About A Boy

He was a boy, my first boy. He was my brother, but at the same time the “man-child” I had cut my parenting teeth on. As kids, we went through the usual periods of devotion coupled with rivalry. It made for a dramatic childhood, but we had left that behind long ago. As adults we had become the best of friends and had been turning to each other increasingly after we had both become parents, married, and then divorced. We learned like so many siblings do once maturity sets in… when all the smoke cleared…there was still each other. We were the only two on the face of the earth that had been through it all together. It had been a meandering path through our near but separate twenties, but our thirties had brought us back together again.

My “boy”, my brother, my friend, had come to me when he was ready and needing for support to untangle himself from a self-destructive life. I had welcomed him and fought with him and nurtured him and kicked his butt…and then I sent him away to fly on his own again. But, all of these happenings are just memories now. All of it happened a lifetime ago.

It was only a year; twelve months, and the story was heading steadily toward a very different climax. My brother was preparing himself to come home from his self-exile to begin his new life after his boyhood…his life as a man. The phone call was a bit surprising, somewhat exciting, and very pleasing. He had moved to Puyallup, Washington the year before to take a “time out” from Tucson and the stress he felt trying to recover from his ghosts in this town that haunted him. He had thought it through, second guessed himself, consulted others for support…and finally made his move. His gamble had been a success for all intents and purposes. He found that breath of fresh air he was so in need of. It had worked out well for him and I was shocked that he was ready to return so soon. “Hey Seester,” (that had become his way of greeting me when he called) “…guess what? I might get a chance to see my son again!” He was so excited he couldn’t even wait for a response before he was on to the next statement. “We’ve been talking a little bit and she sounds open to the possibility.” He was referring to his ex-wife, and they hadn’t been on the best of terms since their separation years before. It had been very rocky, and in the course of it Frankie had been battling himself and his past. In trying to move forward he had undertaken the hardest journey a person can take…the journey within. He had managed to pull himself out of the black hole of methamphetamine abuse and was in the throes of figuring out where he had taken the wrong turns in his life. He had one goal at the end of that path he was walking…he was going to get back into his son’s life…and get right…for the both of them. He began the process here in town, but, was surrounded by reminders of bad choices, bad habits, and bad memories. He had originally consulted me to help weigh the pros and cons of moving away to put some distance between him and those specters. I have often wondered if he regretted opening that can of worms with me, because I never held back as to my feelings and opinions on the subject of his recovery. I felt like his life was at stake and if he wanted my help it came with a price…he would be held accountable and he would succeed if it killed us both! He really only had one true weight on the con side, but it was a really big one. “I don’t want to leave my son…I don’t want him to think I abandoned him.” I listened to him pour out his heart about how he had done wrong by him and needed to make it all up and…well, I finally had to cut him off and stop the pity party. I always felt a little bad about my directness, because I really did say that to him…but he said he needed someone to be straight-up with him, and I wasn’t playing games when it came to his life or my nephews for that matter. After having lived through and then raising a son in the shadow of addiction and violence, I had strong opinions about the rights of children to live free of such horrors. I told him point blank…straighten his shit up and make the commitment his son deserved. “Be a Daddy,” I said, “not a sperm donor.” I had focused my debate on his responsibility to his recovery as a prerequisite to achieving this. “You and I both know, brother, that none of us has the power to go back and undo anything that has already been done. Beating yourself up, or worse, using it as an excuse to drag your feet about a new beginning…neither of those things are going to help anyone.” I asked him at that point why he was even considering moving away. “Because, it’s too tempting here…” After a brief pause, he continued, “If problems come up, I just feel like throwing in the towel on everything…saying hell with it.” He didn’t want to look me in the face when he said that…but, I was so glad he was admitting to himself that he wasn’t in a very stable place at that point. He had been living with me for a stretch that at times really tried my patience, and I had been seeing him teetering on the edge for a while. “So, are you saying you’re going to start using again…or what…what does saying hell with it mean?” He said he didn’t quite know…just knew he didn’t feel like he was making fast enough progress in town and his friend had offered him a place to stay if he moved up north for a while. “So, you aren’t ready to throw in any towel then….” I pointed out, “you are clearly frustrated, but it doesn’t have to mean you are in anyway giving up on this…lots of people change their surroundings when making big changes…and as far as quitting goes, only you have the power to make that happen or keep it from happening, right?” He agreed with that. “…and it really sounds to me like you know what you have to do.” I finished. “No, I really don’t,” he said. “I’ve always been able to just take off and do whatever, but I never had a child waiting here for me…it hurts thinking of going far away from him. Even if we aren’t seeing each other, I believe he knows I’m right here and I hope it comforts him.” “Yeah,” I answered. “Except you need to get healthy, solidly healthy so you can get back in his life for once and for all…no more questionable entrances and exits…this one needs to be forever, despite whatever else is going on with you.” I told him that even if his son felt comfort in that now…it wouldn’t stay that way. “Someday, he will give up on you and when you do see him he’ll tell you where to go instead of wanting to go with you. So, you need to do this…now…that’s what you owe him…that’s what you can control…not the past. If you need to go somewhere else to pull yourself together, then that’s what you need to do.” Well, he grappled with it for a little while, but, he did make that move.

In the cool, lush, green beauty of the Pacific Northwest he healed his heart and reached out to his ex-wife…and now we were at the place he had prayed he would arrive at. Here he was again asking my opinion. As I said, his proposed return was much sooner than I had expected, but, it sounded like his little ducks were lining up. I asked him about his ghosts here, and he basically said he could handle anything if he was allowed to see his son…it’s all that mattered to him. Again, I repeated what I had sent him off with…”it sounds to me like you know what you need to do ‘Spank’.” He hated when I called him that, which was a variation on a nickname I loved to torture him with, and he wished I’d just forget. Anyway, I told him to tie up his lose ends and bring those duckies home.

The plan was he was going to see about a transfer from his boss and I took on the task of looking for apartments on this side. When I hung up the phone I did a little dance. I always worried a bit about that man because he presented as a big, tough guy…but to me he always was my little brother who used to sleep with me at night because he was afraid of the dark, the unknown, and practically everything else you could think of. I knew he had so many fears and struggled with his confidence…so, I worried. But, I was also recognizing the re-emergence of a fighting spirit that he had for a time lost. His son was his world, and his world was again within his grasp…my brother had finally arrived at a place I often wondered if he’d ever find. He had grown up…he went to Washington and grew up. He was coming home grown...it was no longer about a boy…or at least it was now about a different boy…his boy.

So, the wheels were in motion. Because of the circumstances with his son residing in a different state, my brother’s company approved an “emergency family transfer” in a relatively short period of time. With this approval, he only had to find an opening here in Tucson and put in for it. He would receive priority consideration so he could make his move employed and without losing time and benefits. All the pieces were falling into place too, because there was an opening at the store closest to my house. Although he was looking for his own place, he wanted to be close by so that I could help him with transportation until he could get his own vehicle. There were also more and more places being advertised for rent in the area. I was talking to him nearly on a daily basis now…and for both of us the excitement was building up. Once he had word about the position in Tucson, he said, he would get his ticket. “It’s starting to feel real,” he cried, “up until now it has been almost like a dream…but, this is really happening, huh?” “Yeah baby…it really is,” I answered. “I told you it was all in your hands and you are making it happen…you are following through…and I have never in my life been more proud of you than right now, brother.” He was really in touch with all of the support he had received up there in Washington…and couldn’t stop talking about his roommate and every little thing he had done to help him stay on a healthy path. “All of these guys up here. They have helped me so much Ang, I am now realizing how much I am going to miss them. I wish I didn’t have to choose,” he said. “You don’t Frankie.” I said, “we are not school kids anymore…you can stay in touch with anybody you want to and go back and visit every so often, or invite them to see you.” “It’s great being an adult, huh?” I asked. “We can travel around without needing permission from anybody!” “Also,” I added sarcastically, “there is this thing called the internet…and the contraption in your hand right now…it’s called a phone.” He was laughing, but, I definitely could hear his brain going into overdrive as to how he was going to get me back for my sarcasm. He definitely liked to have the last word.

Keeping that in mind, when my Mom broke the news to me, I really thought it was a joke. “Sit down, Mejita.” This was how she greeted me when I woke up that fall morning. Mom had been taking care of the boys for a couple of days while I took my chemotherapy and then recovered from the side effects. “Your brother’s in the hospital.” Up to that point, I was groggy, but now I was suddenly wide awake and my heart was in my throat. Fighting tears I asked, “What the hell…what happened…is he okay?” “Chad called me this morning from your brother’s bedside. He was hurt pretty bad, but, he’s expected to recover. They had to do emergency surgery on him, and he’ll need reconstruction…but he is okay and resting now.” I didn’t believe her for a minute. I expected him to either come popping out of the back hallway to surprise me, or for her to break character and admit he had convinced her to mess with my head. “No,” she said, “I wish it was a joke. He was riding home from work from his overnight shift…on his bike…and a car flew around a corner at him. I guess he panicked and tried to avoid being hit, but slammed on his breaks and because of his size and momentum went catapulting over his handlebars. He smacked down at such an angle and under his own weight, he broke his arm in three places, including shattering his elbow completely and leaving the lower part of his arm protruding through the joint.” As I understood it he remained conscious, but as he would later tell me, in serious shock. So, the silver-lining to this event was that he avoided being hit, and most probably, killed on that Washington road that morning. The flip side though, was that his financial future became once again precarious…and in fact, the use of his arm ever again was in question. For me though, I was just grateful he was alive. Once he was conscious enough to talk on the phone my only question for him was “how soon will you be able to travel…we’ve got to get you home.” I just had such an overwhelming need and desire to put my arms around him and protect him like a little baby again. He would remain hospitalized for a short while, undergo a second surgery to re-construct the arm with an aluminum insert, and have a short rehabilitation at home before he was deemed fit for travel. Then, with help from his roommate, he was on his way back to Tucson.

Before he left Washington he called to let me know that he had talked to his ex-wife and she was going to allow him to see his son later that same day. He said he knew the flight was going to be somewhat painful, at least he had been warned it would be because of the cabin pressure on his already delicate arm…”but I don’t care, Ang, I’m going to see my son today!” So, with that he began his journey and we were waiting with open arms when he landed.

One of the changes that came following the accident was that he would be living for an indefinite amount of time with me and my boys. His company had laid him off in response to his accident and prognosis with a promise of re-hiring if he was ever able to recover use of his arm. Without a job, all plans for his own place were out the door. At any other time in his life he probably would have been floored by this situation, but, he just wasn’t sidetracked by these “speed-bumps”, which is what I called them. He really was focused on the fact that his son was back in his life. He did have a goal of recovering and returning to work as soon as possible because he wanted to be able to pay child support, but, instead of giving up because of what had happened to him…he was rising to the occasion. It was an amazing transformation to witness. It wouldn’t be without trials. He was, after all, human. As his “fast” recovery dragged on, he would begin to have doubts about his ability to overcome it. As he realized just how much long-term damage he had…it would test his perseverance. But, that is where his support came in and kicked him in the behind again…as often as was necessary. But, even as his motivational coach, and even in the shadow of his “carrot”-being the future with his son…the big picture- it was impossible to ignore the constant physical pain he was in. He was both horrified and intrigued by what he now termed his “bionic arm”. He faithfully did his exercises to increase mobility, but, with the movement came more and more pain. At first, he was determined to not use the pain pills prescribed to him as he was afraid he would too easily develop an addiction to them. But, after a while he would get into them here and there when he couldn’t bear it anymore. He asked me to “manage” his medications as a way to keep from having complete access to the different pills he was being given. He was on painkillers as well as other medications to address the PTSD he had struggled with ever since returning from the middle east following Desert Storm. He was proud of his veteran status, loved his country, and even strode proudly through the Vet Hospital daily from appointment to class to rehab. He said it was like his school and he felt the same about it as many students felt about their college campuses. As a matter of fact, he had told my two youngest boys that it was his “school” and that’s how they still refer to it whenever we pass by. “There is Tio’s school” they shout out as excitedly as if they were seeing Disneyland for the very first time. “Remember Mom…when we all played football in that one grassy place in the middle area of the school?” is a common question. “I remember”, I always say.

So, my brother kept treading along towards his goals…often taking an indirect path, but nevertheless going forward. He was seeing doctor’s at the VA on a regular basis. He had a psychiatrist, his regular primary care doctor, and now his osteo and physical therapist. I was running him over there whenever I could and when I wasn’t able he would take the bus. This was our routine.

It was early December and we were celebrating a double birthday one weekend. I had adopted two brothers the February before and the youngest and I had birthdays a few days apart. I had mostly focused the celebration on him, but was planning on going out afterward with my friend. We went to a movie together and shared a very relaxing evening. I came home to find my brother acting even more goofy than usual and my Mom explained he had already taken his bedtime medications but seemed to be fighting the sleepiness. After we all laughed for a bit over his antics my Mom went to sleep in his room. He told her he would take the couch that night, and I went to bed. The boys had been out for a while sleeping on makeshift beds out in the living room. Our household was tucked in and put to bed.

The next morning the boys followed their usual routine and came in as soon as they woke up to sit on my bed and watch cartoons. I was awake with them but in no hurry to get up. Then my Mom poked her head in and asked me to please come take a look at my brother. “He doesn’t look right, or sound right,” she said. I jumped up and ran out to the couch and immediately confirmed her concerns. “Call 911,” I told her as I quickly went to get Alex up. “I need you to help me get your Nino on the floor Alex…he’s barely breathing and I need to do CPR.” My poor child practically jumped out of his skin but sprinted back up the hallway with me in tow. We had him down and I moved his head into a better position and mom and I began CPR. His face was pale, his lips blue, and there was an eerie gurgle in his throat. He was completely unresponsive to anything we did or said to him. He was dying and I was feeling like nothing we were doing was turning that fact around. When the paramedics arrived they jumped right into action…cutting into his inner thigh for a central line, IV into his arm, checking his blood sugar, and putting him on oxygen. Never once did he so much as flinch. They moved him to the rig with one man on top continuing to pump his chest. Mom was allowed to accompany him and the boys and I followed in my truck. After running across town to pick up my sister and calling a few more family members we convened at the hospital to find out what was happening. Frankie remained unconscious and unresponsive and following an interview with my Mother the doctors had taken a toxicology screen. He was in a coma and along with a possible overdose situation they were going to look at his heart. We were told all of the tests would be performed and then he would be admitted to the ICU where it would be a waiting game to see if he would regain consciousness. If he did, the next concern would be if this trauma would affect his mental or physical abilities in any way. We were told that if we hadn’t caught him when we did, he surely would have died. We contacted his ex-wife and she immediately came to the hospital, without my nephew. She wanted to find out how bad the situation really was before she brought him, concerned that it could be too overwhelming or traumatic. She decided that she would bring him once Frankie was settled and we saw what news the next few hours would bring.

Frankie would regain consciousness early on the third day and would be awake to receive the visit from his son. He was completely dumbfounded by what I told him had happened. He said he had absolutely no memory after saying goodnight to everyone a couple nights before. He even found it hard to believe that he had not felt anything during the lifesaving treatment. It was all so surreal for all of us. He was moved to a regular bed once the ICU doctor was convinced he was out of danger. We were told that his tox screen and heart test looked fine and basically how and why this had happened was undetermined. He was released 24 hours later and a period of high anxiety began for both my brother and me as we shared a fear that it might happen again.

In this same period my doctor had put me onto cardiac monitoring myself. During a routine exam she had discovered an irregularity in my heartbeat and I had been experiencing blackouts. Because of these incidences between us both my brother and I had very disturbed sleep cycles but we would find ourselves settling back in to a comfort zone after a couple of weeks passed. Frankie sat down with me then to tell me he was more and more concerned with my health. I hadn’t taken my chemo shots as I was supposed to for an extended period of time. I was putting all of my energy out to take care of everybody else and as far as he was concerned I hadn’t been taking any time at all for myself. He told me that his VA doctors were so impressed with his progress with his arm that they were saying he was on the verge of being released back to work. He wanted me to let him take on more responsibility with the boys so that I could tend to my own needs. He also wanted to reassure me that he was there to help me deal with any other issues coming up within the family as a whole. He didn’t like that I tried to carry everything on my shoulders. I was so touched by his concerns that I brought up the question of guardianship of the boys. I told him I had no intention of dying anytime soon but considering the issues I was facing, I couldn’t ignore the possibility that something could happen. Although he had baptized my oldest, he had always told me before that he didn’t feel ready to raise him if anything were to happen to me. So, in my will I had left him in the care of his godmother and her family who were willing to assume the responsibility. However, over the years the relationship we shared had deteriorated and she had ceased being a part of our lives. So, I told Frankie that day my biggest fear was what would become of the kids if the worst happened. He said he didn’t want me stressing over that and that he no longer held reservations. I then told him I’d like him to consider baptizing the other two, but, only if he felt he could care for them as well. He told me he’d think about it and get back to me and we left that conversation right there.

Although our family was plagued with anxieties over our health situations…and the focus had turned more to me at this point…we still made it through the holidays no worse for the wear. We were together for Christmas and New Year’s…running outside for the latter to watch as the sky lit up with fireworks…Frankie lifting his nephews and niece up over his shoulders in turn to admire the colors and patterns as they rained down from the sky. About a week later we got together again to have a belated Christmas party with Frankie’s son. Gifts were exchanged, a meal shared, pictures taken, and the two of them sat and played video games until it was time for my nephew to return home. He was in a great deal of pain from his intensive physical therapy but was trying his best to hide that fact from his son. But by the end of the day it seemed like both of them were quite happy to spend the time together, despite the issues. In the pictures Frankie wraps his arms proudly around his son and displays an uneasy but sincere smile.

As we approached the end of January my family had convinced me to take an overdue chemo shot and between mom and my brother the boys daily regiments were being taken care of. Frankie also took himself to an appointment at the VA where some new medications were prescribed. I rested well over the course of four days, getting myself up in the early afternoon of January 24th. It was necessary at this point because Alex had a military ball to attend for his high school JROTC program. It was his first year and we were all very excited. Since the ball was taking place on the Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, I had to receive clearance in order to transport the kids to and from the dance. Frankie was extremely concerned and followed me around that whole evening trying to find ways to keep me from overdoing myself. As the time approached for us to leave Frank was telling me he wasn’t taking any of his medications until everyone was home safe and sound. He also wanted to be sure I took pictures of my son and his date once I picked her up. Being as gung-ho military as he was, he was like a proud peacock that his godson was attending such an important function and he wanted pictures to recall the occasion. The problem here was that my camera was broken. I called a friend and asked her boyfriend if I could borrow theirs for a couple of hours. He agreed and I promised to return it when finished that same night. When Frankie learned of my plans to go over and borrow the camera, we got into a little argument. He knew there was some animosity between the boyfriend and me and he had concerns that I might be walking into a dangerous situation. He wanted to go along to ensure nothing bad happened but I explained I wouldn’t have time to bring him back home before I had to leave to the base. Frankie was afraid that with the high security at that time if he were in the vehicle without prior authorization we would be denied access on base. So, he reluctantly agreed to sit tight at the house and I made a promise to do everything in my power to avoid any conflicts…and to call if I ended up needing him. Before I left he gave me a tight hug, shook my sons hand and patted him on the back and waved at us as we backed the truck out and drove off. The night went without incident and thankfully I came home while the kids were at the ball and made several copies of the pictures we snapped. I wanted to leave one with my friend when I returned her camera as a thank you for their loan. When I handed a copy to Frankie his eyes lit up and his grin morphed into a laugh. “He really is a little man, isn’t he?” He asked me. “Yeah he is,” I replied. I told him the photo was his to keep and told him I needed to head back out to pick the kids up and return the camera. We had another little exchange about his uneasiness and I left. When I got back about an hour and a half later, he was still up, as promised. He asked questions about the ball and shared some kind of late night snack with my son while I excused myself to go to bed. I heard them say their goodnights a short while later and the night concluded quietly. Frankie had invited my middle son to cuddle up and sleep with him that night with a promise to the youngest that they would have a sleepover the following night.

Very early in the morning on the 25th, my youngest came and crawled into bed with me. It was still dark outside and I tried to convince him to go back to bed. He wasn’t having it because he didn’t like being alone in his room…so I gave up, put my arms around him, and we both fell back to sleep. The next time I awoke was just after dawn, when my middle son came in and joined us. He turned on the t.v. and tuned in to his favorite Sunday morning cartoon. I asked him if he had woke up his Tio Frankie and he said “no mom, I just took his arms off of me and got up…I didn’t want to bug him cause he had a tough night. He just fell asleep a little while ago.” I assumed Frankie was probably having another night struggling to trust falling asleep. I knew that although he had this trouble, he slept well once he fell out. I thought it best to let him rest…and I again fell back to sleep. It was about 7:15 a.m. As noon approached my oldest came in and shook me awake again. “Mom…you have to come check my Nino”, he said, “he looks weird again.” Even before he finished I was running out of my room. As I turned the corner to Frankie’s room every nightmare I had been having for the previous month came true. Lying on his bed, sideways, propped up against the wall with his arms frozen into an embrace was my baby brother, my man-child, my boy, my friend. In my mind it registered immediately…the smell of the room, the sensations on my skin, the appearance of his body, the quiet screaming in my ears. I knew I was alone in that room. He was gone…but, I wasn’t willing to accept it in that moment. I yelled for Alex to call 911 and began trying to drag the literal dead weight of my two-hundred-and-something pound brother onto the floor so I could begin CPR. I was screaming at him to wake up and pounding his chest when I became aware that my son had handed me the phone and the operator was asking me what was going on. I remember vaguely calming down enough to describe the scene and urge her to hurry and get me help because I could hear some movement in his chest and had begun believing we could get him through again. She told me to get him to the floor and I told her I had tried but couldn’t do it. Much later I realized I didn’t ask Alex to help this time or send him for our neighbor…both of whom could’ve helped make that possible. I think I knew he was beyond my reach somewhere down deep inside, yet, couldn’t bring myself to stop trying. It seemed this time, however, like the ambulance would never arrive. I was so exhausted. As a matter of fact as I heard them come through the front door I actually collapsed on top of my brother and wrapped my arms around him. They came in and pulled me off, dragging him down onto the floor. I backed off to let them do their magic again and only then did I go back into my own room to check on all my kids. Afterward I sat down on the couch with a police officer who had accompanied the ambulance and began giving him the usual identification information they ask for. A few minutes later one of the paramedics came out and extended his hand to me to offer his sympathies. “There was absolutely nothing we could do”, he said. I know I fell to my knees and the officer helped me back up as I began flip-flopping between the reality of the moment and an immediate place of denial. I did manage to ask one of the paramedics a question as they gathered their stuff and left the house. “How long?”, I asked, “…how long ago did he go?” He said “based on the state of the body”, which made me want to slap him, “his name is Frankie”, I interrupted. He apologized again and said he felt death had occured about 4 or 5 hours before I found him. A quick count backwards placed that to be between 7 and 8 that morning. I went down again with my face in my hands. The realization was immediate and hit like an exploding land mine. My legs could no longer hold me up, I couldn’t breathe, and the room was spinning. My heart raced and I became aware of every single nerve ending in my body. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t speak, I didn’t even feel connected to my physical body anymore. I was floating overhead and watching like a scene in a movie. “Oh my God,” I cried, “If I had checked on him either time that the boys woke me, I would have reached him in time.” “What the hell is wrong with me?” I remember thinking out loud. “I was being selfish and lazy and my brother died because of it…I could have stopped it…but instead I got a little more sleep. Good fucking deal for me…that should be me…not him. He’s supposed to see his son today and instead I have to tell Zay that his daddy is dead and it’s all my fault.” I was ranting and the officer was trying to calm me down. I have to say that through it all he was very patient and kind to me and my boys. My assumption at that point was that whatever had happened the month before had happened again…and the only difference was that I DIDN’T GET TO HIM THIS TIME. When he heard that we had just had a similar incident he asked where they had treated Frankie and he immediately called the hospital to see about any records they had which he felt would be a valuable clue to figuring this whole tragedy out. He talked to somebody who stated that there were indications of heart disease in one of the tests and she remembered something mentioned at some point about the incident being a heart attack. I told him that had never been discussed with any of us to the best of my knowledge and if Frankie had been made aware of that he had kept it secret from the rest of us. When he asked me the inevitable question about my thoughts on the possibility of this being a suicide I told him honestly I didn’t think so because he had made it clear through the years that he considered suicide to be cowardly and pointed out that he had actually been in such good spirits and talking about all the ways things were improving as far as his situation. I also pointed out that if he had intended to end his life that night I found it hard to imagine that he would have had Zoreno in the room with him. He was very protective of my children and I couldn’t see him intentionally setting Zoreno up for such potential trauma. Somewhere in between all these thoughts and words I could hear Alex on the phone with somebody and realized he was breaking the news to my sister and mother through tears and anger. In a quivering, cracking and distraught voice he managed something like “Nino’s dead…he just died…he died…right now in his room.” I could hear him and I wanted to hold him tight and take his pain from him but I was only slightly aware of where I was. I knew the hollowness in his heart, the lump in his throat, the disbelief and desire to quickly go back in time and change this…before it was too late. But it was too late. The unbelievable had happened…lightening had struck our family twice. All of the sudden I realized of four of us, only two of my parents children remained. My mind began racing between the past, the immediate, and concerns for the welfare of my mother, sister, and father. “I desperately need your help” I told the officer. “My father is incarcerated in the federal prison on Wilmot…I need to get to him and tell him what happened before he hears it any other way…this will kill him” He promised he’d call his contacts and get me in touch with the right people to make that happen. “I also need to send someone to bring my mother, sister, and her family…my mom is going to need us around her too…this could kill her…my sister too…this could kill her.” He said if I couldn’t find a family member to bring them right away, he’d send a car for them. I had a mile long list of all the people who would be killed over this sad news. What I wasn’t giving much attention to was how much I was feeling like a large part of me had just been killed. Then the officer pulled me back into the moment telling me he needed to get more information from me so they could start trying to figure out what happened. I began telling the story, but couldn’t seem to get anywhere without being distracted or getting choked up. Saying it out loud was a form of acknowledging it as fact, and I wasn’t wanting to do that. I only wanted someone to wake me up from this horrible nightmare so I’d try to change the subject or just plain ignore the questions. I had my best friend on the phone trying to offer me support in the only way she was able that morning. I kept trying to convince the officer to let me into the room because I needed to say some things to my brother before he was “removed”. I did want that…I wanted to apologize to him for not being available over the past few days, for not being in control of his medications like I felt I should have been, for not checking on him when my instincts had told me to do so, and finally for not being with him when the end came. My own personal biggest fear regarding death is the prospect of dying alone…and it hurt so much to think about him laying there, possibly calling out for help as his breathing became shallow and finally stopped. Alone. Then I remembered…he hadn’t been alone, my little boy had been with him. This brought another level of sadness to my thoughts for Zoreno’s sake…but it also once again made me grateful for the little boy with big dimples and a bigger heart who embraced his Tio in his final moments. I silently prayed then and now that this will be a source of comfort and pride for Reno when he gets older and not something that brings sadness to him. When the coroner did arrive the questions began about our preferred arrangements. I remember snapping, “my preference is that he wake up, damn it. Arrange that. How are we gonna have arrangements…he’s my little brother, I was the one supposed to die first…I was the sick one…he was just assuring me he’d take care of my kids…and now your asking me to make arrangements for him…you’re just stupid, a complete idiot.” I shocked myself at the outburst and both of the younger kids started crying at this point unsure as to why I was now yelling at this complete stranger. Alex was sitting on the couch in complete and utter silence, staring off in his own state of shock. I ran over and held my babies tight as Zoreno began to cry as I believe for the very first time the reality of what had just happened hit him. “My Tio didn’t go to sleep mommy, he died didn’t he?” I shook my head but couldn’t bring myself to say “yes” as this child who probably witnessed my brother’s final breath looked at me with his giant, tear filled puppy dog eyes. Alesus then asked, “will he go to where cousin Boo Boo is now?” Our cousin had died the previous year after years of battling diabetes. That whole experience had made quite an impression on their young minds and we often discussed the concepts of God and Heaven and angels. “Yes baby,” I said, “Tio is making his way right now to be with Jesus in Heaven. He will be there with Boo Boo and your Tia Regina and all of our other family members who have died before…and someday after each of us finish our lives here, we will be there with them too…so we won’t say goodbye to Tio, just ‘see you later’.” The cop said he thought I needed other people with me before I could even think about arrangements and asked the coroner’s representative to call back later to collect the necessary information and go ahead and remove the body. He politely excused himself to do so as the officer ushered us all back into my bedroom and urged me to close the door so that the kids wouldn’t see them taking the gurney out. I grabbed hold of my children and reassured them it would all be okay and tried to close my ears to the racket being made as they moved the cart through the living room and down the front stairs. I couldn’t restrain myself completely, however, and found myself staring out the window into the back of the plain, white, unmarked van that would forever take him away from our sight and our lives. I kept glancing out to the main road as well hoping that they would get him in and out of sight in case my mother pulled up, as she was due at any time. I had tried briefly to convince them to wait until she arrived so she could have a few minutes with him, but the worker said his schedule was so full that day he really didn’t have time to wait. So, I figured under the circumstances it would be best for them to be gone before she arrived as the shock of seeing him out there like that might be too much for her to bear. Hoping to glimpse his face one last time before they moved out the front door I peeked and my eyes instead locked onto the solid black bag that held his earthly remains. It was in that very moment that I know I began soothing myself by whispering “he isn’t in there…he flew away this morning when the angel’s took him home.” My arms and my heart ached to hold him one more time…instead I turned around and hugged each of my children as tight as I could.

Tonight as I finish this paper, it is the eve of the first anniversary of this tragedy. Last night I again transported my son and his date for the military formal. The wound has begun to heal but I regularly pick at it and the bleeding starts all over again. We have managed to make it through that most difficult initial year of missing firsts and now the worries are setting in that accompany the time passing that will eventually help to heal. I can still hear his voice but I realize tonight I have forgotten what his laugh sounds like. I have been told over and over that I need to “let go” of my brother and allow him to rest…that I cannot heal and move on and he cannot be at peace because he needs me to be happy and healthy to let go himself. So, tonight I pray for that ability because right now this seems an impossible task. I feel my brother all around me at all times. I see him in my boys, his son, and my godchildren who regularly mimic things he used to do. I remember so much about the part of my journey he walked with me…including the times when he carried me…and I long to talk to him every time something or someone hurts my heart. My struggle to come to terms with this loss will continue indefinitely, but even from the other side, I can sense he is involved in helping me arrive at that peace I am searching for. And in the meantime I must find a way to go about the business of getting on with life…without the boy.

1/24/2010