Death Rituals

It turned out that Dr. Ernst, the medical resident who came to declare my father dead, had known him. A few years prior, Dr. Ernst had done his medical student clerkship in family practice at my father's office. My mother worked there too. He had recognized my mother when he entered the room on the hospital's 7th floor oncology ward. My brother, my mom, and I were all there. It was mid-day. My dad had just died.

The wings of Dr. Ernst's unbuttoned white coat flew open as he strode purposefully into the room. He was wearing a white button-down shirt, khaki slacks, brown leather Dockers on his feet, and the long white coat with “Dr. Ernst, Department of Internal Medicine” stitched on the pocket. The yellow tie with black dots, the “power tie” of the season, served as an armored breastplate. His stethoscope, like David's mighty slingshot, was draped around his neck. There was a suspended moment as he began to recognize my parents.

“Mrs. Lerman … ?” He stammered at my mom. “This is Dr. Lerman … ?” He gestured at my father's deathbed. No power tie could sustain him now. Here was his …