The last time Julie Kjorsvik saw her father alive, they were separated by a crystal.
Donald Mansfield, 77, rested his body in a wheelchair when he was transferred to the entrance of the compound.
On the other side, without warning, his three children and grandchildren were waiting for him.
The oldest, Julie's daughter, wore a wedding dress.
They came from celebrating their wedding by a river, in a rural area of Ellensburg, in the State of Washington.
The young woman chose the site in honor of her grandfather, a former Navy Marine who had spent more time in the water than out of the water.
Donald rested his hands on the glass and his relatives did the same to trick the mind and feel that they were touching.
"She was smiling, but I could see that inside her heart was broken," Julie recalls.
Her father had been admitted to the nursing home after suffering cardiac arrest followed by a broken hip.
Months later, in July, a nurse at the campus tested positive for coronavirus, leading to an outbreak.
When Donald Mansfield crossed the glass, he was inside a coffin covered by the American flag.
The policy of the Prestige Post-Acute residence allows two close to the patient to visit him in his last moments.
But Julie never received that invitation, despite the fact that she spoke daily on the phone with the medical staff.
On July 13, they informed him that they had done the test and two days later, that it was positive.
Donald was one of 52 cases on Prestige Post-Acute that the news was talking about.
On the 21st, Julie called when her father was resting after receiving a bath.
“I told them to let him enjoy that moment of peace.
I would call her tomorrow ”.
But in the early morning, the phone that rang was hers.
“The nurse was crying.
She had died ”.
They asked him if he wanted to visit him.
"Excuse me? I replied.
Why am I going to go now that he's dead.
I wanted to see him alive ”.
Since February 6, when the first official fatality was recorded in the United States, more than 200,000 people have died.
The figure just reached breaks the most pessimistic forecast given by Dr. Anthony Fauci on the last day of March.
Then the barrier went up
to 240,000.
The same day that Donald died, there was a turning point in the country and since then, with some exceptions, the United States has added 1,000 deaths a day, a number to which the country had said goodbye in the first days of June.
New cases are fast approaching seven million, topping the world rankings.
Both indicators are on the rise compared to the previous week.
Although only 7% of infections have occurred in nursing homes for the elderly, deaths in these facilities account for about 40%.
In Washington State, where nursing homes have witnessed relentless outbreaks, the percentage reaches 56%.
Jessica Bliven is an intensive care nurse in Las Vegas, Nevada.
Only daughter, mother of three, she lived for 14 years with her mother, Charlene Struck, who would have turned 75 this Sunday.
"I will never forget July 2, when I woke up to the sound of my mother coughing in our living room."
Jessica lived in fear of bringing the disease home.
She clarifies that she was extremely careful when working and that she meticulously used personal protective equipment.
First her husband was infected, who also left home to work.
"I was very worried about my husband, but protecting my mother was my priority."
He isolated his partner in a room, but days later his mother, who had had respiratory problems in her youth and suffered from lupus, started coughing.
Charlene did not want to go to the hospital because she was afraid she would not return.
Jessica kept her at home for almost two weeks;
symptoms did not go beyond coughing.
"I did everything I could have done to keep her home, but no matter what I did, her oxygen kept going down," he recalls.
When her mother was put into the ambulance, she did not say goodbye.
She was sure they would let her visit her, but she didn't.
That same night Charlene Struck suffered a cardiac arrest and had to be resuscitated.
Then they hooked her up to a fan.
Jessica was unable to sleep and experienced panic attacks.
As a nurse, she knew her mother was unlikely to survive.
They waited a few days to see, without success, if her vital signs improved.
"So, I was faced with the difficult decision to disconnect it from the fan."
By profession, they allowed her to be in the room at the time of death.
“I can't stop repeating the facts over and over in my head.
Could I have done something to stop this?
Could I have saved her?
I just don't know, ”he reflects.
Her family has not yet been able to hold a service to help them process the loss.
The deprivation of funerals is one of the most painful consequences - if not the most - of this pandemic.
Almost two years before the death of Donald Mansfield, Julie lost her mother to devastating cancer.
"The experience of the two deaths is completely different," he remarks.
Her family was able to accompany her at all times and they knew what the situation was.
“When my mother died, it was a moment of peace.
But the departure of my father, away from his family ... there was nothing peaceful in his death, "he laments.
His remains were cremated and they intend, as soon as possible, to throw them into the river.
Information about the coronavirus
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