September 16, 2007
Today I was thinking about my fourteen year-old buddy Tylor. Tylor suffered from childhood cancer and even though he had his leg removed and suffered through more than forty surgeries (many of those to remove brain tumors) he still had the guts to stand at the door of death with a baseball bat and say, “Come and get me.”
Death accepted the challenge.
The game was on!
Life was pitching and, yes, you guessed it, Death was the umpire.
Tylor played his heart out but he simply ran out of steam.
Life pitched one final curve ball and Tylor went for it. He hit that ball as hard as he could, but he missed.
“Hah!” said Death. “Steeeerike. You’re outta here!”
“Yeah, right,” said Tylor, who grabbed his crutches and headed for first base. Tylor touched first base with his crutch and continued moving.
Death was fuming. “I said you’re out!” he yelled, as Tylor hobbled toward second base.
“Who died and put you in charge?” yelled Tylor over his shoulder.
Death stood at home plate seething. “What the hell is the world coming to?” he mumbled under his breath.
Tylor hit third base and headed home.
Death was waiting. And he was pissed.
Tylor hobbled as fast as his one leg could carry him. He did not slow down as he reached the home plate. He kept on running and bowled Death over in the process.
“What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Death, picking himself up and dusting himself off.
“Geeez,” said Tylor, “Get a life?”
Death glared.
“Besides,” said Tylor. “I wasn’t ready. I had some goodbyes to say.”
“Okay, okay,” said Death, “Like I’m sorry. You don’t have to get all snitty.”
“You’re killing me,” laughed Tylor. “Get it?”
“Very funny,” said Death, trying not to crack a smile.
“Okay, now I’m ready,” said Tylor, “Let’s go. I can’t wait to see what trouble I can get into in heaven.”
And he strode off.
“Wait up, wait up,” said Death hurrying after him. “You don’t even know where to go, dude.”
“Well show me,” said Tylor, reaching for Death’s hand. “Show me.”
Death gently took Tylor’s hand and put his arm around the boy’s shoulder.
“Now, there are a few things I need to tell you about,” said Death. “Firstly, the dude at the gate’s name is Peter. Actually he’s a saint. You’ll be able to tell by that yellow shimmering halo above his head. Now, don’t piss him off. At least not right away...”
“Okay,” said Tylor winking.
“Okay,” said Death. “Let’s go buddy.”
And they were gone.
I was blessed to have spent time at Tylor’s bedside while he was heading around the bases saying his goodbyes.
After I said farewell to him for the last time, I drove to the Cincinnati Airport and waited three hours for the delayed flight to take me back to Austin.
It was hot and stuffy and the people around me were agitated and frustrated with the flight delay. Fingers tapped. Feet dangled over crossed legs moving this way and that. Rotating. Tapping. Swaying.
Eyes rolled every time another flight delay announcement added to their discontent.
To pass the time I tried chatting to the people around me, but all I got were grunts in return.
Then I started thinking about saying goodbye to Tylor just a few hours earlier. A final goodbye. A goodbye whose image is burned into my soul forever. Then it struck me. I would never see this wonderful, warm, funny, caring kid again.
A deep sorrow began to fill my being like water slowly rising in an empty well.
I tried very hard not to cry, but I failed. I felt the tears run through my fingers and down my wrists.
I cried softly but very deeply.
The person next to me got up and walked over to another seat on the adjoining row.
Then the person across from me shifted a few seats down.
Slowly the people around me began to move.
Their discomfort showed as they quietly edged away pretending to need a snack or information or the restroom.
I finally wiped my eyes and looked up. Everyone had moved away from me, except for an old man, a few seats down, who slept soundly, snoring under his hat.
Posted by trevor at September 16, 2007 04:45 PM