On June 7th, 2013, James died. It was terrible
and unexpected, and I can remember being in that state of shock, the one in
which your mouth can do nothing but hang open stupidly and your breath is
caught in the back of your throat as though someone has just punched you in the
stomach. I remember how quickly time moved around me while I sat crouched
before my good friend Sybrina, to whom the news of her brother’s passing had
just been delivered. We were caught in some other-dimension bubble, replaying
the news over and over again in our space while the rest of the world moved on
in its rapid, unforgiving pace. She cried. It was hard and unlike anything I
had ever seen come out of her small frame. I hated to see it but I could not
leave. I patted her back, hugged her tightly, said those loathsome words in a
faint whisper, “Everything is going to be okay,” and called her wife for her
when she needed a ride to the hospital.
Everything
changed in that moment. It is a scary notion to consider how plausible this thing
is, yet it is always the farthest thought from our minds. No one expects after
news of positive recovery and continual progression that the worst result could
rear its ugly head. That’s what the few weeks preceding the accident were like,
terribleness to hope to happiness to the end. It was a twisted plotline with an
ending inconceivable and heartbreaking. I did not want to hear the truth – no
one did. Especially Sybrina. No one wanted to see her go through such a wicked
twist of fate, and yet here she had come face to face with the wall of reality.
I watched the entire thing unravel from the background and then within the
fore. And that is where I stand now, in the foreground as close as anyone can
get when a memorial is being held for the passing of a friend’s sibling. It is
an honor and a hardship, a blessing and a curse to be a part of something so
final. Of course I will do anything within my being to assist my dear friend
Sybrina and her family with overcoming this terrible time – if overcoming something
as horrid as the passing of a family member is even possible. At the same time,
I have felt a piece of my own heart die as well. I am not trying to take any
attention or care away from the family; I am merely expressing how tragic it
all is, and how evident it is that James touched so many lives even when those
exchanges were new or brief.
I did not
know James long enough to be considered as one “close” to him. But I did
receive many tight hugs, enthusiasm, a printed picture of him, proposals to attend
dances with him, and the honor of being called “Hey you!” because he never
could seem to remember my name. Whenever I ventured into the lunchroom at work
to assist my guys with grabbing a soda, I became fervent in casting a watchful
eye out for James. I enjoyed his embraces and his stories about baseball games
and his love of the Raiders. I also did so to report anything that should have
been brought to Sybrina’s attention – I know, too harsh, right? I suppose in a
way, I had found myself another person to protect, another “sibling” to keep an
eye on. God only knows how much James put himself out there. He was a
character, a ball of joy and obnoxiousness, always smiling, passionate and
friendly. One could hear James from a mile away literally. He was known to start the chicken dance in the lunchroom
as well as on the baseball field. He was known to charm girls and sweet talk
his way out of almost any situation … almost.
Of course I needed to make sure James was, well, you know, not being too much
for any given situation when his sister wasn’t around. Besides, I could never
get enough of the faces she’d make after I would tell her about the latest in
the world of James after my stroll from the lunchroom back to our program. I
don’t know if some of the things I told her about her brother ever surprised
her, but I knew deep down inside she always got a kick out of his personality.
It was too hard not to. He was so honest all of the time. He was himself all of
the time.
I suppose I
took those fun times for granted, because I never expected to be sitting here
typing this out. I never expected to be so full of emptiness over James. The
entire thing is still so surreal, despite the fact that we lost James a couple
of weeks ago. Looking back, I didn’t realize how deep this wound actually is.
It seemed so small, like something that could be easily bandaged when it
happened … but I have come to find that as the memorial looms ahead on Friday,
the 21st, the wound is larger than ever. I can’t really find the
exact reason why, and maybe it’s because there are so many reasons why losing
someone like James is so hard. It’s easy to say that it is because of the man
he was, the fact that he served and was served by an organization working with
those with intellectual disabilities, that he was the brother of a close
friend; he was someone I ran into almost everyday, who always put a smile on my
face and filled my heart with laughter. It could also be because this is the
first memorial that I am attending where I will stand in front of people close
to this individual and speak about him. Well, I will be reciting a poem I wrote
for him, a poem that captures the essence of how one could feel at this moment
of loss. I cannot say that I wrote the poem as myself entirely; I was full of
emotion and tried to channel those feelings into how I could believe Sybrina is
currently feeling – as unsuccessful as that is. I will never know how Sybrina
is feeling or the depths of the pain that has entrapped her existence. The poem
is my interpretation of how Sybrina could be feeling, like a writer trying to
write a biography on another without being able to understand the evidence
cited because it is in another language. It is subjective and inaccurate but it
captures an emotion that is not impossible within her. I am beyond honored she
has allowed for me to share it at James’ memorial. She will never know how
honored I feel to be one of the few to speak before James’ friends, coworkers
and kin. That, too, is surreal.
Somewhere
out there is an answer that we will probably never get, the one to the question
Why? Sybrina and I were conversing over the memorial today while together at
work. My boyfriend took the day off and in his errands he had a photo of James
enlarged to be used at the service. We talked about that photo, the details of
that day and of the poem and my worries about it being too sad to be spoken to
a crowd of mourners. When we finally pulled up to our worksite, I turned to her
and in the most honest of professions expressed that the deepest of my hurts
came from being robbed of my hope for James. That is what cuts the worst; his
death was the last resort, the thing farthest from anyone’s minds – so why did
he die? She solemnly agreed … and we didn’t talk about it anymore.
I suppose
one of the things I love most about Sybrina is her ability to be strong despite
the storm raging around her. She endures my honesty about life, the
sorrowfulness of her parents and friends, all the while trying to balance her
own personal demons. I’m sure she would disagree with being called strong, but being
“strong” is not the person who won’t shed a tear in the face of tragedy; or the
person who takes charge when others whimper in weakness. For me and how I have
observed strength, a strong person is the one who cries openly and honestly
says when they cannot take anymore, and they allow for others to carry them in
their weakest of moments. They press on along the precipice of uncertainty when
giving into pain is so much easier; when finding solace in solitude sounds so
much sweeter. Sybrina is strong because she surrounds herself with others and weeps
openly about how much this entire process just
fucking sucks. She is strong because she accepts the meager hugs we extend
and the shitty take-out food we swing by her house. She is strong for finding
times to smile and times to laugh and times to kind of feel like herself again
despite this ominous shadow lingering over her head. These are things that make
Sybrina strong, and I firmly stand my ground on those things. I can only pray
that when tragedy does strike me down that I will have the strength to accept
humbly the support offered to me by my friends and family without pride or
reservation, and with the strength to fight the urge to completely give up.
I have
finished the guest book for the memorial and now I selfishly muse over what I
should wear for the service on Friday – but that is not what consumes my mind.
I am not so selfish as to dwell on something as frivolous as clothing. I feel
that darkness, though, not in the same intensity that Sybrina or her family
does, but I can see it there. It is hard to miss. Death is such a fascinating,
cruel thing; fascinating when it has everything to do with someone else,
someone unfamiliar. When it concerns our loved ones, death is an angering, evil
thing. James’ passing puts death into full view of how swiftly and suddenly it
can come. But if there is one light at the end of this long, long tunnel, it is
the knowledge that James did not go out with regrets for his choices in life.
He did not miss a moment to smile, or to laugh, or to be himself at every
moment of his existence, and perhaps at the end of his story that is the moral
of it all: you can never, ever miss those moments because all we
have are precious blinks that slip past us in the stresses we focus on and are
never seen again. The simplest things, the grandest things, all of those things
mean something, and they must be taken advantage of before we lose that time.
James indulged in all that made him happy; he spent his time sharing his
happiness with others, whether he realized it or not. He filled any room with
joy whenever he entered it, or changed the mood of a room to happiness whenever
he left it. And though James made his final exit from this life onto the next,
I will always have the comfort of his smile, his laughter and his loud-mouth
antics locked away in the capsule of my heart. This is the capsule I will open
every now and again to chase that impending darkness away, and to be reminded
that there is always time to enjoy all of those things that make up this crazy
puzzle called life as long as we take the time to seize it.
James, you
taught us all in life and you have changed us all in death. You can never be
forgotten.
All of my love
always,
Hey you.