The sun was just rising over the hill, gleaming off the dew in the field and burning off the light fog. It was a typical April morning, a bit cold, but it would warm up. We wer all in a fairly chipper mood, laughing and joking amongst ourselves. It never even crossed our minds that we would find him dead. We did.

At about 4:00pm the previous day he had taken off from the small airport. It didn't matter that he was a good pilot, or that he checked and rechecked every possible connection on his ultralight. What matter was that at 5:30 while you and I were sitting down to dinner, or warming up by the fire, he was hanging upside down, still strapped into his safety harness with his right arm half severed off and his neck slit open, either dead or dying, and nobody throught twice about sleeping that night.

We had been searching all day. At about 6:00 that night, while we were all sitting around our stoves cooking dinner, the call came over the radio: "Search and Rescue base to all units. . . we have found a brown bag in the woods at marker #98" Which mean, "We have found the subject Dead on Arrival."

At about 8:00 everyone who had volunteered for the "carry" was standing around the crash site looking rather indifferently at the ultralight hanging upside down in the trees. Unfortunately we saw him too. He had been cut down by then and was lying peacefully on the ground next to the bag that he would call home for probably the next 12 hours. Despite the havoc the cables had wreaked on his neck and arm, he looked normal and at rest.

A couple of us got the honors of "bagging" him, after which six of us lifted him into the stretcher and strapped him down. Regardless of whether they are dead or not, they are stil human, and you still treat them as if you are carrying a porcelain doll through a mine filed.

As we were carrying him out, my mind started to do weird things. First it wasn't quite sure what to tell me. Rather than think about the situation at hand, we made jokes. "I don't think he'll be playing baseball with that arm anymore." Most would label this as cruel or immoral, but you have to do it or you go crazy. The jokes only last so long though. Finally you're faced with what you're doing.

You are carrying a man.

A man who no more than 30 hours ago had a wife and two kids.

A man who had a good job and many friends.

This man could have been your dad.

This man will never again make love to his wife.

He will never watch his kid take first place in the state track meet.

Or graduate.

Or marry.

He will never again cuddle up to his whife while the wind howls like a dying wolf on a stormy night.

I kept expecting him to sit up and walk away, but of course it doesn't happen. I've prayed countless times for it to happen, but it never does.

Then it hits you. SMACK! Right in the lowest part of your gut. He's dead. Just as plain and simple as that. Dead. "You didn't know him" you hear yourself say, but that makes no difference. You grieve anyway, and you cry. I finally managed to control myself as we walked back to base, until my eyes met his wife's and I lost it again.

Ther was no talk driving home that night, just a deadly silence. Literally. That night I had trouble sleeping and I'm sure eight others did too.

"John Doe" never thought twice that afternoon when he kissed his wife goodbye that it would be the last time, save for the funeral when she kissed him lightly on the cheek saying her last goodbye.

I'm not saying live every day as if it were your last. Just remember that death doesn't give second chances, and it doesn't forgive.