I never expected the phone call that came in at 1:50am.
It was M's mom, calling on his phone to tell us that her husband had suddenly died.
I was in shock. I screamed on the phone. All at once I realized that I was going to have to go wake up M and tell him. And that E was suffering a loss at such an early age. And it was Mama J's second husband to die. What would she do? How would she go on? How do I tell the rest of the family?
A million things went through my mind all at once... The family friend with whom Mama J and Grandpa were staying with got on the phone and related the details to me. It was truly a nightmare- sudden, unexpected, and instant. There had been no bringing him back. My heart broke completely. I had to calm myself and go tell Michael. His mom would need him. And I had to finish my shift.
Mama J came home with her friends that morning. We went over there at 11, still in shock and in pain. My brother in law came with his family, too. We called a funeral home and began making preparations. M talked with the ME and confirmed release of Grandpa's body. We tried choking down food- an utter impossibility.
It's been the saddest week for us as a family. It's been hard to tell Eric that his grandpa is gone and that we miss him. I feel sad that he doesn't quite get it- I don't want him to feel like someone just took off and left him and us. But there's little else to say to a 2 year old.
I've also had so many memories of when my brother died suddenly. I wrote about him here. Another phone call in the morning... my dad on the other end of the line, asking, "Didn't you get our messages?" Indeed, I hadn't- they'd somehow gone into my roommate's voice mailbox. "Your brother died last night." I was expecting him to say someone else- my mother, perhaps, in a freak farming accident or car accident- I mean, no one loses a twenty year old brother. Come on!
Clutching my chest and falling to my knees, hearing the worst news of my life... I didn't know what type of world I was entering, or how I'd survive it. I remember exactly what I was wearing... I remember the first song I heard on the radio after I was told... I remember calling work and telling my coworker and her disconnected voice, as though she could not believe it either.
I took a car service to the airport that day to go to my parents. While driving through the Queens-Midtown Tunnel, the driver bumped the curb and I lost my mind. I realized that I now thought I would die any minute or day, because if my brother could suddenly die, then I could suddenly die.
Death was catching. I was sure of it.
I screamed at the driver to "Watch it!" and then I was somehow at the airport, on the small TWA commuter plane to DC. I sat there watching myself cry, leaning against the wall of the plane, hanging my head and staring at the runway.
And I remember that very first instance of feeling alone in my grief. That no one else on that plane was going through what I was going through- that I was completely alone. I think I knew then that this feeling would recur again and again over the next days and months.
I next remember landing in DC and walking down to baggage claim and seeing my sister already having arrived standing there with our dad. Our *old* dad- the sweet, good man who'd aged 25 years overnight, the man who'd lost his only son.
We talked in the car on the way home... organ donation, funeral arrangements, the accident, the Marine Corps... the last time we'd talked to Eric.
Once at my parents' home, I saw my 17 year old sister, the one for whom it seemed most unfair. Her best friend had been taken from her. The kid who was always nice to her even in front of his high school friends. The brother she was supposed to grow up looking up to. I remember saying sorry to her- and sorry to my dad and to our other sister.
I saw our mom shortly thereafter- and that meeting is a blur, for she was the most distraught and disconsolate. All I remember is her collapsed into the couch, appearing as if the couch was swallowing her whole. Something I'm sure she'd have gladly welcomed.
Flash forward to dinnertime. Grace was said over take-out sandwiches. ".... And God, you've asked so much of us this time." was what my dad said.
I was so full of tears and pain, I could barely choke down the food in front of me. I just stared at some point in space.
I went to bed that night, sleeping in my brother's room.
I woke up the next morning, forgetting for one brief, glorious moment, all that had happened.
Then it suddenly hit me again. Eric.
My only brother was gone.
How was I going to live with this pain? The pain that gripped me in my chest, nearly suffocating me. The pain that refused to stop? How would I live without my brother? How would I live with such sadness?
And did I really have to?
No comments:
Post a Comment