The Finality

Made our way to the hospital Sunday morning, and met Steve and Sarah outside. They already had the news to share, the result of the neurological tests. The first words out of his mouth, that hit me in the gut, but there was no easy way to get it out - "They're pulling the plug on him tonight."
The tests showed no brain activity, the response to reflex and pupil tests was nil, and they determined his brain was deprived of oxygen for too long to reverse the damage. No hope of recovery - highly unlikely he would ever regain consciousness, much less cognizant function or motor skills. The family made the decision to unhook life support and let nature take its course. If the heart stopped within a half hour, dozens of his organs could help other people.
We went in to see him (meeting the stepsisters on the way in), extremely tough, him lying there still hooked up to machines (oddly, looking more at peace than the day before), and the reality and finality of it hit Bonnie pretty hard. She had some words to say. The only things I could come up with to say were, "Goodbye" and, "Thank you for being in my life." I touched his hand, his skin was warm. I noticed things I wished I hadn't, things I don't want to be part of my last memory of his appearance. Allow me to indulge in my journal here, please skip ahead if this is too disturbing... His growth of stubble, and realizing he hadn't shaved in 3 days and would not. The way his lips accepted the intubation tube, the tightness of the securing rubber straps against his cheeks. Scrapes on his face and knuckles that won't heal. The look of his face, and thinking, "Is it swollen?". I've never seen him sleeping, other than the times he's passed out on a couch - is this the way he looks when he's asleep? The shape of the face, to me, only seemed correct from the angle where I was standing right next to him. I took one last look at his face, and began walking from the room. I looked back, and his face didn't look right to me, so I had to return to his bedside, take a final portrait photograph in my mind, and I could not look back when I left the room for that final time.
Again, the next chunk of time is a blur. M coming out to tell us they'd disconnect life support on Monday afternoon (this timeline changed much the next few hours); John and Neal and Trisha showing up; Heather showing up in tears; Mark M returning; almost missing Leslie and Tulah because we took a break down in the Cafe; M talking in distant terms about funeral arrangements, and what to do with his 'stuff'; how the news would spread at work. Rex's Dad going to pick his brother Larry from the airport. And phone calls. Lots and lots of phone calls. Who did I miss? Who would want to know? Who would want to visit in the few hours still available? Maybe I missed some people whom I should have called that afternoon, I apologize. Many people found it hard to believe, a few were intensely weeping. This is the first time I've ever had to deal with anything like this, so little you know, so little you can control.
Back to the rest of the day, Bonnie (my fantasitcally supportive and helpful partner!) and I split and went home in the afternoon. Gilx called and said he and Vicki had gone, no other visitors at the time, and the reality of it hit them hard. More hanging out at home, called M and Steve Leyba a few times, they had a full house and were thankful of the the surroundings. I was on the way to a show at Yoshi's, but I decided it was way more important to be around friends of Rex. Met his brother Larry, who was handling it rough. He related a story that Rex had bought a huge gift for his two-year-old niece, it had just arrived 3 days earlier. Very nice guy, I can notice a lot of similarities in the mannerisms and appearnace with his younger brother. Bid goodnight to the family, and headed home.
I realized I hadn't called Matt and Ann, they were people that should know before the big email send. They showed up on our doorstep 10 minutes after that phone message. Matt said they had already sent a mail - respectful enough, and there's no easy way to announce news like this, but hard to think that's the first thing people will read on Monday morning. Bonnie and I offered to host the ceremony, Rev. Leyba to preside over it, but we'll see how it works out, if we can take the whole capacity of Tippett Studio. Friends of Rex, please mail or call me, we'll put a memories board together.
Sucks. Unbelievably.
We'll miss you, Rex. Incredibly.