What Thanksgiving Means

Around 2 a.m. on Thanksgiving morning, the phone rang. It was my parents, who were on their way down to the hospital. The hospital had called and told them to get down there as soon as possible.

I remember having to load Elijah up in the car, in the dark, middle of the night, the cold. He was in the middle of a cough induced asthma period, with all of us low on sleep, a touch crabby. Corey was a bit irked that we had to leave in the middle of the night, and I remember telling him, "Don't worry, this will be the last trip we ever make down here. Today is Brian's last day."

When we arrived around 4 a.m., my parents told us we the nurse had just come out and told us we had received a Thanksgiving Miracle. They hadn't thought they would be able to get Bri stabilized, but had somehow done it. She was in disbelief that they were able to do so. We weren't. Brian seemed to fly by the seat of his pants and beat the odds on so many things. He continually kept people wondering how he did different things. Brian had things left to do here, and wasn't leaving until he did them.

Sometimes, the miracle is the miracle of time.

The morning is a blur; I cannot recall much of it right now. We were able to spend some time with Brian. He was tired. He had been fighting this infection for over a month, his body was toxic, the toxic blood pulsing through his organs for far too long. He was able to talk a bit, but the energy combined with the drugs made it difficult for him. He would just hold our hands and look at us, squeezing gently at times. Some of his last words were to ask my parents to "take care of the boys" (his nephews).

Toward midmorning, the doctor came in to give us the news that Brian's lungs were filling up with fluid, and we had to either do an emergency surgery, or let him go. We opted for the surgery. My mom, dad, sister, and I rode in the elevator with Brian down to the operating room. We walked by him, talked to him, touched his hands. Hands rough with callouses from years of pushing a wheelchair.

We sat back in the waiting room. We spent hours and hours there with different people filtering in, with food, hugs, questions...

The surgery, on an already worn out, beat up body, was tough on Brian. His organs were failing, his body tired of the fight. We had to put him on a ventilator, his body too worn out to breathe on its own.

That afternoon, my dad asked my sister and I to come into a conference room with the doctor, my mom and him. After being given grim news, we had to make a decision on what course to take. We had to decide whether to continue fighting, or let him go. I'll never forget having my dad ask that question.

In the end, Brian made the decision we didn't want to make. He pointed at the ventilator, motioning for it to be removed. The nurse told him what would happen if it was removed, asking if he understood the meaning. He looked at us and nodded.

Like all things, it would take time. It was late afternoon, and everyone there had a chance to spend time with Brian alone. To hold his hand, kiss his face, tell him how loved he was...

Having someone you love die is a terrible thing. However, I am thankful, so very thankful that Brian hung on for one last day with us. His Thanksgiving Miracle was us being able to be there, to say goodbye, to hold his hand as he left us.

It was the ending he deserved. All of his family and close friends gathered around his bed, holding him, touching him, telling him we loved him. We stayed long past the time the nurse told us he was gone, not being able to bear leaving him alone, taking comfort in our mutual grief.

Later, as I sat in the corridor, a nurse came by, pushing a machine (i believe it was a respirator somethingorother). Only hours before, I had watched the machine being pushed into his room. It seemed surreal, there, less than an hour after his death, the room was being emptied. However, Brian would no longer need it on his voyage.

I don't write this to depress anyone, make anyone feel bad, that is not my intention. My intention is to portray what Thanksgiving means to me today, on this leg of my journey.

For me? Thanksgiving is a time to spend with family. To look at each member, thinking how blessed you are to have this time with them. It is fleeting, with each moment a gift. At first, I was angry with Brian for dying on Thanksgiving. What a terrible time of year to die! Today? I have come to peace with it. With this time of year, I am reminded of the paths we journey on throughout our lives. This was not a path we would have ever chosen, yet having it come before us made us stronger and closer.

Previous years, Thanksgiving meant stuffing yourself, feeling fat, stressing out over having things ready, leaving on time, making sure everything was perfect.

Today? Thanksgiving is about family and love. May your Thanksgiving be full of love, laughter, turkey, and hope.