As my tears flowed, all I could do was pray that my best friend would make it through the night.

This boy, Zach Gerber, born on May 28th, 1984, also my birthday, was in peril of losing his life less than sixteen and one half years after it began. This boy, my closest friend, had a temperature of 106º and was rushed to the Mt. Sinai hospital emergency room at 11:00 p.m., only forty-five minutes after I had last spoken to him. That night I barely slept: every hour or so I woke and felt the cold sweat on my brow which reminded me of Zach. I tossed and turned, stood up and paced, wrote entries in my journal, but nothing I did could possibly make me feel any better.

During the past couple of years, Zach has been in and out of Mt. Sinai because of his Crohn’s disease, which has severely affected his intestines. This last flare up of Crohn’s jolted me into a harsh reality. Of course I know that people die, yet I didn’t understand that my sixteen year old best friend could die. Zach’s near death experience has made both Zach and me realize how we take the importance of our friendship for granted.

The evening Zach became sick, he called me and said “Zach, don’t say anything. I just have to tell you something. I have a temperature of 106º, and I’m going to Mt. Sinai. My mom says that I’ve got to go, but I love you, buddy.” After he hung up, I didn’t know exactly how to react. One thing I knew for sure, I couldn’t return to my loveseat to watch the rest of the premiere of this season’s “ER.” That night I was the most scared I can ever remember being. It was also the first time I can remember crying in many years. Zach had a temperature that I associate with the point of no return. That night I didn’t know if Zach would rise in the morning. “He can’t die,” I thought to myself, “he’s too young, he’s my best friend, he hasn’t gotten a chance to experience life, he just can’t die.” Every time I told myself “he can’t die,” I couldn’t begin to contemplate life without Zach. How could I possibly move on with my life without my other half? I had no answer to these questions; all I had was a sense of helplessness and despair.

Even though I don’t believe in God, that night I prayed that Zach would be all right. I remember thinking over and over to myself, “not him. He’s too good, too innocent, too young, he’s not ready, just let him get through tonight.” Thanks to luck, the doctors, the drugs, God, or something completely enigmatic, Zach made it through the night.

Zach made it through. That night I realized that without Zach, part of myself is missing. After all he is an extension of myself. Zach has been my closest friend since 1st grade. (In fact, the unending attempt to figure out the opposite sex, began with hot pursuit of our teacher when we tried to make a love potion to put into her lunch. It didn’t work, and since then we’ve been trying but we still haven’t been able to find the perfect mixture.)

Although I know intellectually and scientifically that love cannot extend life, Zach’s case might have been an exception. Zach Gerber is loved by most of the people who know him, and it is very possible that his being loved had a lot to do with Zach making it through the night. That sleepless night made me realize that I have an intense love for my friend, and every single waking moment is vital. Through this experience with Zach, I have come to understand that intimate friendship is indispensable and time spent with loved ones should be cherished. Zach is my best friend; he has known me from boy to man. Without him there is an empty void in my soul. Zach is an irreplaceable part of me.