I could feel my chest constricting. The doctors gave the news: he would never wake. Neither parent knew what to do. Seconds, days and then weeks passed, but no decision could be made. What would Parker want was asked so many times I lost count. He had no will. He never spoke of his final wishes. What twenty-five-year-old had a will? What twenty-five-year-old imagined that they would be heartbroken, go out to a bar, and then drive their car headfirst into a pole? There was no way to know what he would want. DNR was an option. He could live for years attached to a machine, but what kind of life would that be? From outside Parker’s room I heard the screaming. Mr. and Mrs. Stone battling on what to do. They had been battling for over three weeks. My chest constricted and bile ran up my throat. The endless arguing made me need to recede into myself and hide. Each time they battled another part of me died. I needed to flee this hell, but I couldn’t leave him. I felt an eternal emptiness in my soul.
