Hispanics, who are disproportionately stricken… Diabetes is a disease defined by economic disparity.”

There is also a relationship between the far higher percentage of black men incarcerated in prisons and America’s historic white-controlled hierarchy of access to economic and political power. The National Urban League’s 288-page report, entitled, “State of Black America 2009: Message to the President,” found, “Even as an African American man holds the highest office [in] the country, African Americans remain twice as likely as whites to be unemployed, three times more likely to live in poverty and more than six times as likely to be incarcerated.” (See Alberts, How “White Magic” Makes the Ism of Race Disappear, www.counterpunch.com, Sept. 25-7, 2009) This mother had to “protect” her many children from an unequal environmental and educational and economic and political white-controlled playing field.

As the many family members gathered around their loved one’s beside, the oldest son asked me to offer a prayer, before which he ordered everyone to, “Take off your hats.” It was about deep respect for the mother and grandmother and great-grandmother who “protected” her family and lived her life for them. It was a prayer that gave thanks for the preciousness of her life to them and to a god whose love never ends.

A short time later, the patient’s great-grandson, a husky older teenager, marched into the room, looked at his dead great-grandmother, and immediately left in shock. The oldest son said, “Oh, oh. I thought so.” He then proceeded to follow his grandson out of the room, with most of the other family members trailing behind him. They surrounded the great-grandson in the hospital unit’s hallway, where he was overcome with grief. We took him to a private room in the unit, where family members sat him on a chair, and five or six at a time hugged and comforted him. He was sobbing and moaning loudly and his leg was shaking uncontrollably. Finally his physical tremors of grief subsided—only because many of his family members were there to hug and comfort him. The needed comfort of so many who surrounded him is a commentary on any hospital policy that limits family (and friends) visitors to two persons at a time. Such a policy may serve to protect other patients from potentially disruptive behavior of a crowd of people. Or, it could serve to protect white supervisors in charge, who may have an irrational fear of the feelings of black and Hispanic persons.

Fortunately, hospital policy accommodated this large, loving, grief-stricken black family. The oldest son talked comfortingly to his grandson, then helped him to his feet, and, with everyone following, gently led him back to his great-grandmother’s room. They stood together by her bedside, with the great-grandson silently staring at her body. Then, without any word from his grandfather, he took off his hat, bent down and kissed his great-grandmother on the cheek, and quietly left the room.

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Bill Alberts is a hospital chaplain at Boston Medical Center. Dr. Alberts is a nationally known writer and an occasional contributor to Counterpunch. In addition, he is convener of the New England Chapter of CPSP. He can be reached at william.alberts@bmc.org.