Second Chances (15 page)

At the mention of fire, my heart skipped a beat and I reached out for her, my knees suddenly jelly under me. That beautiful creature just reached right out and held me up.

(“Mr. Jennings. Mark. She probably won’t make it through another episode like this again. My recommendation would be that you and your family talk. I know it’s a hard call to make, but she indicated she doesn’t want to be resuscitated again.”)

“Shhh. It’s okay, Mark. Fortunately, there were two nurses from here, actually, on their way home after night shift and they saw what happened. They grabbed two or three guys from the construction crew working on the outside of the building and managed to get him out of the car. It took them a little longer than we would’ve liked it to, but they stabilized him as best they could.”

I started to get the strength in my legs back and pulled away from Emily. “Please,” I whispered, “please tell me he isn’t burned.”

“No, he didn’t sustain significant burns. Oh good, here’s Dr. Amarti,” she said and waived over a tiny older woman. If I held my arm up and out, Dr. Amarti could’ve stood under it and not touched her head to my arm. She had delicate features, and that beautiful complexion and carriage that made it impossible to guess her age.

“Mr. Jennings, I’m Dr. Sylvia Amarti. I’ve been treating Mr. Jacobs since he was brought in. I understand you’re his medical contact and have his power of attorney and can make his medical decisions?” she asked while she firmly herded me to a small room near the row of patient cubicles.

“That’s right,” I said, “and please call me Mark.
(Brian is a person. See him.)
Brian is my partner. I have all the paperwork in this file. Please, tell me what’s going on. Why can’t I see him?”

Dr. Armati shared a look with Emily and girded herself. “Mr. Jacobs came into the ER suffering a prolonged grand mal seizure, and we weren’t able to stop him from seizing. I tried Dilantin, but it was useless. Thank goodness he was wearing his medical alert bracelet and we were able to call his neurologist and consult. Dr. Baron will be here shortly, and you can speak with him yourself.”

“Go on,” I said and braced myself for whatever was coming. This shitstorm.

“The prolonged seizure caused Mr. Jacobs to suffer temporary loss of oxygen to his brain. That, combined with the smoke he inhaled before he was pulled from the vehicle, made it necessary to intubate him. Do you understand?” she paused.

“Yes, he’s on a respirator,” I whispered.

(“She can stay alive for a time on artificial support. Every time she slips back and forth from the coma state it weakens her body, and one of these times she won’t come back at all. I can tell you, it is painful on her body. I can’t tell you what to do, and it takes strength to let go.”)

“Yes. Mr. Jennings.” I looked sharply at her. “Mark. His condition was beginning to stabilize. But, well, the brain is a funny organ, Mark,” she said. She paused and actually reached out and touched my elbow. I was barely aware of it. All I could hear was the rush of blood in my ears and the screams that threatened to drown her out. Why couldn’t she hear the screaming?

(Dad and I looked at each other and he nodded. We’d already had this conversation. With Mom. It would be hard on the rest of the family, but it was done. We couldn’t let her suffer any more.)

“Whether it was the accident, the smoke inhalation, the length of the initial seizure, or any number of factors, his brain will not stop triggering seizures. The complication, as you know, is the tumor. It may be that it’s invaded a part of the brain that controls muscular activity. The CAT scan shows significant growth from last month, and serious damage to all surrounding areas,” she said.

“Oh God. Not now. Not today. I’m not ready, Dr. Amarti. Please tell me not now,” I begged. She did what no other doctor we had been to see did. This tiny china doll of a woman pulled my six foot-plus frame into her arms and shushed me like a child.

“Mark, I’m controlling any pain he might be having. He regains consciousness at moments, but that will be fading. I’m so sorry, but your young man is not going to make a recovery. I’ll go over the options available for his care, and you have a serious choice to make. Shhh.” This goddess continued to hold me in her arms.

The world fractured. Exploded. The shrapnel was lodged in every square inch of me and nobody but this kind woman saw it. And that’s what allowed me to pull myself together and take care of Brian.

(I told the doctor. “Dad and I made the call already. She’s coming home. We can’t let this go on any longer. She wants to die at home and we’ll let her.” He looked at us and nodded. His eyes were bright. “I admire your strength. Not every family can do what is right. Bless you. For her sake.”)

This man was the husband of my heart. I’d be a man for him, the man he deserved.

I
SAT
in a chair beside his bed, holding his hand. The noises of all the machinery that monitored him and kept him breathing didn’t register. All I saw was him, all I heard was his voice, all I breathed was his smell.

(How he looked the first time we made love. When I asked him to be mine. When he told me he loved me for the first time.)

I waited. I watched. His body would jump and muscles would twitch and jerk.

(When we got the diagnosis of the tumor. When his body started to betray him. When we couldn’t make love anymore in case he had a seizure.)

The doctor stood there with me. We were just waiting. I couldn’t do this until he was awake for a minute. I needed to see his eyes one more time.

Finally, his eyes flickered open and he blinked and searched, tried to focus. I squeezed his hand and drew his attention to me. He looked up and his eyes widened. His mouth tried to move, to speak, but the tube wouldn’t allow it.

(When he passed out from a seizure the first time. When I found him unconscious on the bathroom floor. When I left home that morning.)

“Shh. Sweet, sweet baby. I’m here with you. I won’t let you go through this all by yourself. Remember, we talked about this. I know you can see me, and hear me.”

He looked up, his gaze locked on mine and understanding flooded his eyes. He gripped at my hand as muscle tremors jerked parts of his body. I held it hard so he would know I had him.

(When we decided not to have the surgery that could leave him in a vegetative state. When we told Dad and he cried, holding Brian. When he called him his son.)

“I know you were looking for Robbie. It’s okay. Don’t worry about him. It’s just you and me here. I wanted to see those beautiful eyes of yours one more time, baby. I’m ready. Are you ready?”

Relief flooded his eyes. A single tear started to run down the side of his face. I bent down and kissed it away. I put my mouth right next to his ear so he could hear me. “My love. My life. My husband. It’s been my great honor to love you and I only hope I was worthy of it.”

(When I first met him at Ryan’s party. When we started dating. When I realized I loved him.)

He jerked a little at that and leaned his head toward my ear. I could hear a moan in his throat.

“Shh. We had a good life together. I’ll miss you every day for the rest of my life. You’re my heart and it’ll go with you. I’ll be here, and I’ll hold your hand, and you focus on me, and when you leave me, you won’t be alone. Don’t be afraid. We won’t be saying good-bye, baby. Just, ’til later.”

I leaned back and nodded to the doctor. She started shutting down the respirator, and the noise stopped. All that was left was the heart monitor.

(When he cheated. When he left me. When I knew he would leave me again.)

I climbed beside him into the cold, sterile bed and wrapped my arms around him and turned his head to mine so as he left this life, he could see my love for him.

I kept talking and telling him he was loved and singing his favorite song, this song that broke my heart every time I heard it and I couldn’t fix him or guide him home, until the monitor stopped beeping. Dr. Amarti turned it off before the alarm could sound, took her stethoscope and listened to his chest for a moment. Nodding, she turned to leave. But before she did, she turned and stood behind me, placed one hand over my heart, and hugged me from behind.

Then she slipped out of the room and closed the curtain behind her, leaving me with Brian. I kept humming in his ear even though I was there alone. Lights
will
guide you home, love.

(When he is gone. When I am alone. When the lights go out.)

W
E
’
D
decided on low-key for his memorial service. I supposed it helped, the knowing in advance, but honestly, the marking time in a sort of hellish limbo also let me think that it really wasn’t going to happen. So Brian and I had already planned it out, and all I had to do was contact the funeral home, and then ask our friend Janet to sing. He always loved her voice. We’d both wanted to be cremated so there’d only be a memorial service in the chapel, no viewing and graveside service.

I’d sat down with Todd and arranged for a three months leave of absence. If he hadn’t agreed, I was prepared to quit. The thought of going to work, not seeing Robbie, not having Brian to come home to, I just couldn’t do it. He agreed.

The day of the service was one of those days we sometimes get in summer in Atlanta. The air was dry, the temperature moderate. The sky was clear. The service was set for two in the afternoon in the chapel of the funeral home we’d used when we buried Mom. I’d spent an hour or so sitting in the private family room with Dad. I just stared and waited for time to start the service.

The door opened and someone came in. I didn’t have the energy to turn and see who. I felt, more than heard, someone standing right behind me. “The service starts at two. Everybody’ll be in the chapel. I’ll see you in there,” I said flatly.

A tentative voice whispered, “Mr. Mark? Is it okay if I’m in here?”

“Robbie,” I said. It was all I could manage to get out. And I turned around.

“Mr. Mark, I’m so sorry. I liked Mr. Brian and I just heard about this,” his voice trailed off, unsure. I was off the chair and had him in a tight hug before he got the last words out. He stiffened at first, but then he relaxed and reached up and hugged me back. After a minute I pulled him back.

“Where’ve you been?” I asked. “I’ve been so worried, Robbie.” He looked down at his shoes and scuffed them around and mumbled for a minute. Started and stopped and hemmed and hawed, then looked back at me.

“Is it okay if I stay for the funeral? If you let me, I promise I won’t run off,” he said. When he looked up, fear and hope fought for control of his face. “If you still want to see me later. If you don’t, I’ll go and leave you alone and not bother you anymore,” he whispered.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” I warned him. “You can stay and then come over to my house after the service. We’re all having an early dinner there. I want you there, do you understand? Tell me you’ll come see me after we’re finished here.”

“Okay, Mr. Mark, I promise,” he said, with relief.

“The chapel’s next door. Why don’t you go in there and sit down and wait, okay? It won’t be long,” I walked him over to the connecting door. He nodded and went without saying anything else.

“Who was that boy?” my dad asked. I’d forgotten he was there, in my relief.

“Dad, that was Robbie. He’s the boy that I was telling you about. He ran away from where I work. Brian was out looking for him when….” The grief was never far from the surface. Grief and anger and hurt.

“When he wrecked,” Dad finished for me, his face so compassionate. “Brian made that choice to be out driving, son. He knew what could happen. He wanted to find that boy and make sure he was safe too. It wasn’t his fault, Mark. If it wouldn’t have been then, it would’ve been soon. You heard what the doctor said, the tumor was growing again.” He reached out and pulled me into his arms. “I know it hurts, son, but you have to let him go today. It’s just his body we’re saying good-bye to, you know. He’s like your momma, he’s always going to be in your heart. And you’ll see him again. Just like I’ll see your mom. But don’t you forget you still have a lot of time left, boy. Grieve for him, but don’t you fucking dare give up,” he said into my ear.

Having my dad hold me in his strong arms like when I was a boy finally, finally allowed me to let go. It was like being told that I could fall apart now, that my daddy would keep me in one piece. Sometimes you are never too old to be held by a parent. He just held on and rocked me just like he did when I was a baby. Just like I did for him when his love died.

I loved this man. He was able to keep going on. Maybe I could too.

T
HE
service was… amazing.

I was expecting my family, a few of our friends, and maybe a couple of people from work to be there. What I walked into was a chapel so full there were people that stood in the back since all the seating was taken.