Even in death, their 70-year train stayed on track

At 96, Elizabeth, a few months younger than her husband, was as sharp as a tack, but her physical health had declined to the point where she needed a wheelchair to get around.
    

Joseph had no acute physical conditions, but the unrelenting onset of dementia also meant he needed a wheelchair whenever he rolled down the hall to visit residents and the nursing home staff.
    

Whenever the Calis left their room, they were tethered, in locomotion and in faith: Elizabeth in the front, Joseph as the rare caboose with an engine, loyally pushing their choo choo train down the tracks.

    If in their 70 years of marriage the Calis were the Little Train That Could, then what happened at the end matters to everyone dealing today with the challenges of the coronavirus reality, where, sometimes, you don’t get to say goodbye.
    

On April 14 at 8:20 p.m., Elizabeth died in her room. Her bed faced the window. Joseph’s bed faced the opposite wall and he was sleeping a lot, so it was up to the Calis’ daughter, Denise Barcenas, who could not be at her mother’s bedside because of the no-visitation policy, to try to break the news to her father in words he could understand. 
    

So, minutes after learning by cell phone of her mother’s death, she now had to relay that same message by cell phone to her confused father.
  

“The nurse put my dad on the phone, and I explained to him that my mother had passed away and that she was in a good place now and that she was out of pain,” Denise said. “It took awhile to get through to him, but once it did, he got it, and he was extremely upset.”
    

On April 15 at 12:20 p.m., Joe died in his bed – 16 hours after his wife’s death. They had spent 70 years and three months together.
    

“I think once he realized he did not have to care for my mom anymore and that she was gone, there was no reason for him to stay behind,” Denise said. “I just think that he just went back to bed and went to sleep and probably never woke up again.”
    

For almost all of his 96 years, Joe was connected to St. Rita Parish in New Orleans. His parents lived on Pine Street across from St. Mary’s Dominican High School, catacorner to St. Rita. Joe would walk one block to St. Rita School with his dog Skeets, who would run home and then run back at 3 p.m. to greet Joe as he ended the school day.
    

“He was an only child, so he loved that dog,” Denise said.
    

Joe and Elizabeth met after WWII at Maison Blanche. Joe was an assistant credit manager, and Elizabeth was a secretary in the personnel office. They lived for 62 years in a house on Short Street, just a few blocks from St. Rita Church.
    

Joe was a longtime usher, and he and Elizabeth were active members of a parish senior group that did a lot of socializing together. So, for 96 years, Joe’s life was tied to St. Rita and to his wife.
    

“They did live a long and happy life,” Denise said.
    

The closing chapter was difficult. In March, after it was determined that Elizabeth was too weak to have surgery for diverticulitis, the Calis were in the nursing home together when the coronavirus restrictions shut down all visitation.
    

Just three weeks ago, Denise and her sister, Dianne Levkowicz, saw their parents for the final time. Nursing home aides rolled Elizabeth and Joe to a glass door, which was locked, and Denise and Dianne tried to carry on a conversation with them.
    

“We used our cell phones to talk between the glass, but they were having a very hard time with the cell phones because neither one of them could hear very well,” Denise said.
    

They didn’t need words.
  

“They both were putting their hands up to the glass, wanting to touch us,” Denise said. “I was able to touch the glass. They both were touching the window with us, and my mother made the sign of the cross and blew us a kiss. I think that she knew she wasn’t going to be here much longer.”
    

The Calis were buried on April 21 in a private ceremony. The funeral home recommended that Denise and Dianne not attend the burial because they would have to wear protective gear and stand far away. 
    

The funeral home took pictures.
    

At some point, Denise said the extended family will celebrate a Memorial Mass for them. For now, she will remember what the nursing home people told her about her father: that he would ask about Elizabeth every time she was out of his sight to get her hair done.
    

“Even though he had dementia, he watched over her and felt responsible for her,” Denise said. “After she was gone, he just figured there was no other reason. His job was done.”
    

Peter Finney Jr. can be reached at [email protected].