The Last Goodbye

It truly was a miracle, because love is a miracle.  I have no other way of explaining or understanding it.  Kevin had been struggling with bone cancer for eight years, a growing mass that had infiltrated his nasal cavities and persisted despite the repeated removal of bones in his head.  It was a process that eventually claimed his one eye that had been salvaged from the retinoblastoma he'd been born with, leaving him in total darkness for the first time in his forty some odd years.

***

I was there at the beginning when he was visiting Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis.  The medical school where I was a student was just a few blocks away.  We rendezvoused at an appointment he had with his surgeon, Dr. Haymaker, and Kevin was his typical animated self, talking a mile a minute as if he understood the number of words he could share with the world were limited and he wanted to get them all out.  The smell coming from his mouth was like a dead animal and overpowering.  I had to force myself to not step away from him.  The tumor was growing so fast that parts of it had died and Kevin had no sense of smell due to its location and infiltration. 

When Dr. Haymaker came out Kevin introduced me and told him I was a medical student.  The good doctor took me back into the work area, leaving Kevin in the waiting room.  He put up a transverse plane view of Kevin's head on the light board and showed me the gray mass filling his nasal cavities.  It was like a chubby rat had taken up residence in his attic space with its tail dangling down in the rear, just above his throat.  I knew from my textbooks that this was a relatively common occurrence in those born with retinoblastoma, ie, the development of a sarcoma (bone cancer) at the site of radiation received as a child.

***

And so began the long slog for Kevin with the slow attrition of losing bones in his head and culminating in the loss of his one eye over an eight year period.  He likened it to John the Baptist losing his head, but one piece at a time instead of all at once.  

After medical school I left for Washington DC to do a four year psychiatry residency and only made occasional contact with Kevin to include seeing him when we returned to Indy to baptize my son.  My training consumed my time and attention as did this first child.  We then moved to Tennessee where I was to serve out my three year commitment to the Army.  When we arrived my unit was already in Iraq and I joined them soon thereafter.

As often happens in life, time and the cares of the world separate us from those we've known and loved, the heyday of our adventures receding steadily into the past.  I heard from a mutual friend that he had moved out to Colorado to attend a training school for the blind after the loss of his eye.  At some point, after moving to Tennessee, I'd received a call from him and he'd left a message, though it was hard to understand his words.  He was missing so many bones in his head that he had to wear a plate in his mouth to form a space from which to speak.  I called him back a few times and left messages, but I did not hear back from him.

***

More time passed and in 2008, two years into my three year commitment to the Army, I began to wonder again what he was up to and how he was doing.  It was the second week of April and I was on Facebook, which was still relatively new to me, and I saw one of those "friends of a friend" postings.  The young man pictured was listed as a student at Indiana Wesleyan University which is my alma mater.  Not only that, he was listed as being "Eastern Orthodox" which seriously piqued my curiosity.  I was brought into the Orthodox Church in 1996 and my experience was that people who had attended IWU and were Orthodox were as rare as turtle teeth.  I immediately messaged this mysterious fellow traveler named "Brian" and asked him to friend me on FB.  Due to the miracle of technology I was able to track down that initial contact on my phone:

________

Brian: 

Hi Aaron.

Kevin wanted me to get in touch with you.

He didn't know if you were aware of everything that has been going on.

Please feel free to give me a call at 574-***-****, or write me back on facebook.

Hope Lent is going well for you.

Aaron:

Thanks Brian.  I e-mailed Fr. Phillip from St. Thomas a few months ago to try and get an update on Kevin, but he didn't have much info other than Kevin was in Colorado.  I've called Kevin's cell phone off and on w/o a reply and left a few messages.  I'd appreciate any info you might have.  Take care.

Brian:

Well, Aaron, there is a lot I need to fill you in, since a lot has happened in the time since you were last in touch with him.  I think it would be better for you to give me a call (anytime really), or give me your number and I'll call you.

Talk to you soon.

[a phone call occurs at this point and Brian updates me]

Aaron:

Hey Brian, it was good to talk with ya.  I talked with Kevin's Dad and found out Kevin is still at Methodist.  I plan on driving to Indy early Saturday morning, attending Liturgy at Ss. Constantine and Elena, visiting with Kevin a bit (Bob recommended not more than 30 minutes with him due to him having so little energy), and then returning Saturday evening.  Take care.

________

It turns out that Brian was Kevin's godson in the Orthodox Faith.  What he had to fill me in on was that Kevin was doing very poorly.  This happened a week prior to Lazarus Saturday which leads into Holy Week and I quickly made plans to drive up to Indianapolis that next Saturday by myself to spend some time with him at Methodist Hospital.  I contacted another mutual friend who lives in Indianapolis who did not think the situation was particularly dire. 

 I spent that last week of Lent with Kevin heavy on my heart, trying to unite myself with him in prayer, not knowing exactly what was going on in that hospital room in Indianapolis.  A key element of our relationship is that he is my godson and I stood with him in the ceremony to bring him into the Orthodox Church as he had stood with Brian in the more recent past.  I was (and am) bound by love and tradition to support him in whatever ways I can in the Faith. 

***

In the wee hours of Lazarus Saturday I set off on the long drive up to Indianapolis, my mind kind of replaying our "greatest hits" going back to 1990 when I'd first met him at IWU.  As mentioned in my text to Brian, I attended the Saturday morning liturgy at Saints Constantine & Elena and then headed over to Methodist Hospital.  As soon as I saw Kevin I knew he was not long for this world.  He was emaciated and sitting up cross-legged in a hospital bed with a gown on.  Despite him being immunocompromised there were no restrictions of any kind in place and I quickly realized from my experience in hospitals that this was a hospice-like situation where comfort care was paramount.  We hugged and I told him that I'd gotten his message and called back to leave messages but did not hear back.  He was visibly frustrated and said that "next time" I needed to say what my number is in the message.  He repeated that plea at least two or three more times in the few hours we had together as a kind of refrain.  It was like he felt that communication between us had broken down when he'd needed it most.

Within minutes of my arrival, Brian walked into the room.  He'd decided to drive down from Northern Indiana to spend some time with Kevin and it was our first and only meeting.  He came bearing an icon of St. Kevin of Glendalough that he'd painted so Kevin could have the tangible presence of his patron saint with him.  It was a surreal few hours and I frequently fell into trying to make humorous comments that did not wholly feel like they fit the situation.  I really didn't know exactly what to do or say with my friend and godson hanging so precariously close to the edge of life and death.  When I finally said I had to leave and drive back to Tennessee, he requested we say the Lord's Prayer together.  I felt like I should stay longer, but it was not possible and those precious few hours seemed so inadequate to sum up our life together.

I walked down the hospital hallway talking with his mom a bit and then gave her a hug and got into the elevator.  As it descended, my heart and my body dropped with it.  He died three days later on the morning of Great and Holy Tuesday after jumping up out of bed and excitedly trying to tell his mom something before collapsing to the floor.  His funeral was a week later on Bright Tuesday to shouts of "Christ is Risen!"

***

So, it was a miracle, right?  The fact that Kevin was reaching out to find me in whatever way he could as his body was shutting down.  That he'd put his godson in charge of the search, a person I'd never met or even knew existed.  That I, in fact, found his godson instead, on a fluke, with no time to spare, allowing me the briefest of opportunities to see Kevin just a few days before he passes from this life.  Love made it possible and love is a miracle, right?  Of that I have absolutely no doubt.