The Day Life Became Temporary

    It was a beautiful fall day, perfect for the first day of school.  I had survived the day and a friend and I were playing catch in the backyard when the phone rang.  I rushed to answer it before the caller gave up.  “Hello” I panted. It was my step-dad.  He never calls.

    “Your brother has been in a motorcycle accident.  It’s pretty serious.  He wasn’t wearing his helmet.”

    I could feel the cold anguish pouring over me.  My brother and I had a special relationship. Close.  We grew up living in different households, he with my father and I with my mother.  We didn’t get to see nearly enough of one another so the time we did share was most precious.  I suddenly realized that I could lose my brother forever.

    “Your mom is already at the hospital and I’m on my way,” he reassured.

    “You must pick me up and take me to the hospital too” I pleaded.

    “He’s in surgery and will be for quite some time and…” he tried to reason.

    Frantically interrupting, “I don’t care!  I need to go to the hospital.”

    “Okay” he reluctantly conceded.

    It seemed like hours before he got home. I immediately jumped in the truck and quickly we went to the hospital.  I knew it was bad when we walked into the waiting room and the whole place was filled with our family and friends.  My mom looked like she’d been drug through it.  I could tell how worried she was even though she put on a brave face.

    We waited and waited.  Occasionally we’d get an update that only told us he was still in surgery.  How could someone be in surgery that long?  The beautiful day slowly turned to an agonizing night.  Making sure phone numbers were given so that an update could be made when there was one; those who had gathered slowly began to leave.  I, however, was going no where. I needed to know how my brother was.

    The surgeon came out finally after midnight to give her prognosis.  “He had internal bleeding in his belly, the bone in his thigh was crushed and his leg was broken in two other places.  The crush was so bad that we contemplated amputating his leg but decided against it.  The worst injury however, was to his head and neck.  His brain had begun to swell so we had to remove part of his skull to release some of the pressure.  We’re not sure how much brain damage he has suffered and won’t know until the swelling goes down.  I’m not going to lie to you folks, it doesn’t look good.  His odds for survival are zero to one percent.”

    I felt sick to my stomach.  He could really die.  The only person that had died in my life was my grandfather.  I was really young then so it didn’t affect me too much.  I couldn’t imagine my life without my brother.  I suddenly realized that this life is temporary. 

    The doctor went on to explain that Jeff was in a comma and she didn’t expect him to come out anytime soon, if he came out at all.  My mom went in to see him and came out crying.  I was too young at the time to go into ICU and was quite angry about this stupid rule.  Didn’t they know that I may never see him alive again!
The night was so quiet that I could here my own heart beating.  I wondered how it beat at all because it was so broken.  I went to bed but just stared at the ceiling, praying that God would not take my brother from me.

    The next day we went back to the hospital.  My step-dad and mom went into the ICU to see Jeff.  This was the first time I saw my step-dad cry.  He just walked out holding my mom’s hand as we walked out of the hospital.  I was told there was not much change.  They had to tie Jeff to the bed because he was fighting even in his comatose state.  However, only one side of him body was doing the fighting.  The other lay motionless.  This could be a really bad sign.

    The doctors were still trying to determine if Jeff had also broken his neck.  Several doctors were called in and had varying opinions.  They were trying to decide if they needed to put bolts in his head to stabilize his neck.  The consensus was that it was not broken.  “Thank God, at least one positive thing,” I thought.

    Day after day we went to the hospital.  I waited outside the doors of the ICU longing to be with my brother, to hold his hand and tell him that I love him. No change.  Each day seemed like an eternity.  I struggled to concentrate at school and my friends didn’t know what to say. 

    Two weeks into this nightmare we finally got some good news.  Jeff had come out of his coma and was awake and oriented.  Realizing he was naked, the first words he uttered after they removed the breathing tube were, “Where’s my pants?”  I knew he was going to make it.
   
    The very first opportunity I had to see Jeff was when they moved him out of ICU.  My parents warned me that he didn’t look like himself.  They said he had lost a lot of weight and that his head had been shaved, his body was covered in scabs from sliding across the pavement and he had tubes coming and going from everywhere.  I didn’t care about all that.  I just wanted to see for myself that he was indeed alive and awake.  I slowly entered his room and he greeted me with his usual “Hey Kid.” I’m now in my forties and Jeff still calls me Kid.  With anyone else I might take exception, but from him it is music to my ears.

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