A Thanksgiving That Is Painful To Remember

        It doesn’t feel like Thanksgiving.  How many times have you heard that this week?  The unseasonable weather doesn’t feel like Thanksgiving, but for Joyce and me, the warm weather brought back a memory of a Thanksgiving that is painful to remember.

        We were living in the parsonage in Pollocksville, NC—way down east in Jones County—32 years ago, November of 1979.  It was a balmy Thanksgiving morning, we had the windows open as Joyce was busy in the kitchen preparing our Thanksgiving feast.  We had commented several times that it just didn’t feel like Thanksgiving, not with temperatures approaching 80.  But it was still Thanksgiving and I was looking forward to Joyce’s delicious culinary creations when the morning was interrupted with the high-pitched squeal of my Rescue Squad pager.

        I was a North Carolina certified EMT and served on our town’s volunteer Rescue Squad.  We provided the only ambulance for the area and since there were not many of us, we were on call most all of the time.  We lived a block from the Pollocksville Fire Department/Rescue Squad (I was also on the Fire Department), so I was normally the first one to respond to a call.  There had been a shooting, I was told when I reached the ambulance and activated the radio, somewhere off of Highway 17 between Pollocksville and Maysville. 

        The directions were rather vague, not unusual in an emergency situation when a caller is overcome with emotion.  Arriving at the general area we slowed down, then in a clearing we saw a hunter, dressed in camouflage, frantically waving to get our attention.

        Jones County is a prime hunting area.  There are several hunting clubs and people come from everywhere to enjoy hunting everything from deer, turkey, quail, and even bear.  We pulled up to the man who was waving.  He had a frightened look on his face.  I rolled down the window as he ran up the ambulance.  “I thought he was a deer!  I thought he was a deer!” was the only thing he could manage to say.

        We got out of the ambulance and followed the hunter back into the woods.  Lying beside a large tree was a young man, he was a teenager.  His eyes were open.  There was a single hole in the side of his neck.  It had been a perfect shot that obviously had severed the carotid artery.  The boy had been killed instantly.  By now the hunter was sobbing, “I thought he was a deer!” “I thought he was a deer!”

        We called law enforcement and soon the area was full of flashing lights.  An officer removed a wallet from the body and found his identification.  He called someone to notify the family.  It was very clear what had happened.  The officers did what was necessary and then instructed us to transport the body to New Bern, to the Craven County Hospital. 

        He was a perfectly healthy young man with his entire life to live, but with one tragic mistake, his life was taken away.  My partner and I talked about what a terrible tragedy it was on the way to the hospital. We were arriving in New Bern on Highway 17 when a car pulled up beside us with the horn sounding.  Looking over to the car, we saw several people obviously in distress screaming at us.  We realized this was the boy’s mother.  “Do you have my baby!” she screamed.  “Do you have my baby!”

        We told them to meet us at the hospital and radioed the emergency room to inform them of the situation.  We were concerned about getting the body into the emergency room away from the presence of the distraught family.  My partner remained with the ambulance while I went inside.  It was then I realized that the mother did not know her son had been killed.  She was told there had been an accident, but did not know it was fatal. 

        The family was sheltered in a room while we removed the body and placed it in a holding room.  I had a brief consultation with the ER doctors about how to deal with the family.  “You’re a minister,” a doc said. “You need to tell them.” 

        How do you tell a mother that her fine young son who was so excited a few hours earlier to be going hunting had been killed in a tragic accident?  There is no right way.  I can’t remember what I said but I remember the cries of anguish.  I remember escorting the mother to the room and how she held her son’s lifeless body screaming, “My baby, my baby, what have they done to my baby!” 

        I remember driving back to Pollocksville in silence and walking back to the house where Joyce had our Thanksgiving meal ready.  Thanksgiving took on a new meaning that day. 

        Earlier this week when we were commenting on the warm weather, Joyce said, “Do you remember that warm Thanksgiving in Pollocksville?”  Of course I knew exactly what she was talking about.  Remember?  I can never forget.

        That young man would be in his late 40s now.  How sad.  Life is a gift.  Take a moment this Thanksgiving to reflect on this special and gracious gift.