Day one Sunday, May 22nd
It had been a wet May. The sky was overcast and the snow pack in the Wasatch Mountains was well above normal. Weather forecasters and people in general were concerned with the snow pack and the prospect of flooding had turned to reality in Utah as well as many parts of the country. Along the Wasatch front river levels were rising, which threatened and already cost private property and business owners considerable amounts of money.
The fear of course was that a repeat or worse of the flooding of down town Salt Lake due to snow pack that was at least as bad for this late in the year as the pack in 1983 which, after a wet snowy spring suddenly melted and dumped its moisture on the streets of Salt Lake City.
Politics as well as other local issues occupied the news. The main political stories revolved around reducing the national debt, Mideast, terrorism, and of course the controversy surrounding President Barack Obama's domestic and foreign policies.
For the moment these issues were the least of my concerns. I was on my way home from the grave yard shift at the University of Utah Hospital in Salt lake City. It had been a long night but nothing out of the ordinary. The chief electrician who happened to be at his desk noticed the work order I had sent through for an air handler in the new wing, building 522, that had quit in the middle of the night. As we could get by with the other four air handlers until Monday, I was surprised at his insistence that we check out the unit and figure out what was wrong.
As it turned out, the unit failed due to a faulty sensor in the air handler set on the metal plenum near the supply fans. As it had to go to the control shop and there was no one from the control shop in the building and as it wasn't an emergency, I decided to send another work order through and have the electrician sign off the WO I had sent to him.
There had been some talk by Jonathan and my wife Judi about a girl living in Colorado my son had been talking to on the internet. As Jonathan was very shy around girls, this was a surprise. More importantly, the girl had agreed to visit our home and meet Jonathan the following weekend. That was even more amazing and almost unheard of. For Jonathan, by nature this was a very bold move, so I took this as a very good sign. At 31, I was concerned that Jonathan had moved in for good and would never get up enough courage to make another attempt to date.
Not that I didn't like his company. Jonathan was affable, helpful and easy to love. We had over the years done many things together. Skiing, hiking, camping, baseball, football, scouting and many family outings.
I have an incurable disease called Inclusion Body Myositis. It is a slow but progressive wasting disease that affects the muscles in the arms and legs. So as time has passed, I came to rely on Jonathan for more things that demanded physical strength and fine motor skills. And while he had his own concerns, he was always willing to help and treated Judi and I with respect and freely reciprocated our love.
I was unaware of any enemies and his co – workers seemed to respect and admire him.
Also in about two weeks a trip to Toronto, Canada had been planned to visit my wife's sister and her family, whom I had not seen for many years. The trip was planned out, the airline tickets and car rental were bought. While there, we had scheduled a visit to Palmyra, New York where Joseph Smith had according to our faith, had his first vision.
In addition, Lorrie's youngest daughter- Jonathan's cousin- had planned a wedding for the Saturday after our Friday arrival which was two weeks from yesterday.
But, again, these issues were, at that moment, secondary. Due to my own internal clock, it was imperative that I get to bed as soon as possible after graveyard shift. On Sunday mornings, I usually bathed, changed clothes and attended the 9 AM Sacrament service. Then I returned home, went to bed, and slept until late afternoon. And although I was not exhausted to the point of collapse, grave yard shifts do wear the body down. Under the circumstances, especially on Sunday mornings, usually the freeways are not crowded. That allows me to slow down. Sometimes, I'll tune the radio station to quiet, religious programming. This helps me to unwind, and put my mind at ease on the drive home.
At approximately 7:45 AM I pulled into the drive way, put the car in 'PARK' and turned off the engine. Due to the steep elevation of the driveway, if I didn't back the car in, it was always a trick to keep the car door open while I exited the door, especially considering the Myositis. Since we had made the mistake of not taking this into account when we moved in just over a year earlier, I had no one to blame but myself for this oversight.
I grabbed my knapsack and pushed the car door opened. I wedged my body against the door frame and pushed up to stand. Just then, I heard the front door fly open. My wife ran through the front door.
She was screaming.
“JOHN?”
“JOHN!! JONATHAN HAS BEEN IN A CAR ACCIDENT. HE IS NOT RESPONDING!!”
Stunned, I asked where it had happened. She cried she didn't know but she had gotten a call from the Inter Mountain Medical Center. They had told her that they had found her phone number on his cell phone. She was dressed in her night gown. She turned around and went inside to get her street clothes on.
I slumped into the driver's seat, wrapped my arms around the knap sack and started to sob uncontrollably. Rocking back and forth, over and over, these words burst from my mouth:
“ PLEASE DEAR GOD, DON'T TAKE MY SON'S LIFE. OH PLEASE DEAR GOD, DON'T TAKE MY SON'S LIFE....”
Thus began our descent into hell.
On that early Sunday morning, my wife was getting ready for church when the hospital called.
They had found Judi’s number on Jonathan's cell phone. He was taken to Inter Mountain Medical Center in Murray Utah. Upon my return from work, Judi changed her clothes. We got in the car and then my wife suggested that we knock on the door of our neighbor across the street, the second counselor in the bishopric to give him the news. He dressed quickly and accompanied us to the hospital.
Not far from home, we came upon a crash site at an intersection. We were diverted around the site and we wondered – rightly- at the time whether the crash involved Jonathan. Later, we learned from the police that the drunk was going so fast, he slammed into the back right side of Jonathan's car which pushed Jonathan’s car into the car in front of him. The car in front of Jonathan’s car acted as a ramp which in turn launched his car, twisting and pushing Jonathan’s car on top of a car parked in the adjacent left lane. The drunk’s car then flew diagonally across the intersection crashing into a retaining wall on the far side.
Arriving at the hospital we took the elevator to the fifth floor, the Shock Trauma Unit. There, we were greeted by a Doctor looking after Jonathan. He ushered us into a conference room. Our hearts sank as were told the horrible news. Jonathan had suffered massive brain injuries. The internal pressure in his brain was rising and the only option left to save our son's life was to undergo a craniotomy - the removal of a part of the skull to reduce intracranial pressure which exceeded 60, which was far greater than found under normal circumstances. If the pressure was not relieved, Jonathan would not survive.
Even then, the Doctor cautioned, Jonathan’s chances of survival were slim at best.
Our world had just been violently turned upside down. At that early Sunday morning hour, our son of almost 32 years, dressed for work and walked through our front door never to return. Now just a few hours later he lay in the hospital unresponsive with massive brain injuries, with little or no chance of survival.
As bad as it was, I had no idea of how bad it would get.
At the hospital, my wife was given Jonathan's cell phone. On the cell phone there was a text message from a girl in Colorado Jonathan had been corresponding with. A few days before, she had agreed to come to our home and meet Jonathan for the first time. This meeting was to take place the following weekend.
The test message read: “I hope you are having a good day.”
The gut-wrenching, emotional upheaval of having to deal with such a terrible wound to our family was and still is difficult to describe. The events of the next thirteen days would push my wife and family to the limits of endurance and place an emotional, physical and spiritual burden on us that far exceeded anything I or my wife and daughters had ever known.
I have described it like someone putting a shotgun to my heart and pulling the trigger. And while the wound is not physical, nevertheless it is very real, it is deep and it hurts like hell.
A tangled mass of questions, carrying a lot of emotional baggage, surfaced during those early hours.
What exactly happened? Who else was involved? Anyone else hurt? Was the criminal caught?
Was he arrested, or is he/she still on the loose? Have charges been filed? What is the prognosis for our son? What if anything can we do to help in his recovery? What is being done to speed his recovery? If he does recover, what will that mean? If he does happen to wake up what will be left of what was once our son? Will he be normal (highly unlikely) or will he be a shell of his former self left with severe disabilities, driven mad with constant headaches, and seizures? Will he be blind, deaf, and or dumb or all three?
And of course, that most difficult question: Why?
By 'why' I don't mean who or how? We learned later when the police visited us at the hospital about the car accident and that alcohol or other mind altering drugs were involved. The car had struck Jonathan's car at about 75 miles per hour. The criminal had fled the scene and was driving on a suspended license. Others were injured and Jonathan probably didn't know what hit him.
By 'why,' I mean, why did God allow this to happen to our son, our only beloved son?
As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, I believed that God had a plan for everyone on this earth, including my son, Jonathan. Jonathan had lived an honorable life and had worked at a job - where he could serve others. Even his Major studies in school- Emergency Planning and Health Education reflected this desire.
Stories of his helping others abounded many of which surfaced after he was gone. For example, for years, Jonathan attended a young single adults’ ward. One of the members was confined to a wheel chair. An activity was planned at a local skating rink and Jonathan, not wanting to leave the young man out, helped him get to the rink. Once there took him in his wheel chair out onto the ice and skated with him while he pushed him around the ice.
The 'why' will probably remain unanswered for the rest of our lives, and is known only to God. At some point in the next few days, our bishop shared his belief that the Lord had a calling for Jonathan to do on the other side of the veil and this had something to do with his departure. Others expressed similar views and this was comforting to a point. I believe it wasn't God that brought our family to this tragedy but it was the result an evil, savage selfish act of someone out getting his kicks on booze and drugs. I do believe however that good eventually triumphs over evil and that God uses evil as one of many paths to accomplish his purposes. Even if that means we who are left to pick up the pieces, and at least in the short term, must endure intense personal suffering.
This reasoning makes the most sense to me and gives me the most comfort. Still, my son lay nearly brain dead in the hospital with only the thinnest thread of hope for full recovery. This reality, this knowledge caused terrible pain.
Whether an act of God or not, I firmly believe the accident was completely avoidable and the criminal should suffer to the fullest extent of the law.
Parents will do and say about anything to get their children back under such circumstances. Before Jonathan was taken into surgery to have part of his skull removed, I in the presence of doctors and the bishop's second counselor said a prayer commanding God to heal my son. This was crazy talk. After all, who am I to command God to do anything? But I couldn't restrain myself. Even then, I realized my son probably wouldn't make it but what was I to do?
We left the room and while Jonathan was in surgery, the bishop's counselor, myself, and a couple of other church leaders convened in a small room, closed the door and formed a prayer circle. Each in turn said a prayer asking the Lord to spare Jonathan's life, and seeking to know his will.
The day dragged on. Everything seemed to stand still, while the pain and emptiness increased. More people, relatives and friends stopped by to give their condolences. Fellow employees from Gold Cross Ambulance stopped by to pay their respects. All the while the nurse's warned that we must keep the room quiet. During the first two or three days, the nurses were quite strict about this, and tried to keep the number of visitors to a minimum.
Jonathan returned to his room, the right side of his head covered in bandages. There was a probe inserted into his head, which measured his inter-cranial pressure. The numbers were low, around 15 and we were told they needed to stay below 25. There was good blood flow to the brain and we were encouraged by this.
The nurses said the swelling should start to come down in four to five days, near the end of the week. We took this as a positive sign but we were under no illusions as to the seriousness of his condition.
This struggle between hoped for outcomes and reality, was a source of emotional upheaval during Jonathan's stay in the hospital. I felt like my insides were being shredded. And these feelings only worsened as the days passed.
Right from the start I lost my appetite and found it very difficult to sleep. My wife was suffering from the same symptoms. The nurses warned us about this and urged us to take care of ourselves, for we could be in it for the long haul, which seemed to suggest this nightmare could go on for weeks or even months. I began to worry about what that meant. Jonathan was on a respirator. He showed signs his body was at some level trying to breathe on its own but was not quite able to. What if Jonathan recovered enough to breathe on his own and that is as far as his recovery went? What then? What if at some point we decided to take Jonathan off the respirator and let nature take its course and Jonathan did not die right away but lingered on for an indefinite period? For how long would he linger and just how long would we be forced to watch the awful spectacle as he slowly died before our eyes? And if he lived it would in all likelihood be in a vegetative state. How, then would we care for him?
At the time, Jonathan was working part time for Gold Cross Ambulance as an Emergency Medical Technician. As such he had no medical insurance, except for a modest amount he had on his car as required by law. If it came to long term care, where could we take him and how would that be paid for?
In the days that followed, most of these questions would be answered. But at the time the unknowns were emotionally draining and caused us extreme inner turmoil.
Nor were all these questions apparent at the outset. How to deal with these issues from a faith based perspective was not at all clear. Except for prayer and fasting, how were we to find out God's will concerning our son and in the end make decisions which first and foremost were in Jonathan's best interests? One of the greatest struggles during all of this was to set aside our own emotions and act according to what we knew and what spiritual direction we may receive.
Whether or not we acted in accordance with God's will, perhaps we wouldn't know the full answer until the judgment day. But I do know that my wife and I both desperately tried throughout the entire ordeal to do just that and do what was best for Jonathan.
From 7 to 8:30 each morning and night we had to clear the room, I assumed this was neccessary to clean Jonathan and do other duties requiring some privacy. We came back later and talked to Jonathan. We told him how much we loved him and wanted him to come back to us. We had a family prayer and held each other’s hand. We touched Jonathan to include him in the prayer circle.
We were very tired and left around 10:30 PM.
Day two, Monday May 23rd
We arrived at the hospital around 9 AM. We offered many prayers and included our son in the prayer circle as a part of the daily routine. The intracranial pressure was creeping up but the nurses said this was to be expected as the swelling continued. We were somewhat relieved and hopeful.
Then around noon, Jonathan was wheeled away for another CT scan. We were hopeful for improvement but later in the day the doctor arrived with the latest results. He showed us the scan of Jonathan's brain when he first arrived Sunday morning and then the one taken at noon. The latest scan revealed massive brain injury, not only from the accident but from what they call “secondary swelling” that still continued.
Every cross section showed irreversible damage. This was a very ominous sign and it took all my strength from being overwhelmed, from being crushed by this information. We still had not given up hope. We tried to put a good face on it and say things like “well, yes but the swelling is supposed to continue at least until the weekend.” We believe that if God willed it, our son could be healed. But we were not kidding ourselves.
Most of the time was spent praying and reading scriptures. At times we talked to Jonathan in quiet tones and whispered to him to get well. We stroked his arms and kissed his hands, telling him how much we loved him and wanted him to come back to us.
Sometime later in the second day or the third, Tuesday, I watched as the nurse stopped Jonathan's sedative medicine and tried to wake him up. The nurse yelled at Jonathan to wake up and shook him vigorously. It was like shaking a damp rag. There was no response whatsoever and he showed no signs of regaining consciousness.
The drugs continue unabated during this time including a saline solution to control the swelling. All of the drugs were administered with the greatest care. As explained to us, each drug given had side effects and had to be balanced against the other medicines and what the body could stand. During the remainder of his stay in the Shock Trauma unit, this balancing act was fought to save Jonathan's life.
The day was filled with bad news but we continued to pray for a miracle. As time passed this was the only thing we had to hold onto. We received news that there were many friends at church, school and work that were praying for Jonathan. Many friends and relatives continued to stop in to share their condolences and to offer their support. As the days slipped by, the trickle of visitors turned into a flood. Somewhere, the nurses relaxed the rule on only two visitors in the room at a time. They believed that Jonathan was not going to recover but they wanted to spare our feelings and didn't come right out and say it. At least not yet. But the signs were there.
By the end of the second day we were again exhausted and went home around 10:30 PM.
At home, Judi and I started taking sleeping pills. Eve then I continued to struggle with sleep and found in spite of the pills, my nights were filled with fear and prayer. Many times in the night, I cried out my son's name and begged God to save Jonathan's life.
Day three, Tuesday May 24th
Kim is a girl Jonathan had corresponded with on the internet over the last few months. Although they had developed a friendship, it had not gone beyond that. Someone suggested the idea that they meet. I'm not sure who but to our surprise and delight, Kim agreed to this and was coming to West Jordan to meet Jonathan the weekend after his accident occurred.
When Kim heard the news about Jonathan, I thought everything would change, that she would naturally decline to come. Judi said that she realized that it wasn’t the way Kim had expected to meet him but we told her she was welcome to come. She had called Judi back the day before and said she felt that she would like to come on Tuesday. She showed up at the hospital to meet Jonathan. She stayed two days. It was not uncommon for her to stand with us at Jonathan's bedside talking gently to and praying for Jonathan. Having Kim there was a great comfort to us and we hoped that Jonathan would recover and someday meet her.
The police along with a representative of the victim’s advocates unit arrived and shared details of the crash. The criminal had a suspended license, was drunk, and ran from the scene. He was speeding when he hit Jonathan. The victims unit had a fund we could access as a last source of funds for costs incurred.
The rest of the day passed without incident. But the intracranial pressure continued to rise. I remembered what the nurses and doctors had said about the swelling and I was reminded that there was good blood flow to the brain. Sometime in this day or the next, one of the doctors used the word “Catastrophic” for the first and only time that I recall. This rocked me but I tried not to dwell on it.
We invited Kim into our home and she and Judi hit it off. This hurts even more and again I try not to think about what might have been.
Kim was a nurse, a divorcee with five children. At first, I had mixed feelings about this because of the number of kids and her former husband was still giving her lots of grief. After meeting her and seeing how she interacted with my wife and the rest of the family, I think Jonathan and Kim could have had some chemistry. Jonathan had developed some rapport with at least one of her boys.
Maybe, should'a could'a. What might have been if... and the big one- What if?
Day four, Wednesday May 25th
We arrived later than usual. It was becoming more difficult to get up and go the hospital. My legs and arms felt heavy, like lead. Walking across the parking lot to the hospital entrance was increasingly difficult. And I knew why. It was not only because of the Myositis. In the face of this awful tragedy, I was trying to have faith and trust that my son would still recover. That somehow God would intervene and reverse the irreversible.
Every day brought more bad news. There were no more “small victories” to hold onto. Watching my son die was taking a heavy toll on my health. In addition I was fasting intentionally. I had little appetite anyway and so what could it hurt? My thinking was fuzzy on this except that I was desperately trying to understand God's will concerning my son. And fasting, according to my faith, was one way of offering a sacrifice indicating my devotion to God.
The intracranial pressure was now at or above 25. This was the number below which was considered a safe pressure. The nurses explained that the pressure readings were not the only thing to consider. There was still good blood flow to the brain and he was getting lots of nutrients. He needed lots of rest and we needed to keep the noise down to allow maximum opportunity for recovery.
The Bishop gave me a blessing that it would become clear to me what we should do. About this time, I was thinking the unthinkable. And I was ashamed because I not only thought it, I actually discussed organ donation with one of the nurses. Organ donation was really the end. No organs, no chance of recovery, no chance for life. I felt I let my son down. That I was giving up. And it had only been four days.
I was torn because of my lack of faith and the terrible reality that was staring me in the face. I wanted to turn and run. Runaway to some distant place where I didn't have to watch and think about my son lying in bed, the last spark of life being crushed by the relentless increasing pressure on his brain caused by the swelling that still continued, that the doctors were unable to stop. But I could not run. I could not escape the terrible pain in my chest and the emptiness that consumed my strength and sapped my hope.
Nor would I. He was our son and Judi and I would not leave his side nor would we abandon him, no matter the outcome. That said, Jonathan deserved far better than I was able to give. Perhaps if Jonathan had a father with greater faith, the outcome may have been much different. But this was only another form of self- flagellation. My wife had far greater faith than me. Her heart was breaking, yet she remained calm and was expressing words spoken by angels.
Her stand was unyielding. Right up until the very end, Judi did not give up hope. This sustained me and gave me hope. Nor did I believe our hope was in vain. For hope and faith are interwoven in meaning and necessary for miracles to happen.
At Kim's suggestion, we read from the Book of Mormon beginning at Moroni Chapter seven verse 24. Moroni speaks of the diver’s ways the Lord reveals things unto the children of men. Through the ministering of angels and the words of God, men are able to exercise faith and lay hold upon every good thing. That from faith, miracles are possible, that through the asking of the father in faith it will be done if it is “expedient in me.”
The words were stirring and sunk deep into my heart. Over the last days of Jonathan's life we read them over and over again. I questioned myself and whether I had faith enough for Jonathan to be healed. But we were asking God for nothing short of healing or giving Jonathan a new brain. For the accident had turned Jonathan's brain to hamburger, for lack of a better term.
I recalled stories from the Bible where Jesus healed the lame and caused the blind to see. He even raised Lazarus from the dead. And this was what we were asking God to do.
In hindsight, we were asking God to raise Jonathan from death unto life. We were asking God to resurrect our son. And this was by any stretch, even for those who had walked and talked with Jesus, no small undertaking.
Yet, as Christians, believing that God had restored the authority to act in his name, if we accepted the miracles in the Bible as being authentic, then such miracles must be possible today. But a possible outcome is very different from what the Lord may want and the nightmare which confronted us. And it began to dawn on me what the Lord wanted was staring at me, screaming in my eyes and ears and tearing at my heart.
The rest of the day was spent in fasting and prayer. Fellow workers from Gold Cross streamed in giving their sympathy. Others from the singles wards Jonathan attended stopped by to pay their respects.
The outpouring of love for Jonathan was stunning. The number of lives he touched and influenced seemed endless. Some were understandable, for he worked and lived a life of service to others. But so much love for my son, so many expressions of sympathy were much more than I could explain. At home Jonathan was quiet, reserved. He was not the gabby, outgoing type.
Perhaps that is the nature of love and service. If and when it is reciprocated, it returns to the giver in far greater quantities than when it was given.
There were many tears shed. And this continued in the days and nights to come.
My wife and I are distributors of Doterra essential oils. We learned that Frankincense was good for people with brain injuries. The only place we could apply it was to his feet. So, I started on a kind of ritual of anointing and messaging his feet with Frankincense. I loved the smell and even though it sounded like a hokey idea, I did it anyway.
Perhaps it was more for me than for Jonathan that I did this. While I anointed and messaged his feet with oil, I was sobbing and kissing his feet. Over and over I whispered to Jonathan how much I loved him.
I wished I could stop crying. For someone my age to cry like a baby...this was not a manly thing to do.
We returned after the 7-8:30 PM break and stayed about an hour. We offered more prayers including Jonathan in our little family circle. My daughters and son in law were there with us.
At home, more and more sleeping pills were needed to rest. This was unusual for me. But how could I sleep, when my son was in the hospital dying, and there was nothing I could do except pray?
Day five, Thursday May 26th
The day began with a bit of optimism. Even though the intracranial pressure continued to rise,
we were feeling optimistic. Perhaps it was because of our own speculation and continued belief that the Lord would yet intervene and save our son's life.
The morning was filled with prayer. We spoke softly to Jonathan and shared messages of hope and love. We caressed his arms and hands. At least twice during the day I anointed his feet with Frankincense.
About 11:am, Jonathan was taken away for an MRI scan.
Two hours passed. We went for lunch and continued to try and be optimistic. The results of the scan were not known until late afternoon. Then the surgeon arrived and showed us Jonathan's brain, slide by slide. Each one told the same story as the CT scans. Massive, irreparable brain damage.
For some strange reason we took this as a positive sign. His brain was badly damaged. But the scan showed nothing worse than what the CT scans revealed.
Kim was standing next to me watching the same slides and listening as the doctor presented the reality of Jonathan's condition. I could see the strain on her face. Kim was a nurse and she knew what the slides were telling us. Still, she remained optimistic.
I was encouraged by her optimism, and also that of my wife. But dark thoughts pressed down upon me and soured my mood.
Again, virtually nothing I saw indicated that Jonathan would recover, certainly not fully. But what if Jonathan did open his eyes. What then? And if he did not, how long would he live?
What then? And what kind of life? How would we care for him? These were questions which, short of a complete recovery, no parent should be forced to answer. Yet, the questions persisted, taking on a life independent of our own because the near future was a complete unknown, a void into which myself, Judi and loved ones had been violently thrust.
Seeking knowledge beyond man's ability or understanding. Wisdom and knowledge where none existed and where medical knowledge could not take us or give us assurances beyond the simple fact that Jonathan was not going to make it.
Perhaps it was into that void that, willingly or according to God's own time, we must take the leap and in spite of the hellish nightmare that fills out lives, we trust.
And hope.
Day six Friday, May 27th
Whatever hope we had the previous day was wiped out on this day, at least for me. Around noon, an EEG was performed to check for any upper brain activity. The results did not come back for some time. But later that afternoon the nurse told us the news. Jonathan's brain showed no sign of seizures. We were thankful for that and took that as positive. But then we heard that the upper brain, the part responsible for the essence of who we are including consciousness, showed no brain activity whatsoever.
The graph was completely flat.
Except for some brain stem activity supporting breathing and heartbeat, Jonathan was brain dead. Legally he was not brain dead but the Doctor's made it very clear. He would not recover. No one in his condition had ever recovered from such damage. There was nothing they could do to fix it. And what little brain activity remained in the brain stem was dying. It was just a matter of time.
The doctors and nurses were very professional and very kind and if Jonathan was to ever have a chance he couldn't have gone to a better trained staff and hospital equipped for such accidents. But there are limits as to what doctors can do, especially when it comes to massive brain damage.
At one point, I was invited to a doctor's conference outside of Jonathan's room. They discussed his condition and on-going treatment. This was before Friday but I don't remember the day. I asked some general questions and engaged in a few’ what if’ scenarios. Were there any drugs that could be given at the time or shortly after the accident to prevent the swelling that was responsible for so much of the damage to Jonathan's brain and perhaps which in the future could save someone else's life? No was the answer. Once the accident happened, the damage was so massive, the outcome was almost inevitable.
What about hypobaric oxygen treatment? The doctor said that these were good questions, but Jonathan was receiving enhanced Oxygen treatment. And the verdict on such treatment in Oxygen chambers under these conditions was still out and not at all certain.
Kim left and returned to Colorado. The what- if surrounding her might- have - been relationship with Jonathan haunts me. No marriage, no family, no children, no grandchildren. All of this- gone in an instant of savage brutal selfishness.
The intracranial pressure was now approaching 50, far above the safe level of 25. The doctors acknowledged there was little more they could do. The bulge underneath the flap of ski on the right side of Jonathan's head where part of the skull has been removed appeared to be filling with brain matter. I could not admit this to myself. The idea was too horrifying. Just the same it was there. The implication was unmistakable. The doctors simply could not control the swelling of the brain.
Jonathan was slipping away and nothing short of a miracle could stop it.
That night around the dinner table, Judi and I along with our relatives discussed how to proceed. Perhaps the ordeal is like Nephi's of old where he was commanded to retrieve the plates of brass. After several attempts had failed, he returned one more time to try and get the plates from Laban, not knowing beforehand what he should do or how he was going to obtain the plates. All he knew was in spite of the very real danger to his life still he was commanded to get them.
After I heard the EEG report, I ripped my hat from my head and threw it against the wall. I said something like “well, that's it. That's all she wrote.” I broke down again, sobbing. Over and over I babbled the word “WHY...WHY...”
Day Seven, Saturday May 28th
When we arrived at Jonathan’s bedside, we were shocked, if that's possible. The doctors removed the intracranial pressure monitor and probe from Jonathan's skull. The reason was clear. They believed, and had the data to back it up, that Jonathan would not recover. There were no what if's or maybes. The EEG had confirmed what the MRI and CT scans showed. The questions that remained dealt with how long he would continue to breathe on his own and how long it would be before Judi and I came to terms with reality and consented to remove the respirator and let nature take its course. The doctors could not actively assist in the death of our son.
That was against the law. We had to decide when to’ pull the plug’. We had been told that if we, the parents’ consented to remove the breathing tubes and turn off the respirator, Jonathan would not survive. It is not a matter of if, only a matter of when.
But what did that mean? One minute, an hour, a day perhaps more? We were torn about this. How do parents’ consent to do such a thing? The answer was and is not at all clear. Just thinking about it tore us up inside. The decision to consent to end our son’s life stood like a stone wall in our hearts. More than anything we wanted out son to awake and come back to us, the way he was. But most of all we wanted to stop the suffering. We did not want him to wake up. Not like this. Oh heavens no. Not like this.
My wife still had faith and believed God could heal Jonathan if it was his will. She continued to be the rock through this nightmare.
There was that other question to consider, which we had been wrestling with the last few days, although to this point we had not seriously discussed it. It hung there unanswered and the result meant it was all over.
Organ donation is the final straw, and means certain death. Jonathan was all but brain dead anyway, so one may wonder what all the fuss was about. But it was not easy to let Jonathan go. At one point one of the nurses pulled me aside and thanked me for wanting to do such an unselfish thing. I replied that I was trying somehow to make something positive come from all of this.
We were less than two days away from death but at that time we did not know this. We did know that Jonathan was slipping away and no one except God could stop it. From that point on Jonathan's life was truly in his hands.
The weight in my legs and arms got heavier and heavier as the days passed. We knew there were many people praying and fasting for our son. This was a great comfort to us. But the pain of watching my son die was almost unbearable and only got worse as the days wore on.
I started spending more time outside near the reflecting pool and water fall. The sound of the water was calming but it could not soothe the ache and emptiness in my chest. My energy was melting away and at that time, almost everything I did required extreme effort. I thought I was headed for a nervous breakdown if I was not careful.
I called my sister Suzie who lives in Virginia and gave her an update. But this did not go well at all. Somehow I forced the words out and she understood in spite of my sobbings. Suzie cried and told me how sorry she was and how much she loved me.
I am sure I had cried more in the last week than my entire lifetime. I would not wish this on my worst enemy.
We did not know with certainty what was going to happen even in the short term but the question of when to pull the tubes and whether to donate Jonathan's organs hung over us like a curse. Of course, we could not donate his organs once we removed Jonathan from the respirator. We could not contribute his organs unless we knew he was legally dead. Yet, Jonathan was still trying to breathe on his own, albeit his breathing response was getting weaker as the days passed.
Day Eight, Sunday May 29th
I was in bed. My eyes were glued to the clock radio on the other side of the bedroom. It was about 5:45 in the morning. From somewhere distant, I thought I heard an explosion. Metal crashing into metal. It was the sound my wife heard one week ago at about this time that woke her up. I focused and listened and I realized my mind was playing tricks on me.
I listened anyway, trying to imagine my son's last moments before the accident. At 60 miles per hour a car is traveling 88 feet per second. 80 MPH converts to just over 117 feet per second. This was the speed witnesses said the car was traveling when it struck Jonathan.(Later, the police reports confirmed it was about 75 MPH, which equates to 110 f/s). If that was true, then the car traveled the length of a football field in less than three seconds. How long does it take to get out of the way, to move the car or release the safety belt, open the door and run? My best guess; at least ten seconds to shove the car in park, release the seat belt, open the door and get clear. And that would be under optimum circumstances. Ten seconds at 110 feet/second = 1100 feet. One quarter mile = 1320 feet.
Again, that's optimal. Jonathan's car was equipped with manual door locks and what would happen if the transmission shifter or the seat belt buckle stuck? How many people would know instantly what to do seeing, if possible, in the early morning, a speeding car over one thousand feet in their rear?
Again, the 'what- if’ game. But there is no way around it. Once Jonathan was stopped at the light, he didn't stand a chance. Perhaps if he were wearing a crash helmet...
Maybe. Probably not. I asked the neurosurgeon if it would have made any difference if the accident had happened in the hospital parking lot. The answer was a final “no.” Once the accident happened, the brain damage was so severe it wouldn't have mattered.
I looked at the clock again. Only ten minutes had passed. It was not even 6 o'clock yet. Just minutes had gone by. It seemed like years. Another night gone. And again, I'd had little sleep. I started to sob. My wife was already up and was in the den. My heart was breaking, and I whispered his name;
“Oh Jonathan. My sweet dear son. Why... Oh dear God why...”
I did not hear her, but I knew she was crying too.
We attended sacrament meeting in the morning and broke our fast at noon. Then we went to the hospital. The doctors were now just keeping Jonathan comfortable but they were not making any further attempts to control the swelling or deal with any other problems. The swelling had not stopped and the bulge on the side of Jonathan's head was only getting larger.
In the afternoon, Judi's mother, sister, brother and sister- in- law arrived from Canada. Everyone came except Judi's father. And like all of us, he was grieving too. We gave Jonathan another blessing and offered more personal prayers.
After supper I went back to the hospital alone. I was in deep despair. I begged God to help me understand his word and know what his will was concerning my son. I asked him in prayer to teach me how to recognize his spirit in my heart and just what his will was for us and our son Jonathan.
When I arrived, the doctors were busy trying to sustain Jonathan's blood pressure. It had fallen to dangerously low levels and he was very near dying due to sepsis- blood infection. In the beginning, Jonathan's brain couldn’t sustain life. Now his body was starting to fail, due to lying for so long in bed and the continuing deterioration of his brain.
I called my wife and told her about Jonathan's condition and informed her he may not make it through the night.
Most of the relatives came up. By then Jonathan had stabilized. The charge nurse was a Latter Day Saint and we got into a discussion about Jonathan's condition. She confirmed what we already knew. Jonathan was very near death and would not recover. We discussed the idea that God has a plan for each of us on the earth and that Jonathan had fulfilled his reason for being here. This was heartbreaking but I needed to hear it. When Judi arrived, the nurse took her to the side, sat down almost in front of her and took Judi's hand in hers. Then she talked to her in hushed tones but I could hear some of it. She was letting Judi know what was happening and affirmed as gently as she could that Jonathan would not make it; he would not wake up.
I lost the Frankincense but I messaged and kiss my son's feet anyway. The tears fell from my eyes like rain.
It was now very late; around twelve midnight. The bishop arrived and we were allowed to use the conference room across the hall. We closed the door and each of us expressed our view on what to do next. The bishop felt it may be time to give Jonathan a blessing and release Jonathan's spirit or turn it over to God and let his will be done. Everyone in the room expressed their love for Jonathan.
In the end, we decided to give Jonathan a blessing to release his spirit. We realized we were near the end but how much longer Jonathan would live we did not know. We did not know yet if he would live several more days or if we would be forced to decide to remove the breathing tubes, turn off the respirator, and let nature take its course or if or when he would stop breathing on his own.
We gathered in Jonathan's room and the bishop gave Jonathan the blessing to release his spirit. Then we gathered around Jonathan's bed and sang “God be with You 'til we Meet Again.”
We kissed and told Jonathan how much we loved him and said our farewells. We left the hospital around one in the morning.
Day Nine, Monday May 30th – Memorial Day
The phone call came around 9:30 AM. Doctor Anderson (not his real name) had been trying to reach us for the last couple of hours. He tried my wife but was unable to get her on the phone. I was putting laundry in the dryer when my phone rang.
The doctor told me Jonathan had passed away at about 7:30 AM. They had done the tests which confirmed that Jonathan was now legally brain dead.
He said he was very sorry.
I began to cry and thanked him for his efforts on behalf of my son. He asked me if I would approve getting Jonathan's body ready for organ donation. I told him to go ahead. He thanked me and the conversation ended.
Judi and I went to the hospital and met with an organ donation team member. We talked about
our options and about donating his major organs. In addition, she asked permission to donate skin, bone, his eye balls, and other parts of the body. Judi was ok with it, but I was already agreeing to the donation of his major organs; the heart, lungs, kidneys, pancreas, liver and corneas and I felt any further cutting was just mutilation. I couldn’t do it.
Why I stopped there I don't really know, except perhaps guilt. Jonathan's body had already suffered enough. I couldn't agree to any more cutting.
Feelings of guilt persist and I think also it's because of a natural response to wanting to protect my son from further harm. It's not hard for me not to think about organ donation as mutilation, although the good, the attempt to save lives can hardly be called such. We were at this crossroad as the result of an intentional terrible act. That was what I was trying to do. Have something good come from evil.
Earlier, I counseled with the bishop about this. The bishop referred to the Church' official manual on policies and procedures. The church approves of organ donation and considers it an unselfish act. I was desperate to try and have some good thing come from Jonathan's death and this was one obvious way but I didn’t want to do something contrary to church policy.
Perhaps someday we will receive news that Jonathan's death had saved someone's life. That would be nice and I think it will help in the healing process. I think Jonathan would have wanted it that way. I have prayed many times that we made the right decision. I know I would want someone to do the same for me.
After the donations were agreed to and the legal papers for consent were signed, we stayed for a while, and then we left. Before we did, the nurses who had helped with Jonathan's care came up to us and gave us a hug. They were in tears. And even though Jonathan didn't make it, my wife and I will always remember their compassion and kindness. They did everything they could to save his life.
Arriving home, we were welcomed by the sight of more than a dozen American flags lining our driveway and front yard. I broke down again and began to sob. Later we learned the local scout troop put them there at the Bishop's request. The flags were put up during the day and taken down at night. Everyday this happened through the day of the funeral.
We returned to the hospital that evening to say our last good byes. It was the last time we would see him at the hospital. We were told he was scheduled for organ donation the following day, but they were not sure when. Jonathan was still on the respirator and they had some kind of vibrator jacket around his chest. His eye lids were taped shut. The why of the Jacket is lost to my memory. Perhaps it had something to do with circulation, or to prevent congestion, but I’m not sure.
The view of my son’s body naked covered with only a thin sheet, the vibrator jacket shaking his chest, his eyes taped shut. This horrible scene I cannot erase from my thoughts. It, like the others, will forever haunt me.
They said we would get a call when they were going to take Jonathan in to have his organs removed.
For the last time, I messaged and kissed his feet. My wife and I kissed him on the forehead and we bid our dearly beloved Jonathan farewell.
Driving out of the hospital parking lot, to the west a lone single firework rocketed into the evening sky. My wife asked me if I saw it and I said no. A sign, maybe? Judi thought so.
Maybe. Jonathan loved fireworks.
Some day we’ll ask him.
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