Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Marco held the boy’s hand and said, “You’re going to make it, you hear, you’re going back home.” And hearing it I thought of his scholarship and his big brown eyes. We gave him more morphine. At first Doc refused, then he gave in. Coy just lay there. If he felt pain, he didn’t show it. He was one of the boys I wanted to bring home, but now he just lay there. Just lying there, Mama. Marco held his hand. Doc walked away. When I heard the chopper, the sound of its rotor pitch thumping over the horizon, I looked back down at him and he was gone.
I never cried over here. But that time when they took him away on the litter, I cried.