Pulling the plug on a dream

Today, after less than a year of marriage, Elizabeth becomes a widow.

A gangly young woman, shy and self deprecating, she grew up in the intellectual safety of homeschooling and fundamental Judeo-Christian values. When she finally went off to the University of Arkansas to study Chemical Engineering, she wore a promise ring on her left hand to ward off any guys who might take a premarital interest in her.

Upon graduation, Elizabeth got a job at a battery engineering firm in Joplin (yeah, the town that got sucked up by a huge tornado a few years ago). She lived alone in a small apartment and filled her social time with visits to mom and dad on the weekends. As a woman she was considered qualified to fetch coffee for the “real” engineers, but she worked her way up to battery tester.

There she met Aaron, an equally awkward young man. The son of a Lutheran minister, he had lost his first wife to divorce. Perhaps it had something to do with the leukemia that was slowly killing him.

Eventually Aaron had to stop working, and moved back with his parents. Elizabeth embarked on a wild lifestyle of driving up to visit him on the weekends, gradually drifting away from her parents. Much to their disapproval, she and Aaron married in September.

She knew he could die, but like all young lovers they dreamed of a life that extended to the horizon. The bone marrow transplants would work, medical science would find a cure, or God would heal him. Aaron wanted to go to seminary and become a pastor, and Elizabeth would study alongside him.

They visited Bunker Hill in March. Aaron only dared to come inside the underground building for a few brief moments, wearing a medical mask to prevent any mold spores from transgressing his weakened immune system. The rest of the time he walked outside in the grass and wildflowers. He pulled out an RC airplane and flew it in the thermals above the hill. He made blunt statements about how the gas tank ruined the view of the valley.

Elizabeth gave everything, even her own body, to fill this young man’s last few days with happiness. What little she had to gain from the relationship is now lost. Without warning the battery company laid her off two weeks ago, putting her medical insurance in jeopardy. At the same time Aaron took a turn for the worse. That last marrow transplant did not work.

This morning the family is gathering around his unconscious form to say their final goodbyes. Then they will disconnect the life support machines. By noon, barring a miracle, Elizabeth will be a widow.

“And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”

Here’s to your true love story, Liz, stronger than anything by Jane Austen or Stephenie Meyer.

P.S. — Aaron died around 15:00, just a couple of hours after they stopped the ventilator. I never told him or Elizabeth, but we plan to move the gas tank. Every time I look at the morning mist in the valley, I will remember him.

At the funeral the preacher talked about hope of the resurrection. All the while I felt an incredible sense of failure. We, humanity, science, couldn’t do enough. The information pattern that was Aaron is lost forever. If we have any choice in the matter, it is an unforgivable waste.

“Do not go gentle into that good night, … Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

Although he did not fall in battle, they gave Aaron full military honors, during which the crowd broke into audible weeping. The guard knelt and handed the triangle-folded flag to Elizabeth with the words “On behalf of the President of the United States … thank you for your loved one’s service.” Almost immediately the funeral director stood and said something to the effect of “That’s all folks, you can go home now.” But no one moved. It seemed like the moment of silence should last a bit longer.

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