Life is so fragile. Why it is necessary to be constantly reminded of this is beyond me, but it’s like we are walking on a thin layer of slate, you know, the kind that looks like a sturdy, solid rock, but breaks away when you strike it on the sidewalk.
Tonight, tragedy came calling, and the ground beneath us crumbled. My eight-year-old nephew had a new bunk bed, up only one night. He was in his room, playing with his football gear, and somehow tied the belt around his neck. We are unsure what happened, but his sister thinks maybe he was trying to watch the TV he had on the floor, and maybe fell forward. The result is he hung himself from the bunk bed.
We don’t know how long he was there before he was discovered by my sister and her daughter-in-law.
His father and brother did CPR for ten minutes before the paramedics arrived, and he was Lifeflighted to Primary Children’s Medical Center.
We have just returned home after a vigil at the hospital. We are now in “wait and see” mode. They said he was “posturing” which is a bad sign, and usually indicates severe brain damage. However, the last news we got was that he was making movements and seemed to be fighting the medicine and the respirator, and possibly squeezed my sister’s finger. I went in to see him, and nearly broke down as I stared down on his still little body.
He is in a coma, and they are keeping him sedated. Right now, they say he probably could breath on his own, but they don’t want him to struggle because they are trying to keep his brain from swelling.
Life is fragile. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.
Every time I close my eyes I think of him, and how terrified he must have been, and I break down and cry.
He is only eight.
Pray for James. Light candles. Do voodoo dances. Whatever it is you do, please do it. He is too young for this.
I don’t like tragedy.