Andrew

My husband’s kidneys failed several months ago.  He remains alive because of a good doctor and the miracle of dialysis.  He is on a waiting list for a kidney transplant.  Here in Florida the wait is shorter than other states because Florida doesn’t have a motorcycle helmet law.  When Al and I are driving and we see a motorcyclist without a helmet weaving in and out of traffic, we joke and call him a kidney donor.

Andrew, a tall, skinny kid with a shy smile, waited on Al and I at lunch yesterday.  And then he died last night on a motorcycle.

I don’t know if he wore a helmet.  But suddenly that joke isn’t funny any more.

As I process the news of his death, I imagine his terror at being hit by the car.  Or, perhaps he didn’t see it coming.  I hope for the latter.  I think to myself, why don’t we outlaw motorcycles?  I want to beg my kids to never get one.  And yet, I know that is not the answer.

I pause and imagine that Andrew loved his motorcycle.  Perhaps the day Andrew got his motorcycle was the happiest day in his life.  Maybe he saved for years to be able to get it.  Maybe he shopped endlessly to find it – the one he always wanted.  It brought him joy.  Would I really want to take that away from him?  No.  Truth is, I just want Andrew back.

It was not the motorcycle that took him.  I would like to be able to blame the motorcycle because I don’t have an answer to the question of why did this happen.  He was a sweet young kid.  Working as a waiter in the country club dining room.

I think that the “club” was a new environment for him.  His first couple of weeks on the job, he spent a lot of time responding to customer questions by saying he would check with the chef.  Even when I asked what I thought was a simple question about a vegetable, he was unfamiliar with it.  But he kept checking with the chef and slowly he became more confident and more masterful.  It was fun to watch him grow into the job.  He stopped growing last night.

I live in Florida, the land of retirees, the old people.  You expect them to die.  But not this young kid.  It makes me sad.

I am comforted only by knowing that yesterday as he served us lunch, I made a special point of being appreciative of his service.  I made him smile with a stupid joke about eating healthy when I ordered chicken wings and french fries.  I acknowledged his fine service and the good food and the fun time I was having.  I said a heartfelt thank you and made sure that he heard it.

As we left the restaurant, Andrew smiled at us and waved.

And that’s all I’ve got:  I was the reason for his smile.

Being respectful, appreciative and kind to those we meet each day.  It is important.