Bobcat afternoon

When was the first time you really felt like a grown-up (if ever?)

I was sat with my brother on top of a sand hill two stories tall. At the base of the hill were our dirt bikes and a pond. All around us, as far as we could see, waist-high switchgrass gently moved in waves with the wind. 

A hundred yards away was a copse of cabbage palmetto trees.

Doug quietly pointed at the copse. “Look, Dar,” he said quietly. “A bobcat.” 

I held up my binoculars and looked. Sure enough, moving stealthily among the trees, was Lynx Rufus, the second-largest feline predator native to south Florida. He was big, at least four feet long, probably close to 40 pounds. I’d never seen one in the wild.

Doug and I looked at each other in amazement as I handed him the binoculars. Another one for the brother book.

We all have heroes; people who inspire, motivate, encourage us. Mine was my brother Doug. He was four years older than me and from him, I learned much. He taught me how to ride a bike, how to drive stick shift, how to change a spark plug.

He was into animals and from him, I learned how to identify animal tracks, nesting spots, game trails. He got me a havahart trap and taught me how to set, camouflage, and bait it. 

From him, I learned a code of conduct; kindness, integrity, manfully admitting wrong and accepting the consequences.

Like Damone and Rat in Fast Times at Ridgemont High, he was my advisor and confidant. 

Our heroes are always there for us. 

Until they almost are not.

Two years later, I was 16 and sound asleep when I was awoken by the doorbell. I looked at the clock-radio on my dresser: 3:10 am.

Doug had been on a date that night, and sleepily I assumed he had locked himself out. As I flipped the pillow to the cool side, I wondered how this was going to go over with the parents.

The next morning, Saturday, I went out to the kitchen for breakfast. Mom and Pop sat at the table with coffee cups in front of them. They were both ashen, with expressions I had never seen before; stricken, sad, lost.

“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Where’s Doug?”

Pop didn’t answer for a moment. When he did, his eyes spoke volumes. 

“Your brother was in a car crash last night,” he said. “He’s in Boca hospital. We just heard that they think he’s gonna make it.”

Doug was driving home from his date. Under a bridge on the two-lane road, ahead of him, a guy pulling a trailer had stopped. But the lights on the trailer were not working, it was pitch black, and Doug plowed into it at 60 mph.

The engine was pushed back into the passenger area and the steering column hit him in the middle of the chest. His heart stopped briefly. He bit his tongue in half.

He told me later that the paramedics had laid him on the ground. They couldn’t detect a pulse, his breathing was so shallow it was unnoticed, and he was unresponsive.

“Well, this guy is gone,” said the one paramedic. He gently laid the sheet over Doug’s face.

Wait! What? I’m not dead! Doug shouted in his mind. Wait! Stop! With supreme effort, he managed to wiggle a hand; the sheet moved and the paramedics noticed. They tore off the sheet and redoubled their efforts.

The doctor on call in the ER that night happened to be an ear, nose, and throat specialist. The immediate concern was the tongue; he was choking in blood from the severed lingual artery.

The ENT doctor sewed his tongue back together while another team worked on his heart and chest. He was in surgery for almost four hours.

The next day, I was shocked at his appearance. Lying in the hospital bed, bandaged from head to waist, an oxygen tube under his nose, one eye swollen shut, he was almost unrecognizable. Things blurred as I touched his toe.

“Hey, man,” I said gently. “How you doing?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Nevuh fel’ bella,” he managed.

Nothing else needed to be said; I sat in silence with him until the nurse gently told me visiting hours were over.

I think there are certain pivotal events that happen in our lives, moments when some of our most cherished notions and beliefs are shaken from their crowns to their roots. Some are so jarring, I wonder if they may follow us into eternity.

As I drove home, I considered many things; the vagaries of life, how things can change in an instant, how fragile these bodies are that we inhabit for a fleeting time.

I realized that day that the carefree path I enjoyed was not always going to be so blithe; that Mom and Pop and Doug were not always gonna be around; that I was not always gonna be around. That everything I took for granted was suddenly uncertain.

It was my first glimpse into adulthood.

The decades have flown by. Doug and I have a lifetime of shared experiences: Road trips, last calls, inside jokes, kids. We’ve experienced the one-by-one loss of aunts and uncles, friends, Mom, and finally Pop. We hold each other’s secrets.

I don’t believe much in coincidences. I think God orchestrates things that in retrospect bear the hallmarks of divine appointment.

I don’t know what my life would have been like if the paramedics hadn’t happened to be looking at the sheet that night and saw his hand move. If the doctor on call hadn’t happened to be an ENT. If a cardiac team hadn’t been available.

I’m just glad that The Plan was for him to live. For what purpose, I don’t know; only that he was around as my life unfolded. 

God’s timing and purposes remain shielded from us. But they’re always the right move.

And in a world of foundations built on sand, that’s good to remember.

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