Monday, November 9, 2009
My friend Buster lost his son yesterday.
For 6 weeks, Brent put up as much fight as he could, but in the end his body was just too broken. For that entire time, his parents stayed at his bedside around the clock, holding his hand and encouraging him even though Brent was in an induced coma. He knew they were there, though. Any time his mother got upset, Brent's vital signs wavered.
As Brent became weaker and weaker, clearly losing the fight, his mother and dad finally told the doctors "no more"... poke no more holes in him, no more CPR, just DNR. I hope his transition was peaceful, as I believe it would have been since his parents let go.
Sadly, that's the third boy between 18-20 on this street within 2 blocks of my house to kill themselves in an automobile or motorcycle accident in less than a year. No matter how much legislation is passed about drunk driving, it seems to have zero effect.
I don't know the local tradition, but in most of the South, neighbors bring food. (In North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia the food always includes fried chicken and peach pies.) I think I'll buy a stack of disposable plates, utensils, cups, napkins and even trash bags, along with a nice ribbon arrangement for the mailbox out by the street.
I hate to go over there because I never know the right thing to say.