Bobby

Bobby is a man I know. He works on lawyer row as a maintenance man. That’s a generalized version of what he does and for lack of better wording this time of the night. Bobby is about 50 years old, has a daughter, Jess, a few years younger than me, and a grandson, Trevor, a few years younger than Nate. Bobby did a double take on the street this morning when he saw me. Love his heart. He laughed and gave me a big hug. I asked about Trevor, as I always do. See, Trevor is special. He has cerebral palsy and has suffered debilitating seizures his entire life, at least up until a few months ago. Trevor has other medical issues as well, ones which I won’t go into here. He’s endured quite a few surgeries and right now his feeding tube is staying inflamed and ulcerated. They’re going to put a tube down his nose and into his small intestine in an effort to get him stabilized and to gain weight. One of the many hurdles that little Trevor has faced in his short life. Bobby and I talked today about... letting go. He said Jess had told him she just wasn’t going to allow them to operate anymore and she filled out a DNR, or Do Not Resuscitate order. Bobby’s voice broke as he related this to me and how difficult he knew doing that was for his daughter. The doctor has said he doesn’t want to have to do surgery anymore either because each time its taking longer and longer for Trevor to heal. He told Bobby that this may be the beginning of Trevor’s body shutting down. This is what they’ve been fighting against. I said that sometimes love means letting go. Then Bobby related a story to me. He said he’s been doing outside work for a mechanic who is also working on Bobby’s four-wheeler and Bobby has been asking how much time it will take and how much it will cost. Finally, the gentleman told Bobby. It will take as long as it takes, and it will cost as much as it costs. It will be what it is, and there’s nothing you can do about it. He said that’s how he sees Trevor. It is what it is and what will happen, will happen, and there’s nothing he can do about it. I’m confidant that Bobby, Jess, and Trevor’s doctors have done everything that is humanly possible for Trevor. They see to his needs, improve his quality of life, and most importantly, love him for simply being Trevor. Yet they also see ... it may be time. They see that they are only mere mortals and that Trevor’s life and the lessons he has brought, have never been in their hands. Trevor and where he and his family are right now reminds me of the Sarah McLachlan song - "Angel" and that’s where I’ll leave you tonight - In the arms of the Angel far away from here From this dark, cold hotel room, and the endlessness that you fear You are pulled from the wreckage of your silent reverie In the arms of the Angel; may you find some comfort here You're in the arms of the Angel; may you find some comfort here