The 6th of July -- The Longest Day

A year ago we drove all night up the 5 to arrive at Stanford University Hospital ICU at 5:30 a.m. It was the longest and shortest drive I have ever experienced. Della had arrived hours before from Oakland and sat with Kyle, holding his hand and talking to him, as if he perhaps could hear, and praying for him until we were able to get there. If Kyle had any awareness, he would have been so happy to have it be his "Aunt Della" there by his side. Aunt Della was always the one you wanted beside you in the trenches.

A year ago we sat all day with Kyle. His long long body, which was barely scratched, was barely contained by the bed. His head was bandaged with one eye covered and his bruised face was swollen. As the hours ticked by, I kept hoping we could keep Kyle on life support until his sister, an uncle, an aunt, and a cousin, and a few friends arrived from New York, Southern California, and Massachusetts to say their goodbyes. Every little while, the doctors and nurses would throw us out to do more tests or other medical processes. Although it would never be enough, nevertheless, I got a good amount of time with Kyle, in spite of all the folks in and out and given the extent of his injuries. At some point in the long day we were told that briefly he had been taken off the breathing apparatus and could not sustain breath. Although put back on life support, Kyle was pronounced dead at 4:45 p.m. on the 6th. He would continue to be stabilized so that his organs and tissues and corneas could be taken late that night. Before we went to Della's for dinner (blessed friend feeding us all) I said a quick goodbye, promising to be back later.

Due to the late night and the distance back to the hospital and the fact that some of us had not slept in 36 hours, Gearey suggested that Miranda and I get some sleep and that he make the trip back to the hospital (he and Leeanne were sleeping at the hotel next door to the hospital). I wanted so much to go back and to be with Kyle and kiss him one more time, but it was not to be. I asked Gear to explain why I wasn't there (as if Ky could have understood) and to give him a last goodbye from me. Gear told me that he felt that it was his job to be with Kyle these final moments, the way driving him to college had been his job, and the way, too, I realized, that cutting the umbilical cord had been his job. These were counterpart to my job, of bathing Ky's hands and feet and cleaning paint from under his fingernails and sand out from between his toes. It is a mother's job to care for her child's body in infancy, in childhood, in severe illness or injury, and finally, if it should be so untimely, in death.

So a year ago tonight, Gearey visited Kyle for the last time and said our goodbyes. The operation happened about midnight and in four hospitals in three states, four men were prepped to receive Kyle's "pristine" lungs, kidneys, and liver and their second chance at life.