So, as I called my father to wish him a happy Father's Day today, he gave me some bad news.
"Your stepmother is in South Carolina right now," he said.
"Oh?" I responded, hoping this wasn't the bad news. "What's she doing over there?"
"Well, Loretta's boy died yesterday morning."
Loretta is my stepsister. Although we aren't close enough to talk every single day, the news was still a shock. Her son, and my nephew, Giovanni, was barely seven years old.
"Really?! From what?" I asked, trying not to choke on my coffee.
"He caught some sort of meningitis strain about three weeks ago, and he had been in the ICU ever since."
My thoughts drifted back towards New York, sitting in the waiting room at Mercy Medical Center in Hempstead, holding Giovanni and trying to get him to stop crying while the patrons were watching me haplessly flounder like a newbie. Eventually, Giovanni's father made it to the hospital and took over. I still remember being reluctant handing him over.
About three weeks ago, according to my dad's report, Giovanni was feeling listless and tired at the babysitter. She immediately called Loretta, who dropped what she was doing (she manages a major discount outlet) to run to her son's aid. On getting there, she promptly brought him to the emergency room.
The ER doctors wasted no time and triaged him. In the ICU, it was a battle to figure out what was wrong with him... almost like a real-life episode of House, M.D.
Giovanni's condition deteriorated, and his prognosis was looking worse and worse. By last week, his arms and legs were turning blue from the lack of blood flow. His face had even changed color. The doctors held a meeting to discuss the long-term Quality-of-Life issues for him; they discussed the very realistic prospect of having to amputate both of his arms and legs. Faced with effectively being a quadriplegic in addition to the amount of brain damage he suffered, they presented my sister and her ex-husband the option of pulling the plug (a la Terry Schiavo).
Michael, Giovanni's father, was naturally against the idea. However, the point became moot yesterday morning at about 6:15 am, when Giovanni passed away.
I complain a lot about being alone. I may still stay on this hiatus for a while, despite the fact that it's probably the opposite of what I need. Hell, writing blogs is the only outlet I have - I feel like I'm actually talking to people (though, granted, after my last one, my friends list dropped from 106 to 101 within minutes of posting). However, I'll never know the pain of losing a child. If I feel this bad for my sister and her family, I can only imagine how she feels, since her social situation is similar: she left New York with only her belongings and her son, hoping to start a new life in another state. Like me, she knew nobody except her co-workers and employees. However, she now lost a familiar face, one she was used to seeing every single day... and the true love of her life.
It kind-of puts it all in perspective... Being alone is bad enough. Being alone and losing the only thing that means anything in your life is even worse.
