By Monday night, July 6, I had begun to conceptualize what life would be like after it was over. We will never be sure that either rescue was best for him. My last thoughts Monday night were not whether to let him go, but how to explain it to myself and others after it was done. Looking back, I can also see how foolish was the attempt by anyone myself included to soften by language the stern stuff of our intentions. Poets might rescue people from life.
Poets have the luxury of inventing the myths they write about.
But when fathers shut off life support, they don t rescue their sons from life. They kill their sons. Before I went to sleep on Monday night, I came back to reality. This is the last night, I thought, that my son may be alive. When I wake in the morning, I may kill him.