“Steve, I just wanted you to know that we’re on the way to the hospital.” My aunt’s clearly distressed voice sounded over the answering machine. My dad, my little brother and I had just returned from church on a Sunday morning in January 2012. My sister, at this time a high school senior, was in Michigan with my mom interviewing for a scholarship. While there, they were staying with my extended family. Now, Aunt Chris’ voice was ringing out in our house, upset and scared.
From the panicked messages Aunt Chris had left and a text from my mother, we discovered that my 47 year old Uncle Jon, Chris’ husband, had suffered a massive heart-attack that morning. He was now comatose in the hospital, and, despite being quickly attached to life-support, the doctors were not entirely sure that he would be able to survive the rest of the day. Uncle Jon, easily the most amiable of all my uncles, was now hovering on the brink of death. A pall was cast across the day, and my sister and mother found themselves suddenly caught up even more immediately in a drama that no one had expected or prepared for.
Miraculously, Uncle Jon survived through that day, and the next. However, he remained comatose, and, after picking my older brother up from college, the men of the family made the trip to Michigan to see Uncle Ron and comfort Aunt Chris and her daughters.
Seeing Uncle Jon lying motionless in a clean hospital bed was a jarring sight. An outdoorsman his entire life, Uncle Jon had loved to fish and hunt and boat and be outside, so the cleanliness of this room was wrong. It was so contrary to everything my Uncle loved. Above all of this, he wasn’t moving. This, more than the other things, was the strangest. The man who had once been loud and funny and rambunctious was now making no sounds other than machine-assisted breathing.
Despite this, the doctors were now optimistic. With luck, Uncle Jon could make a full recovery. We stuck around for one more day, and then had to return to Cincinnati.
But the days continued and Uncle Jon did not wake up. The optimism that had possessed us, that this was a phase that would pass, slowly dwindled over the next week. Eventually, the doctors concluded that he was now brain dead. After two weeks comatose, my Aunt took my Uncle’s body off of life support, and he passed away minutes later.
They say it happened because of an unhealthy lifestyle. His cavalier attitude about life amounted to nothing when he failed to not only nurture his body but also heed the advice of his doctor to begin working out. The doctors said that it was all preventable, that if only he had been fit and active the heart attack wouldn’t have happened, and the whole tragedy might not have occurred. But it did happen. The last time that I saw my vibrant, loving uncle alive, he was breathing through a machine. And the next time I saw him, even that illusion of life was gone. In one instant, his life was snatched away from him and his family, and he was suddenly gone.
The fragility of life is clear to me now. We never know if this will be the last time we talk to someone or see them. At any moment, it could all be taken away. And, no matter how we picture it, this will not only affect us, but everyone we left behind will be affected. The reality is that to take care of yourself is not simply about you, it’s about everyone in your life. And we owe it to these people to protect them and ourselves, because this life is unpredictable and delicate.