I don't believe I'll ever forget the details of the moment I found out, but I think it will be helpful to write down what happened on the day that "it" happened. The night before I was spending time alone playing AC Odyssey, blowing off steam and enjoying myself. I was feeling pretty good in fact. I had recently been confirmed for a promotion at work, and had a couple of beers. Acting at least for a couple of hours that I hadn't a care in the world. Certainly there was no sense of foreboding you sometimes hear people talk about after a tragedy. Max's welfare wasn't particularly on my mind, though I had just made plans to go visit him. I was sure that life was going good.

I don't know when I went to sleep, but I do know when I woke up. 3:44 AM. 3:44:21 to be precise - my Ring doorbell records that fact. The Westerville Police were ringing the bell, and I was pretty confused. There was already some noise in the house as Titan had barked, and it sounded like Gus was talking to someone. I hit the Ring talk on my phone and asked what was up. The officer said, "Westerville Police Department", and that sent my head racing, but I could only come down and find out (3:46:30 by this time). I couldn't quite think what must be wrong; and I can't say now if I even thought about a tragedy with one of the kids - I was certainly thinking local though, that I can recall. I was wondering if something was going on outside maybe. Anyhow, I opened the door and they said that Lana Epstein needed us to call her - and that was really all the signal I needed to know something bad was about to befall us which involved Max. I turned away quickly to get my phone and make that call. I think Meredith continued a moment at the door, but the police left quickly in any case. I sat at the corner of my bed closest to the hallway and put myself on speaker as I called. Meredith sat (or stood) near the doorway. I don't know if there was a greeting first, but I do remember that Lana was crying hard and went straight to the truth "Max was in an accident and he isn't going to make it". Oh how those words just ran through me and set my whole world out of order. "He isn't going to make it" seared into my consciousness with all the impact and meaning of those words. It was immediately awful, and I began some kind of wail or moan that was mixed with hard crying, but which honestly was animal, and from inside myself, but not from my thinking mind. I heard Lana say "I am sorry, he was the love of my life" as I fell forward and threw the phone toward Meredith, who was now sitting against the wall in the hallway just outside our room.

I was thrashing, reeling, trying to escape from those words. Again, my conscious mind was trying to get itself around it all, but I was convulsed with painful emotions and wailing that awful sound as I crawled around on the carpet. I wasn't sure if I was going to pass out or puke. I felt like I wanted it to stop. Could I disappear, or cease to exist? That would have been a nice option in that moment. Not thinking about dying mind you - just get out of this moment. Perhaps that was a form of denial that at the same time could not be denied. I bawled, and I crawled around and found a spot further into the room where I lay prostrate. It was then that I think Gus finally figured out what was happening as he came to lie next to me and put his arm over my back. I turned a bit toward him, and was struck with the other awful truth that this poor boy had just lost his brother. I couldn't quite get out of my own misery, but it hit me and I thought first about how odd that would be to lose your older brother. I would later think about how they were just starting to have a good relationship. How Max's maturity was leading him to actually be someone Gus could look up to.

Having someone else near me also caused me to think about the sounds I was making. Here I mean that they were such guttural sounds, they were foreign to myself. After a moment more I turned toward Gus and hugged him more properly. We moved back towards the doorway where Meredith was on the phone. I think off the phone with Lana by this time, but talking with the hospital where Max had been taken. I could not stand, and I could not interact yet. Meredith was calm on the outside - crying softly while talking to whomever, and I marveled at that. She was getting some details, and trying to find out what "not going to make it" meant exactly. I felt sick, I felt even more strongly the desire to make it all stop. I was on my knees and leaning forward. I pounded a few times on the floor in defiance of the truth - "no!", "what the fuck!". More of the two fighting sides of my brain - these denials sounded both stupid to express, and all I wanted to say at the same time.

Meredith was talking with a doctor now. I think some time had passed, and perhaps we had taken a moment to try and figure out we're supposed to do. I have lost some of the timeline here. In any case, they were asking if they could shut off the life support systems. "What?" What the fuck are they asking us for? Meredith's head was clear, and she answered the best answer "I don't feel like I am prepared to make that decision right now". We told them no - I don't know what else was said on the call. We then all huddled there in the hallway and tried to find any anchor point or mooring on which to make the next decision. We were pretty confused - he's in a hospital in Denver; he's not going to make it for very long; Lily is in Orlando; we have a dog; why would we go? Pretty stupid in retrospect, but we were frozen in our thinking. Meredith had hold of her sister Lenore on the phone sometime shortly within this hallway sitting, and Lenore made it clear: "Go!", she said. We needed to get to the hospital, and we needed them to keep Max "alive" until we could be there. That clarity was so helpful. We began to take action.

Part 2 - Travel to See Max

Once we had decided to go to Max's hospital in Colorado, we had to get tickets, pack up, try to figure out who would deal with Titan, and when we should talk with Lily to try and get her out there as well. Lily was in Orlando - we couldn't get through to her phone, and we couldn't think clearly about how to wake her up. Our heads were spinning. It took me several tries to figure out anything with flights and I had a really hard time dealing with the time calculations of what we could make on time, etc. We were a hapless mess, but finally got tickets and threw some packed bags together. We had initially talked about who would go. It seemed to us that Max was either already dead, or going to die before we could get there, so somehow it didn't seem like everyone should go. Of course, we couldn't make this decision either. Everything was fog and whatever state you're in right after hearing this kind of news - shock mixed with dissociation mixed with sadness mixed with straight up brain scrambling trying to think about anything but the one most important thing you know about at that moment in time. Anyhow, we decided at least Meredith, then I said I should go, and Gus said "Well, you're not leaving me here!", and that made it clear enough for us to decide. We'd worry about the Dog later.

We had found a 7AM flight on Southwest. The email confirmation says it was 5:14AM when I finally made that purchase - flight 1813, confirmation number 3XPMWK. Stupid, painful details to have to deal with - common and mundane at all other times. We would later get a rental car. I had some discomfort that I couldn't find anything with either of my points programs. I had more than a little discomfort thinking that we had just now made the plans and spent the money to go see Max, which we had not been able to get together as a plan for the Christmas just over a month ago. Regret and guilt are really a bitch and so constantly present when grieving a child (maybe anyone, definitely a child, definitely a child who lives away from home). We didn't bother with a hotel as we figured we would start with the hospital and then go to Lana and Max's and stay there if necessary. I find it curious while reflecting on all this that I also can't really close the gap between 3:45AM and 5:14AM. My memory is really in bits and pieces - some of the pieces are quite clear, but there is a lot of fuzz in between.

On the mission to get to the hospital we started to enter the surreal world of being a crying, confused, alien in a world we thought was familiar. Our eyes are red, sometimes full of tears. We hurt badly and everyone either ignores us (don't they know!?), or asks us stupid questions. I was stopped by an overzealous TSA agent when I tried to have Gus join me in getting through the security line, and I welled up instantly with flaming anger, but decided this asshat would just delay us more. I didn't want to talk to anyone, explain anything, etc. So, we just zombied through. This same guard had to send me back out as I had the wrong birthdate on my boarding pass - grief brain strikes. It seemed like we had all assumed some sort of public cover. We looked at each other and would cry, but otherwise settled into the boredom of travel - purchase some drinks, fiddle with bags, etc. As it got close to flight time, I figured I might be able to get through to Lily. I really didn't want to be on the flight with her not knowing, and not making progress to get to Denver. I also finally figured out that I might be able to get through do not disturb mode by calling twice in a row. I found a place just inside a closed café or restaurant near the gate so I could make the call.

I was dreading this call, and had been trying to make it (or figure out the right way to make it) since the event. One thing I do recall from the fragmented memories of the morning is that Meredith and I had known right away that this was going to be devastating. Meredith had said "this is going to kill her"^*. And in that moment, that is more of a true concern than just a turn of phrase. It isn't outside your beliefs that this news can kill. It is such heavy news, and there is no way to tell how exactly it will hit each person. For weeks I wouldn't be able to verbalize that my son died without breaking down in sobs - not just tears. Now, nearly 2 months past as I write, it causes me pain if not tears. More than that, thinking of this particular phone call makes me cry all the more. Lily has always loved Max like no other - this could kill her; and will definitely break her. To know that you have to break someone's heart, and bring them into your awful reality is itself crushing. You yourself don't want to know it, but you know it cannot be avoided, and you know the other person would want to know even though they too will struggle to accept it. We knew Lily needed to get to Colorado - we were still hoping Max wouldn't die before we could get there, not knowing exactly how things would play out. Anyhow, I had dialed Lily a couple of times without success when it finally dawned on me that I could get past do not disturb settings. So, went over to this marginally private corner and called twice in a row. I didn't know what to say, and I was resisting this in my heart as I couldn't imagine not putting my arms around Lily and telling her this while I held her. But here, in another insult of our cruel circumstances, she had to be told on the phone while a 1000 miles away. She answered in a sleepy voice and I got out all that I could, regurgitating the words that had cut through me, "Max has been in an accident, and he isn't going to make it". Those words hurt me to write now, and then I couldn't get them out without balling uncontrollably - it's a miracle Lily understood what I had to say. I am sure I then said something like "I am sorry" and those types of things, but I also know I was running out of time and needed to get her onto the logistics. Whatever was said, I know I told her that she needed to get to Colorado. I called George immediately after, now knowing I could get through with 2 calls. I balled again while telling him the news, and asking him to ensure Lily got to Colorado. I was really thankful to have someone to entrust her to who wasn't jumping on a flight, and who wouldn't be so completely unraveled by this news. Thank God for George in that moment. I know I had never felt him so much a part of the family than in that call.

Hearts broken, and wheels now moving in Lily's world as well, we were onto our flight. Southwest doesn't have assigned seats, and we were late flyers, so last to board. Separate center seats for everyone on our first leg going to Chicago. God, that flight was torture. I can't recall a longer 55 minutes in my life. Flying with strangers while in turmoil inside. In the first few days the sense of nervous foreboding didn't end. In those first few hours, I felt tied up in knots and with no good way to put words to my feelings. Why was I nervous? The deed was done - he was already dead. Why did I feel a twinge of guilt lurking in the background? I couldn't have done anything. And this is just on top of feeling a looming black hole - the early stages of trying to reconcile the reality of what you've been told, and the world you still want to have. I would say that's what continues to make up grieving in these first couple of months - getting into the reality. The finality of death - and death all of a sudden by tragic circumstances - looms very large as something that will come and swallow you. There is in that nervous, guilty, swimming brain, a sense that you'll just lose your breath and be completely overwhelmed. Maybe that's the source of the nerves. Maybe your brain is just awash in every stress hormone it can manufacture. I don't know exactly, but I know that flying alone in that state is truly terrible. Connection with other people who feel your hurt is the only positive - and so to take this flight separated and alone took away the only outlet for grief while relieving nothing.

In Chicago we can reunite and cry, and wander aimlessly. We sit and just feel bad - still in public and still wearing our thin disguises. I feel terrible for Gus. Every time I look at him, he looks a bit lost. We all are, but seeing it on him breaks my heart. We hug or touch a lot - which is unusual for us, but necessary and comfortable here. Meredith is trying to talk more with the hospital. In part to assure them we are on our way, and to make every effort to keep him alive if at all possible. In part she is trying to connect - just in case there is anything left of Max that can connect. At some point she has a nurse put a phone near his ear and she has talked with him, and gives us an opportunity to talk. Knowing that he was declared brain dead (at least unofficially), and having had this experience with my own father, I didn't really feel like talking. When I had written to my father just before he died, I lost a really important opportunity to tell him some things I had never shared. Reading that letter to him in his hospital bed while he was brain dead was not in any way fulfilling. It felt foolish, and the little brainwave monitor in front of me told me clearly that he couldn't hear. Something about even the sentimentality of it just never sat with me as useful. In this situation, it felt again pointless, and perhaps worse. I can't say now what the feelings all were, but I talked to him for Meredith's sake. I felt the words, and meant them, but had no hope in them. Saying them, I cried, as I cry now retelling of it. It is all part of the miserable reality that I had to step through then, and continue to step into now. He's gone. Really gone. No words are getting through, and all the love and intention was either received or not - but it's over. I do believe that the love and intentions were regularly received. I don't feel conflicted about how much I loved Max, nor how much I believe he knew it.

Having talked at Max over the phone, we were then approached by a Southwest employee who had clearly had some interaction with Meredith. She came up apologizing to Meredith and saying something that indicated she knew a little bit about our reason for being there. It turned into a whole thing with her preaching at us, etc. It turned out that she had seen Meredith crying in the hallways and tried to talk to her not realizing she was trying to have a private conversation with Max over the phone. One good thing about this whole interaction is that she affirmed for us that keeping Max on life support was our decision and we shouldn't let anybody rush us. She was also a bit humorous and provided a bit of relief - but the primary benefit was giving us that backbone, and that permission to be selfish with our boy's life. The other thing she provided was an upgraded boarding position so that we could sit together on the leg to Denver. This did ease our travel quite a bit as that 2.5 hours would have been way worse if done in the some condition as the previous 55 min. We made up an excuse to move on from her, and found a place to wait toward the end of the terminal.

By this time it was getting late enough that my brother would be awake and I decided it was time to give him a call. This was nothing like the call to Lily, but I was still dreading it. Delivering bad news is just something no one wants to do I suppose. I was also personally emotional because I knew how much Max loved his uncle, and I think that Greg felt like a life role model for Max. This was a shitty way for being a role model to end. I feel like their relationship was special - or at least a good one for uncle and nephew. Max's ADHD made him closer to Greg by shared experience. Greg had also just made plans for the 3 of us. I had purchased the tickets to go visit Max with Greg on the night of the accident - receipt marked 7:20 PM on Feb. 8th. My text to Max about it was on Jan. 29th, with my confirmation that we'd do it going unanswered. But I know from talking to a friend at his Colorado memorial that he was excited about it and had talked about it in the kitchen. Max often didn't answer texts. I always figured a bit of his ADHD mixed with a hard work schedule, and I assumed sometimes a bit of detachment. After having learned about how tough his schedule was I think it was really just the first 2. I walked down the hall a bit to find a semi-private place I could call Greg. I found a somewhat empty terminal waiting area with some wheelchairs up against one wall. I found a spot between a couple wheelchairs and sat on the floor against the wall. With my head down I figured I could make the call private enough even as loads of people kept walking past in the nearby hallway. I called and got a cheery "Hey brother, what's up?". I think I held strong for 2 seconds as I said "I have some bad news". Then it was all tears and repeating my only fitting phrase about Max. Again, I don't know what I really said, but it had the desired effect of inviting Greg into our painful new reality. He immediately sobbed and I think even made a few of those groans, or wails that I had made when I found out. It impacted my heart deeply to know that Max's death tore at his heart. I assumed so, but the depth of feeling confirmed it, and increased my sadness all the more. How much have we all lost? So much we have lost! All of us together having a very real and meaningful person pulled out of our lives. We talked a bit longer about exactly what, I don't know. Greg talked about wanting to make it to Denver. I wasn't sure it was worthwhile, but he decided he couldn't make it anyhow as he had some plans. This sounded a little odd, but I wasn't thinking straight. A funny story would emerge later about how little he was thinking straight. He ended up spending the day fiddling with his bikes and going to the store before his daughter asked him "what are you doing? We need to go". Even as I tried to dissuade him further later, he ended up coming to Denver and it was very good for us all.

Sometime a bit later, we finally flew out. Together this time, and still nothing but a ball of sadness. I don't recall the flight. I don't believe I listened to anything, or read anything, but I think I did buy something to read at the airport. Who knows? We arrived in Denver and made our plans to get to the hospital. I had rented a car while we were sitting in the Chicago airport, and wanted to have it. However there was a sense of urgency still that we needed to make it to the hospital. I was personally less worried about seeing Max - though I would have been wrong about the impact if I had in fact missed out. It turned out that Lily was actually only about 45 minutes behind us, so we decided that Gus and Meredith would Uber over to the hospital and that I would stay to get Lily. I think I had in mind that I might go get the car, and then pick Lily up as a passenger. Like all other logistical thinking involving time, planning, arrangements, etc. this was a clusterfuck in my head and I couldn't decide what the plan should be, or how to execute the plan. I ended up parking myself at the baggage area and waiting. My phone was getting low, so I also looked for an outlet. I finally found one behind a garbage can, so I got to hang out and try to get a charge while staring down at a large loogey someone had hit on the rim instead of into the basket. Lily finally texted me at 3:28PM local time that she had landed and that it was carousel 17 for her flight. I moved over there and began to wait again - trying to figure out how our greeting would go. I was very anxious to have her with us. I felt that a component of my nervousness was that we were apart. It took a very long time for her to get from plane to baggage. I don't actually know the time elapsed, but I had plenty of time to think. I kept thinking about how she looked over to me when we capsized in the Arkansas river a few years earlier. She had found then that I was just as scared and lost when she saw my face. I resolved that she wouldn't find me that way this time. We had definitely capsized, and we were floating fast down a dangerous river. That analogy fit well and stuck with me. But this time I wanted to be able to hold her up out of the water. In that moment, this meant that I wouldn't melt instantly when I saw her no matter how much I wanted to. I wanted Lily to be able to collapse on me.

Her bag made it out before she did. I gathered it up and waited some more. Eventually, she came around the corner. I held strong and put out my arms, but it was mutual support. Having her join us was the first good feeling of the day. It put at least one thing right which had been wrong from 14 hours earlier. I asked her if we should get the rental, or if she wanted to get to the hospital. We decided we might as well get the rental, so we headed off for the shuttle. Maybe a half hour later we were driving to the hospital. We talked about seeing Max in the hospital, and I don't believe either of us were really into it. I think we both thought it was just a sort misery we didn't need. We were certain he was gone, so what would it do for us? Instead we enjoyed the little break of being together with nothing more to do than drive, and to be out of the very public and oppressive space of an airport.

Part 3 - The Hospital

We would find out various details of Max's accident over time, and in the early days of the event, thinking through exactly how it happened would be my obsession. It was violent, and nearly instantaneous. At some point he lost control of the car, weaving right and off the surface of Arapahoe drive. He apparently jerked the car back left with too much force and put it into an uncontrolled slide which sent the car sideways. Meredith and I traveled along Arapahoe to see the site of the accident, and to try and understand it. We couldn't find an exact site, but it was clear that there is very little shoulder on the east-bound side where Max would have drifted right. It would have been easy to get scared and pull too hard. Maybe one of his tires caught, and so started the drift. Sadly, the west-bound side is wide open field, and without hitting a car he would have just come to a stop with perhaps minor damage and injuries. In one of the many ways that this accident beat million to one odds, there was a car coming from the other direction at just this moment such that it struck Max's car broadside, or t-boned him, with full force. It's not clear that the other driver even had time to brake. Max would have maybe enough time to utter an "Oh Shit!", and nothing else. Max was unbelted, and so flew across the driver's seat and hit his head on the tangled metal of his own passenger side and the oncoming car pushing through it. He suffered a massive traumatic injury to his head and was thrown into the back seat. A laceration of his spleen was the only one other problematic injury, but the blow to his head put him beyond all hope of saving. He was not breathing when the squad arrived, and it takes only a few minutes without oxygen to the brain for irreparable damage to occur due to cell die off in critical regions. While we never asked for full details of the other ways in which his brain was damaged, it wouldn't have mattered. That time without oxygen was catastrophic.

Lily and I had made our way to the Good Samaritan hospital in Lafayette where Max was in the ICU. It was cold out, and the wind was blowing hard. I parked the car in the wrong lot, so we had to walk a fair distance to the entrance. I recall feeling like the cold wind was an annoyance, but not that it made things miserable. When you're already as miserable as you can be, this sort of thing just doesn't matter. Our goal was inside, and we just needed to get there. I won't speak for Lily, but I still didn't really want to see Max in his ICU bed. I didn't know how bad he would look, and I was fully resolved to the fact that there was nothing more of my son inside that body. Again, my experience with my Dad played a large part in how I perceived it. My Dad was covered in tubes, with his eyes taped shut. Not much to look at.

As we enter the hospital, my nervous feelings are peaking. I am afraid I am going to pass out - not because I feel that way, but based on knowing myself in other situations like this. But as we enter and walk towards the ICU, it's clear that this is an ugly event, a surreal event, and that I have a strong urge to not be there - but it's not one I am going to hyperventilate and pass out over. All misgivings aside, we're moving to the room as if pulled forward by a chain of events we can't stop or change. We will end up at his room. When I first get there, I am greeted by Meredith, clearly experiencing a fresh round of deep crying and gloom. Max's room includes a privacy shield, and I am trying to avert my gaze in any case. Meredith and I hug, and possibly exchange words which I don't recall. I am also directed toward some hospital officials to deal with. We have someone there from Donor Alliance, and I am also told the billing official wanted to get some details about our insurance. We briefly discuss what the "Donor Lady" wants, and I find out that the billing person has disappeared, so I prepare to enter the room.

I am first struck by the view of Max laid out on the bed. He has a breathing tube in, but is otherwise unencumbered. His face is OK, his bare feet are sticking out beyond the covers. There are a number of people in the room - Lana and two of her friends are there. They are introduced and start to make excuses and exit. I moved around to Max's other side just the same, as they were taking up the space closest to the door. Seeing him didn't overwhelm me exactly, but it was a thorough dispelling of any notion to the contrary of what we knew while at the same time being a lie about the continued existence of our son. The body, the face, known to me in great detail. It is not the essence of the man, but it certainly represents it, and it's so easy to look at his face and just wish he would wake up. I hated that lie, and I loved being able to look at him, and hold his hand just the same. When I stepped over to his left side, I put my hand over his heart and said "Little boy, wake up". If only a Jesus level miracle would occur. I wanted it to, but was very half-hearted in my delivery. If confidence is needed to make miracles work, it's no wonder it was a failure. As I held his hand and looked at him, it was mostly as terrible as I had feared, but not so bad that I was sorry to be there. It was somehow good to be near his still living body even if Max was really gone. The one really bad part was looking at his face and seeing his dead eyes. They so clearly betrayed the problem - just open enough to see iris, and absolutely no spark of life behind them. I consistently looked anywhere but at those eyes, and I didn't spend much time in the room at all.

There were a number of people in and out of the room, and over the time from Thursday to Sunday, several more. It all runs together for me, and I can't pick out all of the events unless they're tied to something else. There was paperwork to do, people to talk with in the waiting room, and a fair amount of gloomy boredom. I don't actually know if it was on that first day or not, but eventually we all decided we should each have a private moment in the room with Max to say goodbye. I resisted the idea at first because of the pain of the lie that his living body told; the hope it gave and took away all at once. But I took my turn. I don't know why but I liked touching his crazy large big toe which jutted out to one side. It was so well known to me, and still in perfect shape. Much like holding his hand, but somehow representing a quirkiness to him that was recognizable and cute. I touched his toes and then moved up into the chair closer to his head and grabbed his hand. I started off by saying "Little boy, what did you do!?" pleading with him for some sort of answer. I wasn't mad at him, but I was so sad that his mistakes had lead here. He was drinking, he was unbelted, he lost control and swerved the car - it was all a bunch of unnecessary things which he caused all by himself. I desperately wanted (still want) to know exactly what had happened. I think then more obsessed with running back the clock than I am now - but oh man how much I wish we could run back even one of the minor circumstances and choices that led to that terrible place. I told him how much I loved him and how much he meant to me, and how much I was going to miss him.

^*Now, nearly 11 months later I still feel and say all those things. I cry again to read this post as I prepare it for publication. I note that Max's death did almost kill Lily - she ended up with 'broken heart disease', an enlarged ventrical.