On May 16, 2021 at 4:38 pm our 43 year old son Fehlan James Carney died. Four days before, on May ll, after a “successful” removal of his spleen, a staple holding an artery slipped, failed, moved, gave up, and, in spite of heroic efforts by his surgeons and their staff, his brain was without oxygen for over five minutes. For four days we, his family and close friends, sat with him in the hospital.
Fehlan was a big-boned, sturdy red-head, a gentle giant and he looked peaceful, healthy, and strong in his hospital bed, except for the IVs in his arms, the beeping heart monitor, the breathing tube in his mouth.
For four days we talked to him, read him stories, played his favorite music; held his hands, rubbed his feet. The first two days we encouraged him to open his eyes, to respond to us. On the third day, we told him how much we loved him, what a good husband, son, brother, cousin, nephew, friend he was.
On the morning of the fourth day the neurologist ordered an MRI and then called us together in the hallway to show us the results. Two big lobes of the beautiful brain of my fine son, pale white featureless lobes on a dark screen, with no activity, no color. She told us our choices and we took the one that we knew Fehlan would want. At three pm the breathing tube was removed from his throat. He laid there, breathing softly for an hour while we told him that we loved him and that he could let go. And then his breathing slowed, became deeper, and stopped. And that was that.
Fehlan loved his wife Ally, his brother Brigham, his sister Megan, his best friend Stephen, his parents, me and Jim, his mother-in-law Cindy, all his cousins, aunts, uncles, in-laws, and friends. He was a funny man who loved to make people laugh. He loved swimming in the American River, camping on the beach, playing with his dogs. He also wrote haikus. These haikus are what have kept me from falling in the dark crack of May and June and July and August and September and all the months to come. I read them and try to memorize them.
No path set in stone
Bits and pieces lost to time
Still we move forward.
I have not been able to write since May, but I have painted. Three weeks after Fehlan died I painted this watercolor. I call it “A Haiku for Fehlan.” It makes me feel a little better. If you are feeling sad or lonely, I hope that the painting and the spirit of Fehlan will make you feel better also.
Fehlan and Ally Carney Spring 2020 Sacramento CA