November 3, 1994 - 3am to 9am

.... I slowly walked towards Izzy's room. It's dark with a November chill in the air. In my heart I know what I had missed. As usual, I was unable to walk with the gait or stride of a normal man. Instead, I brace myself walking from wall to wall, chair to chair, and counter to counter. But I make it.

I'm standing over a lifeless body of a great man. I want to touch and hold him once again, but I can't. I haven't the strength nor the balance to do so. However I do manage to lay my kiss upon his forehead. I feel his warmth quickly leaving his body, and I want to cry out to God for one more year, day, moment with him.... but I can't.

I am dying.

And we will be together soon enough.

So, I am numb at this point and unable to feel my limbs. I balance myself against the bedpost and watch as the undertaker zips him up in the "death bag." I'm sure I will be handled in the same sterile and professional manner. Yet my own prognosis is waiting on me at 9am at the Medical College in Augusta, GA.

I haven't time for the sorrow of a loved one... I must start my own march to Hell.

I felt every bump and curve on the road of my three hour journey that morning. Luckily I was not driving my own death wagon. I don't remember talking that day.. but I am sure I did.

I can't imagine talking about anything beyond the obvious.

I really don't remember my approach to the hospital. I do, however, remember the sound of the sliding glass door. As I gazed at the distance to the elevator, at this time assistance was needed to walk... in the form of a wheel chair.

The next few moments are a rushed haze... but I do recall a nurse calling my name. In the blink of an eye, all of my vitals were drawn and I was in an exam room, waiting.

I guess I expected the doctor to gaze at me and offer a definite diagnosis... and I was prepared to accept any diagnosis, but in my heart, that diagnosis was only a death sentence.

November 3rd, 1994 - Midnight - 3am.

What the hell is wrong with me? Am I dying?
Please Lord, I've only had 22 years.

I'm excelling beyond my years as a chef, and there is way too much music left to play.
Too many places to go, and many things left to conquer.

Have I had a massive stroke?
Surely it must be, words are impossible to say, and my vision has become cloudy and hazed. I drop guitar picks and cigarettes... and I face plant myself every three steps. A long yawn is followed by three hours of napping.

Surely this is what will be my end... a slow decline... a long blink... if I had only known, I would have played the song different.

But alas, death does wait. I watch it, I stare... I feel its presence in the room.

Unsure of my fears.
All that I am positive of.. is that I am watching the last moments of possibly the only man I ever loved.

Without a doubt the biggest cheerleader of my talents, without having this man in my life I doubt my culinary direction would have been the same.

Thank you Izzy, I know where you are going to be... a few days ahead of me and I know you will prepare my place.

I felt I had ample time to grab a smoke, maybe take the edge of death off my weak shoulders.
If only I had known, he was dead when I stepped upon that nasty Marlboro butt.
Izzy is gone. My father has left... so he could prepare a place.

It's now my turn to die.. and I know exactly how he felt.

 ~Midnight to 3am... November 3rd.. 1994