Im afraid Randy isnt going home tonight. We need to do immediate surgery tomorrow, so well have to admit him tonight.

It was December 23rd. There was more from the doctor, but Karen didnt really hear it. A doctor herself, she had first thought Randys listlessness and complaints of headaches were the flu. When it didnt subside, she thought it was probably mono, and brought him in for a check-up. Now they were telling her, on the night that her nine year old son should be at home, not sleeping in anticipation of Santas visit, he would instead be having brain surgery to remove a malignant tumor. Nothing made any sense after that. The surgery went well. The chemo did not. Randy had every horrible side effect possible, and possibly invented a few new ones. He became dangerously thin from his inability to keep anything down. He was too weak to walk, and loathed the wheelchair that was necessary for him to even get out of bed. In public he got horrifyingly pitying looks from strangers, what with his baldness and angry red Frankenstein scar running across his forehead. That was worse than the chemo and surgery combined. He was anything but a victim. I was notified via a mailing list from Randys Dad Steven, a colleague of mine, that Randys 3 month check-up resulted in a clean bill of health. There was much rejoicing. The six month check-up news was not so good. Its the second best news we could hope for, the doctor told Steven and Karen, as he explained that cancer was back, but in exactly the same spot. It hasnt spread, and were catching it very early. The prognosis is excellent. Randy didnt think it was so excellent as he once again had his head shaved, the top of his skull removed (while awake), and suffered through another round of chemo as bad as the first. Still, he got through it bravely, and the three month check-up was clean. Again, the six month was not. It was back, and in a different spot. The doctor quickly started reassuring Steven and Karen that, with another surgery and another round of chemo the prognosis could still be good. No one said anything for a

moment. Then Randy turned to his parents. Do I have to? he asked softly. No. they blurted out in unison. Not if you dont want to. Its your decision. The doctor started to strenuously object, but Randy cut him off. I appreciate all that youve done for me, but if I only have a little time left, I want to enjoy it, not spend it having surgeries and chemo. The doctor was still trying to argue with them as they got up and left. A few days later I received Stevens email, detailing this latest development, and was heartbroken. What do you say to someone whos telling you that his 10 year old son has asked, and been granted, permission to die? Sorry just didnt cut it. I lamely said what most people probably would, expressing my profound sorrow and offering to help in any way I could. I did not expect to actually be taken up on my offer, but I was. Actually, said Steven when he called me a couple of days later, there is something you could help me with. We have a mountain of loose photographs of Randy, throughout his life, and I want to get them all scanned so we can make a slideshow of them at his memorial service. Would it be okay if my sister came by and dropped them off? I swallowed. Hard. Umsure. Of course. Happy to be of any help that I can. I tried hard to shove visions of my apartment going up in flames and destroying these most precious of treasures, and soon I was hard at work scanning nearly 1200 photographs. And doing most of it in tears. I should say at this point that while Steven and I had worked together on a handful of occasions, we were not by any stretch what I would call friends. We didnt hang out socially, and I had only met his family briefly a couple of times. The fact that I was poring over this entire brief life in photographs had a profound effect on me. Though I didnt know him well when I started, I felt a profound connection to this stunningly beautiful boy by the time I was done. When the end was near, at Stevens request I met up with his sister, cousin, and best friend to help plan the memorial. We were discussing the fact that there would be many of Randys friends from the hospital there, and were trying to come up with some fun activities to help take some of the fear of it for them. Someone suggested putting out several cans of play-doh and cookie cutters, so the kids could make ornaments and leave them for the family as a remembrance. Too bad they dont make dinosaur and helicopter cookie cutters. Stevens sister said. They were Randys favorite things in life. Finally I saw a chance to contribute. Leave that to me. Theres a fantastic bakery supply store by my house.

I went on Saturday morning, right as they opened. Having armed myself with two of every breed of dino and every make and model of helicopter, I went to the checkout counter, and dimly made note of the time: 10:20. I went out to my car, and immediately noticed something wasoff. The light was dim, like an eclipse, and there was a strange roaring noise in the air like nothing Id ever heard. I looked around, then looked up and my jaw dropped. From horizon to horizon the sky overhead was filled with seagulls. Were talking thousands so many they were blocking out the sun and causing the weird light effect. They were also responsible for the noise. As I watched for a moment in stunned disbelief, a thought popped into my head: thats for Randy it said. Hes gone, and hes up there with them now. The tears started, but I was smiling. A moment later another car pulled in beside me, and a child hopped out of the passenger side, next to me. Mommy! LOOK! he shrilled, pointing at the sky. She did, then gaped at me over the hood of her car. WTF she mouthed at me. I shrugged, still crying and smiling, and went on my way. Sure enough, a couple of hours later Stevens cousin called me to tell me that Randy had passed that morning. At 10:15, five minutes before my bizarre experience. At the memorial a week later, the funeral director, who had become quite fond of Randy in the months of preparation, got up to share this story: He had stopped by to say hello, and was just sitting quietly with Randy in his room. He thought Randy was asleep, and started to leave, but then a groggy voice asked Do you believe in reincarnation? The funeral director parked himself back in his chair, and struggled with his answer. I Im not sure. I know I want to, but Im not sure I actually do. I do Randy yawned. I know its real. Well, then, what do you want to come back as? A seagull came the quick response. Really? he asked Randy. I mean, I understand wanting to be a bird, being able to fly and all, but seagulls, well Theyre garbage eaters. You do know theyre called rats with wings, right? Exactly. said Randy. Theyre tough. They can survive anything. I think he got his wish.