RIP

My uncle John died last night.

During a break between my lecture and lab, I checked my phone and saw that I had missed four calls, all from my mom and dad. I panicked, and prepared myself for a voicemail about my grandma. I don't think my heart has ever raced so fast. It was definitely one of those things I had to sit down for.

Instead of grandma, though, it was uncle John...completely out of the blue. I'm not sure what the cause is, but all I know right now is that there was a trip to the hospital via ambulance, and a doctor that just couldn't save him.

To say that I am sad doesn't even hit the tip of the iceberg.

I'm trying to sort out all of these things I am feeling right now. I AM sad. Extremely, deeply sad. Aside from my grandpa passing away when I was in the 5th grade, and my great-grandma shortly after, my life has been blessedly loss-free, as far as my family is concerned. I didn't cry nearly this much when grandpa Ashbrook died, nor granny Boughner, but I think a lot of that was due to my age...or at least that's what I think.

I also feel a little conflicted, because my uncle John and aunt Pat-Pat got divorced. Divorce is a tricky thing that almost always makes one pick sides, and that sucks. I have no idea what was at the root of their divorce, but all I know is that I liked them both equally.

Uncle John was wicked smart and witty. He was quiet and always seemed a bit flushed in the face. He was also very generous - despite the divorce, he would often send gifts for big occasions to my sisters and me.

I also remember a very specific example of his type of humour: it was my first year to participate in my school's spelling bee, and due to a case of extreme nervousness, I struck out on the first round for misspelling "charcoal."

Everyone in the family gave me a hard time about it, I suspect because they knew that, had I not been under extreme duress, I could have spelled "charcoal" quickly and easily.

A couple of weeks after I thought the teasing had subsided, I received a letter in the mail with no return address. I was stoked to get something in the mail (back when I was young, and didn't ever get bills!), so I opened it, only to find a Xeroxed page of the dictionary, with the entry for "charcoal" highlighted. It was from uncle John.

I also can't quit thinking about my cousin Justin, who rode with him in the ambulance. Having to call 911 for any reason is scary. Having to ride in am ambulance is even scarier. Having to return home without your fellow passenger is something that I can't imagine.

I also can't quit thinking about the doctor at the hospital, who must have tried so, SO hard to save him. What is that like, to have to walk out of a room where you've just been so swiftly defeated, and tell someone that you just couldn't save their loved one?

I think that often, people see doctors as gods. Doctors are the people who fix everything on everyone, and put things back in working order. They are the people who make life-saving decisions on the fly; they are the people who prescribe treatments that overcome diseases and infections. They can make the blind see; they can make the deaf hear, and they can take someone with no legs, give him prosthetics, and teach him to walk again. It is easy to understand why doctors are seen as saviours, in some cases.

It must be hard to be a doctor, though, and to not be able to save someone, or fix what's broken. I want to say that it must become easier the more one is exposed to it, but in reality, I just don't see how that can be the case. So aside from thinking of John, Justin and Pat-Pat and John's family (and my OWN family), I am also thinking of that doctor who did everything that he could, and still couldn't fix John. It must be hard to bounce back at work after something like that happens. On some level, it makes me confront the reality that, as a future nurse, I will see doctors fail. I will see bodies fail, and I will see diseases and infections and traumas win. It isn't necessarily something to look forward to, but it is certainly something to consider.

At last update, my cousin had finally fallen asleep, and my aunt is with family, I think. We still don't know why John died. He was young - mid-40s, I think.

Whenever someone dies, I always think to myself, "Now they know what the rest of us don't." It's funny how, as much as I crave knowledge about everything, that final step of knowing is something that I can definitely wait for.

Rest in peace, uncle John. Say hi to Ted Kennedy for me.