Some Even Deeper Thoughts

When I heard the shot, I was halfway to the front door. I was very concerned that Jim had walked out the front door right after loading a gun at 2:30 in the morning. I went out, but saw and heard nothing. On my way back in for shoes and a flashlight, I met Brendan in the hall. He asked, "What was that noise?" which I thought was an odd question, until I realized that he was hoping it was a firecracker, or something. He has been hunting often enough with his dad to know a gunshot when he hears one.

I made no attempt to keep him inside, even though I was pretty sure what we were going to find. He is 17. He's not going to stay inside just because I tell him to. It would have been a waste of time, and I had none to waste.

Even though Jim was right in front of the house, it took us almost a minute to find him. I looked in the cars first. When I flashed the light around the yard, I saw him lying next to the tree. I tried to rouse him, in spite of seeing the blood and the bullet hole. Part of me really wanted to believe he had just passed out there from drinking too much, or something. Not that he ever did pass out from drinking, but still. The mind clutches at straws.

When he was still breathing a minute or so after we found him, I told Brendan to call 911. I had no idea that he was bleeding out of his ear. I ran in and got a towel to staunch the blood from the wound. Like putting a band aid on an amputation.

Brendan was talking and talking to the 911 dispatcher. I knew from experience that the dispatcher will usually try to keep the caller on the like until help arrives, and that's what happened. It took the police what seemed like a long time because they had to get into their bullet-proof vests and load up the assault rifles to deal with what could have been a hostage situation.

I had put my arm around Jim at one point, but was afraid to disturb anything.

The officer told me I watch too much CSI, but I don't watch that show at all. "Forensic Files," now, is another story! I had wondered aloud if they were going to check me for gunshot residue, in case they thought I might have killed him. I mean, it's their job to look at all the possibilities, right?

I'm sure Jim expected to die instantly, and skip the EMS and go straight to the Coroner, ME, JP, or whoever comes out to pronounce people dead.

I hated to see them pounding on him in the ER. If he wanted to die, what right did I (or they) have to try and rescind his decision?

As my friend Darragh says, I must ride it out.