"If I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world?"
Dylan wasn't really sure what to do next. He knew two things: it was ridiculously hot outside and his best friend was having a complete breakdown on the scorching pavement. Dylan wasn't even sure what had happened. It had been such a typical day, work and meeting up for a quick basketball game afterwards. They both had gotten off work early and the sun was still beaming down on them when they started playing. Typical game, Chris was raining threes and Dylan was struggling just to score half the points Chris was.
Dylan remembered noticing the sky. The sun was still fairly bright but a few dark clouds had definitely started to settle in. He remembered thinking how nice some rain would feel right now. It was a water break. While Dylan was guzzling water and staring at the clouds, Chris was checking his voicemail. As Dylan was capping his water bottle, trying to proactively visualize himself blocking just one of Chris's shots, he heard the sound. It was hard to describe -- human but unlike any sound he'd heard anyone make before, loud but quiet at the same time. It was the sound of knees hitting pavement and Chris's body trying to gasp for breath as his brain shut down. It was the sound of utter heart break.
So here they were. Chris kneeling on the pavement, hyperventilating. Dylan standing over him. He wasn't even sure what had happened yet, but he could put enough together. One of those voicemails was the bearer of terrible news. His daughter, his wife, his parents, his brother. Something had happened. Dylan had grown up with the family too and he wasn't even really sure wanted to know what had happened and to who. But that wasn't even an issue he had to deal with right now.
Dylan glanced around but the court was completely empty. He thought he should feel embarrassed or even worried, but he didn't. There wasn't room for that right now. There was concern for Chris, there was empathy for Chris, there was fear about what caused Chris's to react this way. Chris's gasps for breath were steadily turning into sobs and Dylan couldn't bear much more. He wanted to comfort his friend, but he didn't have much experience here. There were words he should probably say, or some comforting gesture. Or maybe this was one of the situations he was supposed to take charge and hustle Chris into some less public place.
Yet all of that was beyond Dylan's know how. He thought of his family, how he would feel if something horrible happened to them. Dylan understood that breathing would be hard, that any higher level of functioning would be nearly impossible. That no words would be soothing. So he did the only thing that did feel right. He knelt down on the pavement right beside his friend, ignoring the pain of the hot, rough pavement on his knees. Dylan knelt by Chris, close enough for their shoulders to touch. And he waited. He would be right there beside him when Chris was ready. Everything else could wait.
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Showing posts with label grief. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
Friday, May 14, 2010
iris
"And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming."
Marty held his mother's hand tightly as the reverend began to speak. He had known Rev. Johns his whole life and had been going to this church nearly every Sunday since he was a little boy. Marty had heard countless sermons, about faith and hope and forgiveness and perseverance. It seemed so strange now for Rev. Johns to speak about his father.
There was talk of how he loved his family, his wife Martha and their two sons Matthew and Martin. Even that seemed strange. He couldn't ever remember Rev. Johns calling him Martin, not Marty. But this was a serious moment, so nicknames must be inappropriate.
Marty sat quietly as the reverend bellowed into the microphone about his father. He had always hated the fact that he grew up in a small town, but now their was a small comfort in knowing that everyone in the church had known his father, that the church was filled with support.
Yet he was eager for the service to end. For the casket to be in the ground. For the baskets of muffins and casserole dishes to stop coming. Marty felt like he couldn't breath. Everyday since his father had been hospitalised three weeks ago, he felt like he had been struggling for air. A drowning feeling. He was desperate to be rid of this feeling, to breakdown like his mother and grandmother had. Instead he felt empty. He was embarrassed by his stoic demeanor and paranoid that people would think he didn't love his father.
Marty glanced across his mother and saw his brother gripping her hand tightly and sobbing. His strong, brave brother that he had never seen cry was weeping. And he was more jealous than he was surprised.
"Or the moment the truth in you lies."
Matthew found himself quietly sobbing and hoped no one noticed. Of course what were the chances of that. He was on the front pew of his family church. Rev. Johns was at the podium talking about his father. All eyes were on this pew. The nosy neighbors watching every move and moment of anguish coming from his family.
Matthew sat between his mother and grandmother. He was holding their hands and had determined to be strong through the service. After all, he had had his breakdown. He cried for an hour in his bedroom two days after his father died. He had been so melodramatic. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his father's favorite baseball cap. And weeping like a seven year old.
And then there was the hospital. He had cried right before his father died. He been summoned to his father's bedside. Matthew had presumed it would be a "getting affairs in order" type discussion. Where the will was, what kind of service was wanted, life insurance policy information, etc. But it wasn't. His father had called him for a whole other, unexpected, and terrible reason. His father wanted to die. His father wanted Matthew, his eldest son, to kill him. To walk to the machines that kept him alive and stop them.
They had argued. Matthew was surprised to see how much fight the man had in him, which made killing him even harder. Matthew had tried every argument he could think of: moral, legal, practical, and the desperate. But his father's tears, anguish, and own desperation won out. He hugged his father, kissed his pale forehead gingerly, and turned off the machine helping his father pump his heart. His father was gone in less than five minutes, but Matthew gave it an extra 2 minutes before turning the machine back on and summonning the nurses. When they came in the room, they gave him knowing looks.
Matthew had been strong. Finding his family in the waiting area and delivering the news. Planning the funeral. Picking up relatives from the airport. He and Marty had stood strong for a week. In fact, he was proud of this unexpected strength in his little brother.
But the guilt had settled in on Matthew at the service. His unknown role he had played in bringing everyone here was suddenly an overwhelming burden. He felt angry at his father for making the request, horrified at himself for complying, paranoid that somehow everyone knew, and just generally nauseous. It didn't really matter that he knew it was the right thing to do, it was painful.
Marty held his mother's hand tightly as the reverend began to speak. He had known Rev. Johns his whole life and had been going to this church nearly every Sunday since he was a little boy. Marty had heard countless sermons, about faith and hope and forgiveness and perseverance. It seemed so strange now for Rev. Johns to speak about his father.
There was talk of how he loved his family, his wife Martha and their two sons Matthew and Martin. Even that seemed strange. He couldn't ever remember Rev. Johns calling him Martin, not Marty. But this was a serious moment, so nicknames must be inappropriate.
Marty sat quietly as the reverend bellowed into the microphone about his father. He had always hated the fact that he grew up in a small town, but now their was a small comfort in knowing that everyone in the church had known his father, that the church was filled with support.
Yet he was eager for the service to end. For the casket to be in the ground. For the baskets of muffins and casserole dishes to stop coming. Marty felt like he couldn't breath. Everyday since his father had been hospitalised three weeks ago, he felt like he had been struggling for air. A drowning feeling. He was desperate to be rid of this feeling, to breakdown like his mother and grandmother had. Instead he felt empty. He was embarrassed by his stoic demeanor and paranoid that people would think he didn't love his father.
Marty glanced across his mother and saw his brother gripping her hand tightly and sobbing. His strong, brave brother that he had never seen cry was weeping. And he was more jealous than he was surprised.
"Or the moment the truth in you lies."
Matthew found himself quietly sobbing and hoped no one noticed. Of course what were the chances of that. He was on the front pew of his family church. Rev. Johns was at the podium talking about his father. All eyes were on this pew. The nosy neighbors watching every move and moment of anguish coming from his family.
Matthew sat between his mother and grandmother. He was holding their hands and had determined to be strong through the service. After all, he had had his breakdown. He cried for an hour in his bedroom two days after his father died. He had been so melodramatic. Sitting on the edge of his bed, holding his father's favorite baseball cap. And weeping like a seven year old.
And then there was the hospital. He had cried right before his father died. He been summoned to his father's bedside. Matthew had presumed it would be a "getting affairs in order" type discussion. Where the will was, what kind of service was wanted, life insurance policy information, etc. But it wasn't. His father had called him for a whole other, unexpected, and terrible reason. His father wanted to die. His father wanted Matthew, his eldest son, to kill him. To walk to the machines that kept him alive and stop them.
They had argued. Matthew was surprised to see how much fight the man had in him, which made killing him even harder. Matthew had tried every argument he could think of: moral, legal, practical, and the desperate. But his father's tears, anguish, and own desperation won out. He hugged his father, kissed his pale forehead gingerly, and turned off the machine helping his father pump his heart. His father was gone in less than five minutes, but Matthew gave it an extra 2 minutes before turning the machine back on and summonning the nurses. When they came in the room, they gave him knowing looks.
Matthew had been strong. Finding his family in the waiting area and delivering the news. Planning the funeral. Picking up relatives from the airport. He and Marty had stood strong for a week. In fact, he was proud of this unexpected strength in his little brother.
But the guilt had settled in on Matthew at the service. His unknown role he had played in bringing everyone here was suddenly an overwhelming burden. He felt angry at his father for making the request, horrified at himself for complying, paranoid that somehow everyone knew, and just generally nauseous. It didn't really matter that he knew it was the right thing to do, it was painful.
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