Moon Hoax

11 9:45 P.M.

Peter arrived at the hospital later than he had hoped due to his flight being delayed out of D.C. As he raced his rental car into the parking lot he prayed he wasn’t too late. His latest update was his dad had been moved out of emergency and into the cardiac care unit where he had been going in and out of consciousness. The doctor in the CCU informed his mom the next twenty-four hours were critical, with the possibility his dad might not make it through the night.

Peter whipped the car into the first available spot and ran as fast as he could through the dark parking lot to the hospital’s main entrance. He rushed to the information desk and out of breath asked for the location of the CCU. The receptionist handed him a map and pointed out where he needed to go. Peter snatched the map and with a hurried “thanks” raced down the hallway.

He hustled through a convoluted series of hallways before reaching the last corridor. He slowed down to gather himself before turning down the hallway. As he approached the CCU lobby he saw a small group of people gathered together and realized one was his mom. She raised her gaze to him with a despairing look before a desperate smile crossed her face. She cried out, “Peter!” and rushed toward him. Peter dropped the map and hurried to her. She still had on the blood-stained blouse, prompting the horrific image of his dad unconscious and bleeding to flash through his head. He shook the image from his mind before giving his mom the biggest hug he could. She hugged back, whispering in his ear, “Peter, I am so glad you’re here.” She then broke down and cried.

Peter held his mom tight, gently rocking her. “I’m glad I’m here too, Mom. How is he?” He continued to hold her until she stopped crying.

She slowly backed away and looked up at him, her eyes puffy. As Peter gently wiped the tears from her face she answered, “It’s not good. I don’t think he’s going to make it. He’s still going in and out, but when he has been able to talk, he has been asking for you.” She grabbed Peter’s hand and said, “Come on, I’ll take you to him.” She wheeled around and briskly pulled him toward the CCU entrance. As he held her hand a chill ran through his body. He remembered back to that day when he was seven years old wearing Bugs Bunny pajamas, following his mother to watch Dad on TV. Back then she was leading him to witness one of his dad’s greatest triumphs. Today he was following her to see his dad for possibly the last time.

His heart pounded as they passed through the lobby. He briefly said “Hello” to the few family and friends gathered as he was marched by. He stopped his mom when he saw Aunt Virginia, in tears and distraught. She was devoted to her brother. Tom and Virginia were practically best friends growing up. Peter’s dad was always there to protect his sister. Peter felt it was his duty to comfort her and leaned over to gave her a brief hug while whispering, “Aunt Virginia, I am sure everything will be okay.”

She forced a smile.

His mom grabbed his hand and gave a tug. Peter squeezed his aunt’s hand before turning to follow his mom. They soon approached the CCU entrance and his mom powered through the small metal gate like she owned the place, ignoring the security guard who was obviously caught by surprise. The attendant blocked Peter’s path, asking for identification.

“Reggie, it’s okay, this is my son,” Anne said, scowling.

“I understand, Mrs. Novak, but I still need to see his ID and issue him a badge.”

Peter quickly handed the guard his ID.

Reggie reviewed it, then filled out a badge and handed it to Peter. “We are all praying for your father.”

Peter nodded in appreciation as he grabbed the badge and resumed following his mom. As he passed the nurses desk, he observed a horseshoe-shaped corridor wrapped around them. He assumed all the rooms in this corridor were CCU rooms. Each had a front wall made of glass so the nurses could see in them at all times. Peter swallowed hard as they cautiously approached his dad’s room and he peered through the glass wall in front of him. His dad lay in a bed, tubes and wires attached from machines all around him. Next to the bed was a lone metal chair. As Peter stepped toward the entrance, his mom halted suddenly and with an encouraging look motioned for him to go in alone. She squeezed his hand before turning and walking away. He drew a sharp breath before he eased himself gradually in. His quiet footsteps seemed to echo in the hollow room. No pictures of any kind decorated the walls. The sterile room was colored in a dull gray and glistened with bright shiny metal equipment. The room had no windows, just the glass front wall.

Peter froze in place in the center of the room, staring uneasily at his dad, who was slightly propped up with his eyes closed, a bandage wrapped around his forehead. The only sound in the room now was of his dad breathing, which sounded like he was struggling with every breath. The sound was depressing. Peter always saw his dad as this larger than life hero, strong and always in control. Seeing his dad lying there lifeless and looking so weak broke Peter’s heart. He tried to control himself as he moved toward the chair and sat. A thin white blanket covered his dad, his arms resting outside. His hands were balled up in fists, which Peter assumed meant he was in pain, struggling to hold on. Peter put his hand on the fist closest to him and squeezed. “Dad, it’s me, Peter.” No response.

Peter moved his hand around and slipped it under the balled up fist and cradled his father’s hand. He wrapped his other over the top and said in louder tone, “Dad, it’s your son, I’m here.”

Tom slowly opened his eyes and rolled his head toward Peter. His eyes were glassy, his lips chapped and dry. At first his dad had a blank stare that looked straight through him.

Peter struggled to stay composed as he said again a little more sternly, “Dad, it’s me, Peter.”

All of a sudden, his dad seemed to get some life in his eyes as they began to focus. A faint smile came to his face. He said in a very strained and raspy voice, “Thank you for coming.”

Peter, both hands still wrapped around his dad’s, squeezed and said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.” Tom tried to swallow, and Peter could tell it was tough for him. “Do you need some water, Dad?”

His dad slightly moved his head signaling “No” as if there was something more important for him to do. Struggling to talk, he said, “Son, I love you so much. There is nothing more important to me than you and your mom. I hope you feel I was a good father.”

Tears started to appear in his dad’s eyes. Peter continued to squeeze his hand. “You were the best. There is nothing I would change.” Peter leaned over and gave his father a kiss on his forehead and whispered, “Dad, I love you so much.”

Peter sat back down and a stern look came across his father’s face.

“Damn those Chinese Bastards!” His dad’s face seemed to tighten up and he winced in pain.

“Don’t get all worked up,” Peter said as he patted his father’s hand, trying to settle him down.

His dad closed his eyes for a moment as if to calm himself, then slowly opened them again and looked directly into Peter’s. His breathing was now louder as he struggled more. His dad’s hand started to tremble as he slowly opened it and something dropped into Peter’s. “This is for you. It signifies what is important to me, but part of its luster is gone. Maybe you can change that.”

His dad closed his eyes and cringed in pain. His whole body tightened up and he squeezed Peter’s hand with what must have been all his strength, the item he had given Peter pressed in between.

“Hold on, Dad,” Peter said in desperation.

His dad, in obvious pain, opened his eyes and whispered in a frail voice, “Peter, take care of your mother for me.” With those last words, his father closed his eyes again, but this time his whole body went limp. His hand lost all strength and stopped squeezing. His dad for that brief moment seemed at peace, as if he had said what he wanted to say before giving up the fight.

Peter cried out, “Dad, don’t go!” Screeching alarms began blaring in the room, Peter looked up to see the line on the heart monitor had reduced to small blips below the center line. Peter stood over his dad and squeezed his hand harder. “Dad! Hold on!”

Two nurses rushed in, the male nurse pushing Peter out of the way as he ripped off his dad’s blanket and gown before starting chest compressions. The female nurse studied the monitor before calling out, “He’s in V-Fib.” She then snatched a bag off the wall that had a mask and put it to his dad’s mouth. Two other nurses came running in, one pushing a cart, the other grabbing Peter, stating he needed to go back to the lobby. The nurse turned him and steered him toward the door. Commotion and noise went on all around him. He looked back at his father one last time before leaving. His father seemed to have a small grin on his face, a look that was not there before, as if he were now in a better place. This comforted Peter as he walked through the door. A doctor rushing in, bumped him. The nurse escorting Peter turned her attention to the doctor, updating him. She seemed to forget all about Peter.

Peter walked out of the room, but instead of walking to the lobby, he turned and walked a few steps along the glass wall, and froze as he looked in. The room seemed to be in organized chaos. All the nurses were running around the small room doing a particular job, doing what they could to save his dad. Peter noticed two white pads were now attached to his dad’s chest. He heard a nurse yell, “charged.” The doctor, facing some equipment with his back to his father, turned toward the nurses and waved his arm through the air before shouting, “Clear!” The doctor then flipped a switch.

Peter saw his father’s body bounce up off the bed and assumed he was given an electrical shock. Everyone in the room paused to study the heart monitor, which Peter could see. He lightly tapped the glass as he whispered, “Come on, Dad, you can do it.”

Peter bit his lower lip as it looked like the blips on the heart monitor had increased. But his heart sank when he saw the doctor shrug and shake his head. The doctor barked out, “Resume chest compressions.” That was the last sound he heard before one of the nurses closed the door. It was odd watching all this commotion unfolding in front of him, yet unable to hear anything, like a silent horror film. Peter had to turn away, wishing he would wake up from this nightmare.

He closed his eyes and said a short prayer. God, if it is time, please watch over Dad. Thank you for blessing me as his son. He turned back to see the doctor wave his arm one more time before clicking the switch behind him and his dad’s limped body jumped again. Everyone stared at the monitor, but this time the line was flat. The doctor put up his hands in defeat. A sickening feeling of certainty began to overtake Peter as he accepted he had lost his dad.

Peter leaned against the glass with both hands, tears rolling down his cheek. A pinch and slight weight in his hand reminded him of the memento his dad had given him. He pulled the hand from the glass and gradually opened his fingers. Through the tears he saw the locket his mom had given his dad when he returned from the moon. His father treasured that locket with all his heart and always wore it. Knowing how important the locket was and what it stood for brought a smile to Peter’s face. He lightly stroked the crucifix on the outside. He opened it and looked at a copy of the family picture his dad left on the moon. His dad always told Peter he left the picture behind to symbolize how important his family was to him, and how he would have never walked on the moon if not for them. He said the picture would sit there on the lunar surface undisturbed for all eternity. Peter read the inscription on the locket’s inside cover written in 1972:

The time 9:45 p.m. signified when his dad first stepped on the moon in Texas time. This locket represented everything that was important to his dad; God, family and his NASA career.

Peter closed the locket before wiping the tears from his face, remembering what his dad said when he passed it to him. “Part of its luster is gone.” Because of those damn Chinese. But I can change this! As he considered taking on the operation, he quickly remembered it was a suicide mission and reflected on his dad’s last request, “Take care of your mother.” How can I do that if I accept the assignment?

Peter lifted his head and looked back into the room. Everyone was now moving much slower, no longer in a rush. He took one last look at his father as he lay there peacefully and whispered to himself, “Dad, what do you want me to do?”

The door opened as a nurse walked out, allowing Peter to overhear the doctor say, “mark time of death at 9:45 p.m.” Peter gasped. Wow, the same time as when he walked on the moon. He looked back down and opened the locket, rereading 9:45 p.m. Feeling this was a sign he was looking for, he glanced back at his dad and with an unexpected sense of purpose whispered, “Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll prove those Chinese wrong!”