It's shortly after midnight, so any peaks still lay ahead of me.

See right.

Late night infomercials.

Ham sandwich.

See right.

11 Oct. 2001
No entry.

11 Oct. 2000
Mental masturbation.


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Quote du jour:
"We say that the hour of death cannot be forecast, but when we say this we imagine that hour as placed in an obscure and distant future. It never occurs to us that it has any connection with the day already begun or that death could arrive this same afternoon, this afternoon which is so certain and which has every hour filled in advance." -- Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

I spent last Friday night in Smallville. When I'm home, I keep my scanner tuned into the fire channel out of habit. It's hard to not be a firefighter there now... and if a call sounds interesting, I'll slip over and check it out.

About 2:30 Saturday morning, they paged out the department for a motor vehicle accident with a vehicle on fire. With few other details, I assumed the worst... That people could be trapped. In an instant, I was in Smallville Fire mode. I'm willing to bet that I was dressed and out the door in under a minute.

The call wasn't far away and I beat the engine to the scene. The vehicle was fully involved with fire... and I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I kept repeating aloud, "this can't be good." That feeling was only reinforced as I noticed groups of college-aged kids huddled together either yelling or sobbing. With that... there was *no way* that what I was going to find was going to be good.

I was right.

As it turned out, no one was in the burning car. But one of the occupants had been thrown from it during the accident and had been killed. After I made my way past the groups -- scanning the faces in each for friends of my brother -- and past the police cars, the first thing I noticed was the victim. Death is something I've addressed here before... It's a weird thing with me. Sometimes it bothers me. Sometimes it doesn't. And sometimes it bothers me because it doesn't bother me... if *that* makes any sense.

The thing is... this accident wasn't like the others I'd worked as a firefighter and a photographer. This one had victim that was a college kid. He was just like tons of people I know. This one was the first that could have been me... and I can't support people my age dying.

What's weird about that story is that later Saturday, Guy went into the hospital. He never left. He, too, was a college kid. He wasn't only *like* people I know... he was people I know. I wonder what I've done to deserve two reminders of our mortality in a week's time.

I keep going back to the opening line of the e-mail Sara sent Jonathan and I: "Well guys, Guy did not make it. He died about 1 this morning." It stuns me every time I read it.

After I wrote Thursday's entry, I pulled out the video from the Christmas 2000 party he was at. I went back and looked through pictures that he's in. I still can't wrap my brain around the idea of him being dead. What's even harder to imagine is how hard his family and close friends are taking this. If I'm this stunned about it all, I can't even begin to imagine how they feel. I know that my heart aches for them... and I pray that they can somehow find comfort.

I'm not sure how much writing more on this subject is helping... but it can't hurt. For a lot of things in my life, the journal is where I like to turn. There are plenty of things that I can't tell my close friends because they can't understand because they don't think like me. Right now, it's 12:52 a.m. on Friday. I'm not talking to friends about this because it's late and because I'm at work.

I'm at work already because I moved my 24-hour shift up by 12-hours so that I could get down to Oakdale this weekend to check on Sara. I'm writing because I need to sleep so I can make the drive and so I can serve the public to the best of my ability. I can't sleep if I don't share some of what's going through my brain. And although there have been distractions tonight, it all keeps coming back to Guy.

During ER last night, someone suggested that a patient might have an aneurysm. Just a few minutes ago, a station aired a public service announcement warning folks to get screened for aortic aneurysms (which happens to be what killed my grandfather 15 years ago). And then... when there aren't the reminders, I log into my e-mail and read that line. Yeah, I know... That can't be healthy.

I'm just trying to soak it up.

I'm trying to make sense of it.

I'm trying to wrap my brain around it all.

I'm trying to make it real.

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