#LiveLikeGreg

Photos by Tonya Harvey

#LiveLikeGreg

by Kristin Bell-Peistrup

“I’ve got COVID. Don’t come home.”

had no idea how those six words my husband, Greg, said to me would ultimately change me and my life. In September of 2020, after months of lockdown, confusion, and restlessness, I had decided to take a break—a long weekend in San Diego at the beach to recharge my soul and find some internal peace. What better way than the soothing sounds of the ocean and some quiet time in the sun and sand. It was there, in the place I was so desperately looking for peace, that I heard those words, and the calm that I needed and wanted was quickly replaced by anxiety.

Greg was invincible. Larger than life in presence and personality. He was healthy and strong, and loved all kinds of physical activities, from mountain climbing and scuba diving to horseback riding and so much more—I swear he did it all. And he was never sick. Surely this would not be a big deal. But that day, I heard something I seldom heard in his voice—fear.

He then said to me, “We have to get you tested. I’ve already booked you an appointment tomorrow morning.” We decided that, if I was positive, I would come home and we would quarantine together; if I was negative, I would stay at the beach. At the time, California was so backed up that it took an unnerving five days to get my results: I was negative.

So that was it, I was going to stay in San Diego while we rode out this storm. It wouldn’t be long. Ten days of quarantine—piece of cake, right? I remembered when Greg had hiked to the advanced base camp at Mount Everest for a wilderness medicine course. I had only spoken to him twice in the 21 days he was gone, so 10 days when we could talk whenever we wanted should be easy.

I got myself set up to work from the condo I was staying at, and in some ways, having been working remotely for months, it didn’t seem all that foreign. However, I found myself really struggling with how to approach this with my team and coworkers. Who do I tell? How do I tell them? Am I going to be treated like an outcast? I also found myself thinking, If I don’t tell anyone, is it even real? If I just act normal…

But wishing doesn’t make it so. I did end up telling my team, my leader, and one of my peers. I felt I had an obligation to share, but I quickly glossed over the news, treating it as casually as I thought it would be, as casually as I wanted it to be.

Greg and Kristin just prior to their 13th wedding anniversary.

Throughout the course of our quarantine, there really wasn’t much change in Greg’s symptoms. Each day he conveyed to me that he only had some body aches that would come and go. All the more obvious COVID symptoms—lack of taste or smell, decreased O2 levels, fever, etc.—weren’t manifesting with Greg. So as the days ticked by, even though he wasn’t getting better, he didn’t seem to be getting worse. My anxiety began to wane, and I was once again starting to enjoy my time at the beach.

The Unthinkable

Friday, September 18, Greg didn’t answer my calls. It was odd and unsettling, but I knew he didn’t feel good and needed rest. “He must be sleeping,” I said to myself. But as it got later and later in the day and my calls continued to go unanswered, unbelievable dread crept in. Something was wrong. I remembered we had a single security camera that provided video and audio of the kitchen and back-door area of our two-story home, and I quickly pulled the image up. I saw nothing, heard nothing. There were no signs that my husband had been downstairs for the day. What could this mean? Greg had an incredible support system, and my thoughts raced to the idea that one of his friends in the medical field had come by to check on him and perhaps took him somewhere. But where? Why didn’t he tell me? I couldn’t make sense of what was going on.

I called my son Bryen and asked him run by the house and do a welfare check on his father. “Sure, Mom,” Bryen said. “I’ll head over there now.” I sat there staring at that image of my kitchen, trying to will something to happen, hoping to see Greg come ambling down the stairs—something. Then there was movement. Bryen had arrived at the house and was heading upstairs off-camera. Greg’s going to be mad that I asked Bryen to come over, I thought to myself.

Then my world shattered. When Bryen came back downstairs, he was sobbing into his cellphone, saying to the 9-1-1 operator, “My dad’s dead.” I couldn’t breathe. Did I hear him right? How could this be? I was so far away and felt so helpless. What was I supposed to do?

I made just a couple phone calls to share the news. The first was to my parents, and as I started to tell them I choked on the word “dead.” Saying it out loud cemented its reality. Then time became a blur. I started to pack my things as fast as I could. I had to get home, had to help Bryen, had to make sure this was true. The next thing I knew, my brother, who lives close by, walked in. Had I called him? I was so frantic and fuzzy, I couldn’t remember. He convinced me that I couldn’t leave, that it wasn’t safe for me to drive, and said that he and his wife would drive me and my car back to Las Vegas to my parents’ house if I could just wait until 5 a.m. The twelve hours seemed like an eternity.

Blurred Reality

I didn’t sleep. I sat outside listening to the rhythm of the waves. They had once comforted me; now they almost hammered me. I don’t remember anything about the drive home. The next thing I knew we had pulled up to my parents’ home. I sat there looking at the house with a heavy dread—I didn’t want to move. This house was normally such a comforting place, and yet I didn’t want to go in there and face my parents. I didn’t want to see the pitied pain in their eyes. I was sure that, with just one look or one hug, this delicate web I had wrapped around my broken soul would snap and I would unrecoverably fall apart. I would be drowned in my new reality. How was I supposed to start the next chapter of my life when I was not nearly done with the first?

The next day, I got a call from a local TV station. They had heard about Greg and wanted to know if they could interview me live on the air. It felt impossible but also important. I felt compelled—I had something to say. I borrowed a scarf from my mom to try to dress up my tired t-shirt and took two minutes to try to make myself look less wrecked. I wasn’t sure what they would ask me, what I would say, if I could hold it together. But I wanted to lead the charge in telling his story, and sometimes you must set aside personal feelings and be uncomfortable for the greater good.

I felt Greg would want me to warn people about COVID. Greg was all about caring for people. He was an advanced emergency nurse practitioner and had been working in medicine in one capacity or another for more than 30 years. Caring for someone in the emergency room who coded and needed intubation is how he contracted COVID. He was cool and calm in emergencies, skillful at treating patients, willing to put others above himself. One of his fellow physicians said, “If Greg was working, we knew it was going to be a good shift.”

After an honorable discharge from the Army, Greg landed in Las Vegas and began working as an ER Tech.

A Greater Good

Greg’s story struck a chord with people—a young, healthy health care provider struck down by this terrible disease in just 12 days. People from every part of his life reached out from all over the world, and I decided quickly that I would be his storyteller.

During those first few months I recounted his story numerous times. Someone commented that I was capitalizing on Greg’s death for my own benefit. But I came to realize that sharing my pain and grief journey is a gift. People are honored when you care and trust enough to share with them, and in turn they want to help and feel like they have done something important and valuable. And if you are open enough to receive their care, it can feel like a warm hug, which during COVID is even more precious than you might realize.

Even during a pandemic, when you could not see people and get the hugs that are so important, people showed up in other ways—phone calls, goodies left at the door, cards and flowers. I felt so loved, so seen. People I never expected caught me off guard in beautiful and simple ways. My company’s president called me personally to tell me how terribly sorry he was and that any support I needed would be given to me. It reminded me that you don’t have to be close friends to reach out. As I talked, I also listened, and I learned a few valuable lessons I would like to share now.

Greg lived life to the fullest every day, always seeking a new adventure, from climbing to Base Camp at Mount Everest to riding parts of the Tour de France.

Reaching out is so important. You don’t have to say the perfect thing, and you don’t have to be strong. One day I had a conversation with my niece Amari. She missed Greg and was experiencing her own grief, but I overheard her say she didn’t want to tell me because she didn’t want to make me sad. I took her aside and told her that talking about Greg keeps his memory alive.

When we had Greg’s funeral, we were limited to 40 people. I told the director, “Forty! Are you kidding me? I need 1,100!” But I had no choice. While there would be a livestream, I still had to figure out how to represent all aspects of Greg’s life, how to bring closure to a community legend and provide closure and support for Bryen, Greg’s family, and myself. At the end of the service, paramedics performed a last call over all of the emergency radios. It was beautiful, chilling, and left many with goosebumps and tears. As we walked his casket out, I stepped outside to the most incredible sight: Lining the streets were tons of people with signs and flags, in addition to a motorcade that included emergency vehicles from every agency in the city. Even the Mercy air helicopter did a flyover.

Having personally experienced something allows you to reach others in similar situations. So I lead the charge, I continue to tell Greg’s story, I listen, and I learn. I show up in even the smallest ways.

Making a Mark

Over the next months, I continued to hear so many stories about people Greg mentored, about how he helped, inspired, and challenged them. I always knew he was special, but I was beginning to realize the true depth of his impact. I was aware that he was always helping and teaching students, and that he loved it and was appreciated for it. But the magnitude of so many heartfelt and career-making experiences on his mentees was overwhelming. He really did change people’s lives.

Not all of us are meant to be in medicine, but Greg showed me how much we can impact the lives of those around us, both personally and professionally. He showed me that making a difference doesn’t have to be about doing something magnificent. Sometimes it’s a small act that starts a cascading positive ripple.

Greg served as a medic for the United States Army, serving in the 2nd Battalion, 37th Armored Regiment, known as the Iron Dukes. His time in the Army sparked his passion for medicine.

Greg was a leader who treated everyone with unparalleled compassion and respect. He saw the best in people and helped them see it in themselves. He made a difference for others daily, and we are all better people for knowing him. Greg’s urn has a stone and ripple pattern on the top of it to symbolize the positive difference he made in this world. It was that approach that led me to create the hashtag #LiveLikeGreg—we should all be so lucky to live like him.

I recognize that what I went through enables me to have a unique and intimate perspective that I can use to help others. Having personally experienced something allows you to reach others in similar situations. So I lead the charge, I continue to tell Greg’s story, I listen, and I learn. I show up in even the smallest ways. I have discovered that I am stronger than I could have imagined, and you are too.

Kristin Bell-Peistrup is a Las Vegas native. She has spent most of her professional career in finance roles in the casino industry. Currently, she is the global accounts payable director for a slot manufacturing company and manages teams around the world. Bell-Peistrup has a master’s degree in business and an undergraduate degree in criminal justice, and currently holds certifications in project management and fraud examination. Bell-Peistrup, now widowed, married Greg Peistrup in September of 2006, after they connected while scuba diving. She became mother to two wonderful stepsons: Christopher Peistrup (1989-2013) and Bryen Peistrup. Bell-Peistrup has a passion for people and animals. Most weekends you can find her at the barn where she boards her horse Dozer or in the pool enjoying her true love of water. She is active in the community and volunteers time with Michael’s Angel Paws with Saylor, one of her three dogs, as a therapy team.

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