Story Collections on ILLUMINATION

Amidst the Morning Minutiae

The Book of One Life

Amidst the morning minutiae, memories molded and mildewed, unmasked the past as many times before, and finding peculiar and what matters most unfamiliar, while reflections of the day before me revealed new reasons to think of him this day. And in that moment all notions turn to questions, unanswerable riddles turned nonverbal, responses immutable, as there were no words to say.

Our lives are but a drama, drawn as acts within a play. Each day a book unfolds, turned to an empty page. Bookmarked are the memories, scribbled in the margins the secrets we withhold. Ad-libbed, or be it scripted: It matters not, as the beat of a heart and sentient consciousness are the lowest denominators that qualify as human life.

But, if those two domains are sustained only by perpetual medical intervention, then families of hospital patients in this state of being are urged by medical staff to make the heart wrenching decision to:

‘Take them off the machine”.

One would think that this process would include compassion for the patient and family, but such is not the case, at least not from my own personal experience.

You see, my younger brother, who was also Autistic, and who was my best and only friend, jumped from a moving car at 70 mph to his ultimate death. For four excruciating days he was kept alive by life support systems. The first few days, the hospital staff was professional, but I could sense a stand-off approach in the air. I was by his side, holding his hand, and talking to him around the clock, just hoping and praying that by some miracle he would show sign of improvement.

By the fourth day, my suspicions were made clear. It was not just that they were a little standoffish, but they viewed our holding on to hope as a nuisance. I vividly remember noticing that my brother’s pupils seemed to be getting bigger. A nurse was in the room so I asked her if that was a good sign, and her reply was blunt, cold, and unemphatic, as she replied: “No, that means he’s approaching brain death”. I rushed out of the room crying and angry at her insensitivity.

I was so shaken, I needed to get some air and found my way outside alone in a courtyard. And when I say alone, I mean more alone than I had ever felt in my life, knowing that feeling would be with me for the rest of my life. Although my brother was three years younger than I, being the only two Autistics in the family, I felt like I lost my twin brother.

Crossed T’s in the Sky

As I stood in the darkness of the courtyard, I looked to the sky just as two jets had crisscrossed paths, each leaving a trail of jet exhaust that formed the letter “T”, the first letter in my brother Todd’s first name. And as I saw that “T”, I felt a sensation fill, then lift from me. I can’t explain how or why I felt this, but I knew that my brother had died at that moment.

A Difficult Mission

I didn’t know that, but one thing I did know, was that I was on a mission. A mission to get my brother off that machine, because I knew he was no longer there.

So, I charged back to the ICU, and as soon as I arrived, I stood at the entrance for a moment to collect myself armed with my mission, when a woman tapped me on the shoulder, and without any compatssionate segue began to ask me about Organ Donation.

I looked her straight in the eyes and said firmly, emphatically, but calmly:

“Leave NOW. Get the f**k away from me and my family, And if you don’t leave NOW or if I hear another word out your mouth, I will physically throw you out the door”.

I was serious about those threats, and she could tell, so she quickly and quietly turned and left the unit.

As I proceeded into the ICU, already the buzz was going on between the doctors pushing my family to make a decision about taking him off of life support and when they were going to decide.

My mother could not, and should not be the one to make that call. What mother would? To make the decision to end your own child’s life is nothing any mother could ever do. My sister? She was scared beyond herself. My older brother, cousin, and even my father were too wrapped up in ruminating why he did it.

That left me and my mission. So, I stepped in, took charge, gathered the family together in a conference room, and as everyone began there chatter, I loudly told everyone one to shut up, and shut up NOW and listen. Then I announced:

“Now, I’m going to say something, and I do not want to hear one word from anyone. This is going to happen. I have made the decision. This stops NOW. Todd is no longer with us and we are taking him off of life support NOW. Stay here, talk amongst yourselves if you want, but I am leaving the room to talk to the doctor and tell him we have decided, and I will be back to let you know when.”

No one said a word as I left the room.

I found the doctor, told him of our decision, and he scheduled it within the hour. After that, I went back to the conference room, announced the scheduled time, ignored the barrage of questions they stormed me with, and said:

“I am not answering any questions, I’m going to step out for a bit, but will be back at the scheduled time.

Now, it’s not in my nature to take charge of anything. Autistically, I’m passive and reserved, but something that day instilled the confidence in me to make a decision where no one else could. Thinking back, I think it is because I am Autistic that was the only one who could do, since inherently I have the innate ability to separate emotions from logistics with ease. But it did take a toll on me, and with some quick thinking I knew just what to do. Within walking distance of the hospital there was a small local was a popular authentic British pub that my brother and I would frequent.

Penny Lane Pub

Penny Lane has relocated since, but back in the day Potter’s Pub was located within blocks of the Richmond Coliseum (Richmond, VA), What was so cool about the proximity to the Coliseum is that after concerts, muscians would often unwind at the bar and Todd and I met many legends of the day.

Local legend has it that the actually British pub owner Terry O’Neil, priorly worked as a bouncer for a club in Liverpool in the 60’s, and the story is that he kicked John Lennon out of the bar one night.

Penny Lane is an authentic British Pub in every way. Every variety of British beers is on tap, darts upstair (with real dart boards), and every inch of the walls are covered with British memorabilia. During the World Cup, it’s was the place to be in Richmond, even if England wasn’t scheduled to play that day.

And of course, there is plenty of Beatles-related memorabilia all over the place, including playing over the actual record player behind the bar.

Unique Liquor Tapping System

What was also very cool about Penny Lanse was that they had a unique tapping system for liquor bottles, which hug upside down and tubed to larger vats in the back of the house. Look for it closely at the following picture:

Which led me to my second mission — to get hammered as possible in the short time I had. I told the barkeep why I was there, and with that he knew just what to do:

Set ’em up as soon as I poured ’em down.

I think I knocked out about 7 vodka straight-up doubles, maybe more, I lost track of the count. But, the very fact that I Iost count of how many drinks I had is a sure indication that I had fulfilled my second mission. Anyway, I was feeling no pain by the time I walked back to the hospital, and ready for the prime mission.

The Rest of the Story Is Still Difficult To Tell, But I Need To Get It Out

The family encircled my brothers bed — all joined hands as the priest recited prayer — in the background technicians are shutting down machines — the machine sighs silently — just a dot humming flatly — silence falls deafening — all hands once bonded tightly — the circle now broken — a life once given, now once removed — let the one that was taken open the eyes of those that remain.

Some say suicide is a cowardly or selfish act and I strongly disagree. The reason that I believe this to be true is due to something very dangerous that I was compelled to do.

A Dangerous Road-Test Re-creation of Events

I became obsessed knowing just what my brother experienced before he hit the road. So, I made a road test of my own, a short event simulation of up to but just before the point. I drove my car down the highway going 70 miles an hour and I opened my door.

With no traffic in front of me for miles, and using the white line along the side of the road to guide me as I steered, I stuck my head out to the door and put my face as close to the road as possible just to see what it looked like to see the road rushing by at such fearce speed.

Believe me this is an extremely scary thing to do and horrendous to see the road rushing by so rapidly, and the road concrete is so scarily solid.

Given what I just described above it’s the last thing my brother consciously saw before his life in his later. Since I have seen it with my own eyes, I can definitely say that it takes a lot of courage in order to make that kind of leap.

In our lives, we are left to find our way in the darkness that dims the righteous path to follow, to the depths of feeling hollow if we go astray. My brother didn’t know he was writing the last page of his book of life, but I still have has book in my library, and I can go back and re-read every page, and it will always be one of the best book of literature I have ever read, or ever will read. My only want is of the missing pages.

And seriously folks, do all you can to ensure there are no missing pages from your Book of Life. And never, ever, use red ink.