Not a Good Week - Horrible, in Fact

Photo Credit: Rod Moser

It was late Saturday night when I received the call. Late night calls are either bad news or someone does not understand time zones. It was my best friend, John, and it was bad news. I could tell that by his voice. If you read my blog post on Time Capsules posted a few weeks ago, you saw John's family. In the back of the photo, sitting next to him, is his 25-year-old son, Sam. He is the muscular one with the tattoo on his arm. John was calling to tell me that Sam had suddenly died a few hours prior.

Sam was preparing to watch a TV show with his mother when he seemed to be getting sleepy. When he stood up, he collapsed to the floor. He held on to the wall and went outside for some fresh air. A very short time later, he was found unconscious in the front yard. John tried desperately to resuscitate his son as Sam's mother called 911. So far an autopsy and toxicology report have not revealed the cause of his untimely passing. Sam was just 25 years old and he was just getting his life in order after a few set-backs. Tomorrow, I will give the eulogy at Sam's memorial service.

There is no pain greater than the loss of a child and my heart was literally bursting with sadness for our friends. Our five (adult) children are equally as saddened, since they were literally raised with John's sons. They swam together; played together; and ate together. We were family. Two of our grandchildren, Shelby and Dylan, were present when that Time Capsule was opened, so they remember Sam very well. He was the happy one; the one that talked to them and the one that laughed with them.

Yesterday, while returning early from a car trip to Southern California, we received a call that our grandson, Dylan, age 10, was rushed to the hospital and admitted to intensive care after collapsing after church. Dylan was playing basketball with some other children when he suddenly felt dizzy. He collapsed to the floor, striking his head, and remained unconscious for about twenty seconds. For unknown reasons, his pulse rate dropped to 40; he was vomiting and confused. Concerned that his unconsciousness was triggered by an unknown cardiac event, perhaps complicated by his head injury, he has been undergoing some extensive heart tests as I write this Blog. So far, all tests have been normal.

My PA wife is beside herself in worry. She did not sleep a wink last night. Dylan is her "boy". Of course we rushed directly to the hospital. This was the first time that my wife did not complain about me driving too fast. By the time we arrived, Dylan was complaining about being hungry. He had ordered some movies from the hospital library and was requesting someone to scratch his back (my wife's primary job when they are together). He is wearing a 24-hour heart (Holter) monitor and will be getting a stress test (treadmill) this evening. This event IS my wife's stress test.

Queen Elizabeth used to term Annus horribilis, referring to her horrible year. I am not a scholar of Latin, but I think these last seven days can be termed Septimanis horribilis, or horrible week.

Tomorrow, I must keep my composure long enough to give the eulogy that I have prepared for Sam. On the way home from the memorial service, we will visit Dylan. I suspect that he will be playing basketball again, like nothing has happened.

Life is so short and so precious. Why must it be so painful?

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