Finding Jaime

Chapter 95

Pete POV
Jaime was really, really, really sick. He'd picked up some sort of infection somewhere and it had affected just about everything.

From the bus, we'd taken him to the hospital. They were treating the infection with everything they could. He was in the ICU, on life support, and struggling.

I called Meagan, tearfully and told her to bring the kids down. The doctors weren't very optimistic that Jaime could recover. He was so weak, unable to breathe on his own, his fever wouldn't come down below 104°. He was dying. And he'd asked me that if he got this sick again, to let him go. But I didn't want to, and I certainly wouldn't make that decision without Meagan or the kids getting a chance to say goodbye.

Day after day I sat by his bedside, sobbing as it looked like we were losing him.

Meagan and the kids arrived on our second day in the hospital. Meagan immediately broke down when she saw Jaime hooked up to all the machines keeping him alive.

One afternoon, I saw his eyes were open. I asked if he could see me. If he could hear me. He didn't blink. He didn't move. He lay there, eyes open and staring ahead, bloodshot from the fever, infection raging through his system, and the resuscitation efforts that had already been used twice on him.

The doctors and nurses told us he wasn't likely processing anything visually, but he might be able to hear us, so we talked to him.

"Meagan?" I said one night before she took the kids over to the hotel where they'd been spending the nights.

"Yeah?" She asked, quietly. Bronx and Saint were in the corner of the room, sitting quietly with Marvel in Bronx's lap. They were trying to keep her spirits up, but Marvel was sad and scared we were losing her big brother. Jaime and Marvel had such a sweet relationship. Even at his most angry after Tanya had died, he'd still been so sweet with Marvel.

"What do I do?" I asked, crying again. "I can't make that decision. I can't lose him. Not now. Not when we were finally getting along. I love him. He's my son. I have so much to make up for. I can't lose him. I don't want to."

"I know Pete. I know. I don't want to lose him, either. I love him too. He's such an amazing kid. He's got so much potential. Pete, he's so smart!"

"How do I decide to let him go? How do I do that to him? To you? To the kids? How do I decide that Jaime should be allowed to just... not be," I sobbed quietly into her shoulder.

"It's not an easy or fair decision, I know, Pete. We also have to think about what's best for Jaime. What happens if the doctors can't get the infection under control? It's been a week and he still has a fever. He still can't breathe on his own. How long do we wait until it's either obvious we're going to lose him, or that he'll get better?"

The next day, a social worker and a psychologist came into Jaime's room

"Mr. and Mrs. Wentz," the social worker said. "I'm not here to influence your decision. We're here to discuss options for your family, for Jaime, for his care going forward and what might be best for him.

As you know, he hasn't improved in several days. His fever hasn't come down, he's still reliant on the machines and his body is not taking kindly to this. He's struggling. I know you see that and I know you're feeling all sorts of varying and conflicting emotions.

You do, however have to eventually decide what, in the end, would be best for Jaime. What would Jaime want? That's what we're here to discuss with you."

Tears streamed down my face. Marvel's head had popped up when the two strangers came in the room. Bronx, Saint and Marvel came over to us. I didn't shook them away. Their opinion mattered, too.

"I don't want Jaime to die, Dad," Saint said, sobbing. Meagan took him in her arms and he sat on her lap, crying into her shoulder. Bronx looked angry.

"We can't give up on Jaime," he said. "We always promised we wouldn't! You can't let him die, Dad! You promised!"

"Daddy? I want Jaime comes home," Marvel said, also crying. I picked her up, put her in my lap and took Bronx's hand, pulling him close to my side.

"That's what we have to talk about," I said to the kids. "What would be best for Jaime? Is it fair to make him keep fighting if his body isn't able to fight anymore?"

Meagan sobbed. Saint pressed his face into Meagan's shoulder. I watched as she reached for Jaime's hand.

"Jaime, sweetheart, we need your help, honey. We can't make this decision. We don't want to make this decision. What do you want, sweetheart? Give us an idea, please," she cried.

The social worker and psychologist talked with us some more, emphasizing that we didn't have to make a decision today. That we didn't even have to make a decision this week. But that they needed to tell us the options. The doctors couldn't tell us what would happen if we let him keep fighting. They didn't know if or when he'd wake up or if he'd just stop. They didn't know, if he woke up, what state he might be in. Whether he'd recover or be left severely, or even moderately, disabled. They couldn't provide us with any answers or guidance.

The five of us sat around Jaime's bed, holding his hands, telling him how much we love him, how we can't make such a horrible decision but if he wanted to go, we understood. That we'd accept that that was what he needed.

We cried. I texted Patrick and told him what was happening. Or not happening.

The guys flew back to San Diego and came to the hospital where Jaime lay, still comatose, still feverish.

They came to say goodbye to my son just months after we'd said goodbye to his mother.

And then, Jaime opened his eyes.