The night of June 29, 1959, was unseasonably warm in Minneapolis. Without a breeze to freshen it, the sultry air of the day was now smothering the city in its heavy blanket. The air conditioning fans in the general hospital were laboring to relieve suffering patients of the added burden of the heat. A faint light was glowing in a window on the seventh floor, one of the few still burning at 2:00 a.m. The seventh floor was the maternity ward.
An infant son had been born the previous morning to Dr. and Mrs. Stephan Pearson. The baby, whose delivery was complicated by its greatly enlarged pancreas and by other congenital issues, died before they could get him onto the operating table. A nurse had quickly baptized him as “Baby Boy Pearson, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit” just before he expired.
The mother’s condition was so critical that the news of her infant son’s death had been withheld from her. She had, in fact, regained consciousness only twice.
Dr. Pearson, though prepared for an ordeal by the unexpected complications of his wife’s last month of pregnancy, was in a state of shock. Mary Thorsheim had remained with him all day and into the night and had heard from his lips little more than the words, “She has to pull through! O God! She has to pull through!”
At 2:05 a.m., the physician who had attended her all through her labor and delivery stepped into the waiting room. Steve shot to his side. “She has regained consciousness, Dr. Pearson,” he said wearily, “and is asking for you. Mind you, only a minute or two.”
Dreading and hoping, Steve opened the door and tiptoed into the room. Above the white curtain drawn around Kay’s bed hung two inverted bottles of blood and a series of tubes. Quickly he moved to the side of the bed where the curtain was open. An oxygen tent had been removed from around Kay’s head. Their eyes met. A weak smile broke out on her face at the sight of Steve. He laid his hand on hers, gazing in disbelief through the paraphernalia surrounding her.
Her breathing was faint and fitful. But her eyes gleamed with joy. She looked steadily at her wretched husband. Her lips parted a slit and closed again. Steve bent low over her, so low that his ear was almost touching her mouth. Her breathing grew even more rapid and fluttering. Her lips parted again and, in the barest whisper, scarcely audible, but clear as crystal, Steve heard, “It’s a boy. Are you happy, my love?”
Her breathing grew even more shallow, as if her soul were barely clinging to her body.
“Oh yes, my beloved!” Steve choked. “My dearly beloved Kay!”
Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He was trembling uncontrollably.
“Then don’t cry, darling…. I’ll be all right….”
Her voice died to a whirr.
“I am … very happy … too…. Jesus just….”
Her eyes closed. One of the attendants firmly pulled Steve back and with one motion, drew the oxygen tent down over her head again. Petrified, Stephan Pearson watched the flower of his life wither away before his eyes.
A few long moments later, Kay opened her eyes for the last time and looked straight into Steve’s eyes. A deep smile settled over her face, a smile expressing all the joys of a battle well fought and won. When she closed her eyes, the smile remained.
They tried to get Stephan to leave, but he insisted on remaining at her bedside, holding her hand. Mary joined him in his vigil.
The gentle smile was still on her face at 2:38 a.m. when Katherine Pearson took her last breath.