A year ago today Grandma Joanne was in the hospital. In about 15 hours, it will have been a year since she died with no one but a nurse holding her hand. (I still don't know who that nurse was, but someday, I would like to tell him how wonderful I think he is for staying with her.) I thought that by now, I would have dealt with more of this. There are times when I feel like I have, but there are also times where it hits me out of no where, like a heavy weight on my chest. Thanksgiving was hard. A year ago on Thanksgiving I was blocks away from her. No one answered the phone when I called so I gave up. I should have gone over there. I should have been there. I should have asked my mom how else to get a hold of her live-in partner/caretaker. But I didn't. I tried once and I gave up. At least she wouldn't have been so alone if I had done something more.
The man held responsible just got out of jail and is playing games on facebook. Why this is sticking in my head, I couldn't tell you. What else he is doing, I don't know. But knowing he is out is enough to keep me thinking twice about visiting the rest of my family over there. I don't want to see him. I don't want to see him because I am more angry than I even realize and am afraid of what I would say or do. I don't want to see him because I am afraid of him and what he would say or do. I don't want to go because I am tired of hearing other people's opinions of him, of my grandmother, of the whole situation. I don't put all the blame on him entirely, I feel he is responsible for most of it, but not all. And I try to give respect and the benefit of the doubt. I have to believe that it is possible for good to exist in bad situations. But this by no means makes it ok for people to tell me what a wonderful person he is and how he could not have played any part in her death. It's still too raw.
I miss her.
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, May 16, 2010
In about three hours I will be linked via conference call to the sentencing hearing of the man being held responsible for my grandmothers death. I have been asked to write and read a victim's impact statement. I have been struggling with what to say. How do you portray grief in words? You can't. A feeling so basic yet complicated and intense cannot be translated into words in a way which would satisfactorily represent what I am feeling. But I had to try. Below is what I think I will be reading at the hearing. You many be asking why I am posting this publicly. Because, I want people to know what happened. I have had so many conversations with people in total awe that this man could do this, while my experiences with him have not always been that way, so this is my way of respecting their opinions and honoring my own. No one has to read this. But here, I will have a record of my efforts and my journey to come to terms and be at peace with this situation.
My name is Amber Alexander and I am Joanne Nelson's granddaughter. My mother, Cindy ******, is her daughter. My Grandma Joanne is so much of who I am today. Her presence in my life, especially during my childhood, was a guiding force in my explorations and discoveries of the person I am and the person I want to be. Through her I learned skills and hobbies of hers that are now passions of my own, and her warm embrace was such a strong part of my childhood that I can still feel it surround me today. I have hardly begun the grieving process because her death has hit me incredibly hard. The circumstances of her passing are confusing and painful for me.
I do not feel that I have enough wisdom or insight to draw conclusions as to what I think should happen to whom in the wake of her death because I am still making sense of it. My emotions flare between grief, sorrow, anger, guilt, sadness and pain. And a lot of confusion and unanswered questions. I can't begin to imagine what it was like in the final weeks of her life, I can't say whether I believe everything was done to ensure my grandmother spent her final days with the best possible quality of life, because I was not there. I do not know what was happening, I do not know what was done to help her, to ease her pain, or make her comfortable. What I do know is that my grandmother died in way that must have been unimaginably painful, in a hospital room with one blessed person holding her hand. A nurse she did not know.
What I would like to come away from this whole thing with are answers. In trying to make sense of this tremendous sorrow, there are several things that keep going through my mind, bringing up more questions. The first of which surrounding the last couple times I saw my Grandma Joanne. One was in her home in the early afternoon. She was laying in bed and the whole time asking Gil if he was going to get her out of bed soon. While I know that in the wake of her stroke, one of the lasting effects was a very focused one-track mind, I still can't help but wonder how much of her days were spent like this? Was she in bed all the time? Asking to get up? Another is when she was put in a nursing home while Gil was in the hospital. By the time we were notified, she had been there three weeks, and we found out because one of Gil's sisters finally called my mother to let her know. Why did no one tell us what was going on sooner? We had offered in the past to help, only to be turned down, so we quit offering. Partly because we trusted that if help was needed, or additional care required, they would let us know.
My grandmother went into the hospital just before midnight, November 30th from what I have been told. Her condition was grave enough to warrant law enforcement notification so I know she must have been in really bad shape, yet, the first call made to us was at 8am the next morning, 8 hours after she was admitted. And about an hour after we left the house for the morning, leaving this urgent news waiting for almost the entire day until we heard it two hours before she passed away. This effectively made it impossible for us to get to her before she died, and we never got to say goodbye. That is one of the hardest parts of my grieving process. Why was there more than an 8 hour gap between the time Gil called 911 and the time he called us?
Shortly after my Grandma Joannes passing one of my other grandmothers, Ida *********, whom is my fathers mother and a retired nurse, told me that she ran into Gil in the grocery store shortly before Thanksgiving. She asked him if he had heard from me and whether I would be in town for the holidays with my daughter. Gil replied that he never heard from us. Ida asked how Joanne was doing and Gil replied that she wasn't doing well at all. At that point my Grandma Ida told Gil that she didn't think he looked well either and according to her memory he said neither of them were doing very well. At this point my Grandma Ida told Gil that they had home services that would come in and help take care of Grandma Joanne, or even just help with housework and cooking and she asked him if he had looked into any of this. My Grandma Ida does not remember Gil's exact response but she says that it was to the extent of "We will get by". She remembers saying something about him not being able to handle this on his own. This was about two or three weeks before her death. What I want to know, is if it was acknowledged that neither he nor my grandmother were doing well, why didn't he reach out? Why had he turned down offers of help? I cannot say whether reaching out and asking for help would have prevented my Grandma Joannes death, but at the very least, she would have had more people there with her when she passed. And he wouldn't have had to do it all by himself. Judging from his response to my grandma Ida's question about hearing from us, I can only assume that Gil was at the very least, bitter that we were not in better touch. I will be the first to acknowledge I did not call that often. But I think it is also important to acknowledge that communication is a two way street. There were phone calls on my part made that went unanswered, the phone just rang endlessly with no answering machine. There were several times that they had plans to come and join my mother and I for holidays yet failed to show up and failed to call to tell us they would not be coming. There were also many times that my mom would call and Gil would say that Grandma was in bed, but that he would call back when she got up, yet he never did. While I strive to be a compassionate person I am struggling with the anger I feel towards this man whom my grandmother trusted, as did my family, to care for her, who failed to reach out at times of need. One can only hear a rejection to offered help so many times before they quit offering and I fail to understand why he didn't tell us what was really going on, or how any bitterness or anger or resentment towards us would warrant not making phone calls at these times like these.
My Grandma Joanne was foundational to the person I am today. I truly feel that in order for me to honor her memory, and the impact she had on my life, and to make peace with this terrible situation, I must try to find the answers to these questions.
My name is Amber Alexander and I am Joanne Nelson's granddaughter. My mother, Cindy ******, is her daughter. My Grandma Joanne is so much of who I am today. Her presence in my life, especially during my childhood, was a guiding force in my explorations and discoveries of the person I am and the person I want to be. Through her I learned skills and hobbies of hers that are now passions of my own, and her warm embrace was such a strong part of my childhood that I can still feel it surround me today. I have hardly begun the grieving process because her death has hit me incredibly hard. The circumstances of her passing are confusing and painful for me.
I do not feel that I have enough wisdom or insight to draw conclusions as to what I think should happen to whom in the wake of her death because I am still making sense of it. My emotions flare between grief, sorrow, anger, guilt, sadness and pain. And a lot of confusion and unanswered questions. I can't begin to imagine what it was like in the final weeks of her life, I can't say whether I believe everything was done to ensure my grandmother spent her final days with the best possible quality of life, because I was not there. I do not know what was happening, I do not know what was done to help her, to ease her pain, or make her comfortable. What I do know is that my grandmother died in way that must have been unimaginably painful, in a hospital room with one blessed person holding her hand. A nurse she did not know.
What I would like to come away from this whole thing with are answers. In trying to make sense of this tremendous sorrow, there are several things that keep going through my mind, bringing up more questions. The first of which surrounding the last couple times I saw my Grandma Joanne. One was in her home in the early afternoon. She was laying in bed and the whole time asking Gil if he was going to get her out of bed soon. While I know that in the wake of her stroke, one of the lasting effects was a very focused one-track mind, I still can't help but wonder how much of her days were spent like this? Was she in bed all the time? Asking to get up? Another is when she was put in a nursing home while Gil was in the hospital. By the time we were notified, she had been there three weeks, and we found out because one of Gil's sisters finally called my mother to let her know. Why did no one tell us what was going on sooner? We had offered in the past to help, only to be turned down, so we quit offering. Partly because we trusted that if help was needed, or additional care required, they would let us know.
My grandmother went into the hospital just before midnight, November 30th from what I have been told. Her condition was grave enough to warrant law enforcement notification so I know she must have been in really bad shape, yet, the first call made to us was at 8am the next morning, 8 hours after she was admitted. And about an hour after we left the house for the morning, leaving this urgent news waiting for almost the entire day until we heard it two hours before she passed away. This effectively made it impossible for us to get to her before she died, and we never got to say goodbye. That is one of the hardest parts of my grieving process. Why was there more than an 8 hour gap between the time Gil called 911 and the time he called us?
Shortly after my Grandma Joannes passing one of my other grandmothers, Ida *********, whom is my fathers mother and a retired nurse, told me that she ran into Gil in the grocery store shortly before Thanksgiving. She asked him if he had heard from me and whether I would be in town for the holidays with my daughter. Gil replied that he never heard from us. Ida asked how Joanne was doing and Gil replied that she wasn't doing well at all. At that point my Grandma Ida told Gil that she didn't think he looked well either and according to her memory he said neither of them were doing very well. At this point my Grandma Ida told Gil that they had home services that would come in and help take care of Grandma Joanne, or even just help with housework and cooking and she asked him if he had looked into any of this. My Grandma Ida does not remember Gil's exact response but she says that it was to the extent of "We will get by". She remembers saying something about him not being able to handle this on his own. This was about two or three weeks before her death. What I want to know, is if it was acknowledged that neither he nor my grandmother were doing well, why didn't he reach out? Why had he turned down offers of help? I cannot say whether reaching out and asking for help would have prevented my Grandma Joannes death, but at the very least, she would have had more people there with her when she passed. And he wouldn't have had to do it all by himself. Judging from his response to my grandma Ida's question about hearing from us, I can only assume that Gil was at the very least, bitter that we were not in better touch. I will be the first to acknowledge I did not call that often. But I think it is also important to acknowledge that communication is a two way street. There were phone calls on my part made that went unanswered, the phone just rang endlessly with no answering machine. There were several times that they had plans to come and join my mother and I for holidays yet failed to show up and failed to call to tell us they would not be coming. There were also many times that my mom would call and Gil would say that Grandma was in bed, but that he would call back when she got up, yet he never did. While I strive to be a compassionate person I am struggling with the anger I feel towards this man whom my grandmother trusted, as did my family, to care for her, who failed to reach out at times of need. One can only hear a rejection to offered help so many times before they quit offering and I fail to understand why he didn't tell us what was really going on, or how any bitterness or anger or resentment towards us would warrant not making phone calls at these times like these.
My Grandma Joanne was foundational to the person I am today. I truly feel that in order for me to honor her memory, and the impact she had on my life, and to make peace with this terrible situation, I must try to find the answers to these questions.
Friday, May 7, 2010
With Sepia-Toned Loving
After my grandmother's death, we had to go into her house to look for insurance papers and other information for the death certificate. I remember being so absolutely numb about the whole experience until I opened a drawer of her sweaters and her scent hit me like a ton of bricks. It washed over me and into me, it blurred my vision and for a moment it felt as if I was wrapped up in her warmth and love. As the smell faded my heart was left raw, the numbness no where in sight. The next drawer I opened was full of pictures. Memories of a life recorded, with the story left untold. So many smiling faces, some of them I knew, a lot of them I didn't, and still don't. I am generally not one for obtaining a lot of possessions, but I hoarded these pictures fiercely. I snatched up all that I could, taking an armload out to my car. It felt disrespectful to be thinking about what of hers I wanted to take with her death so fresh in my mind and heart.
But I realized something. They are more than just things. They are a life line into my past and a connection to a family I wish I would have held closer. Sorting through them the other day for the first time since I brought them home, I came across one of a 6-year old Joanne, blonde curly ringlets, standing by the ocean with her mother. My daughter was staring at me through those eyes. Last night, Emily and I sat down and I showed her these brittle, black and white relics.
"See, you look so much like your Great Grandma Joanne, look at her hair!"
"And her smile! Look mom! I smile like her!"
Thumbing through these pictures and reliving moments I shared with this woman, stories that she told me, and the magic she brought to my life, I was able for the first time to hold her in my mind with love, and feel at peace with my relationship with her. I was able to remember all the joy, the wisdom, the love and start to release some of the sorrow and pain. Just a little. But it's a start, right?
"Mommy, she's so beautiful! I miss her but I don't remember her...will you tell me more about her?"
This is why I kept the pictures.
But I realized something. They are more than just things. They are a life line into my past and a connection to a family I wish I would have held closer. Sorting through them the other day for the first time since I brought them home, I came across one of a 6-year old Joanne, blonde curly ringlets, standing by the ocean with her mother. My daughter was staring at me through those eyes. Last night, Emily and I sat down and I showed her these brittle, black and white relics.
"See, you look so much like your Great Grandma Joanne, look at her hair!"
"And her smile! Look mom! I smile like her!"
Thumbing through these pictures and reliving moments I shared with this woman, stories that she told me, and the magic she brought to my life, I was able for the first time to hold her in my mind with love, and feel at peace with my relationship with her. I was able to remember all the joy, the wisdom, the love and start to release some of the sorrow and pain. Just a little. But it's a start, right?
"Mommy, she's so beautiful! I miss her but I don't remember her...will you tell me more about her?"
This is why I kept the pictures.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Wading through It
There is a quiet and fierce storm raging inside of me so I am going to do what I tell my daughter to do when she is rendered speechless due to her emotions: I am going to use my words as best I can.
Lilacs are blooming all over town, each one serving as a reminder of my Grandma Joanne who passed away this last December. I have known all along that I was not done grieving, I don't know that I ever will, her absence has hit me hard. This woman was foundational in the development of who I am and what I value in life. She had a gigantic lilac bush in her side yard that my cousin Stephen and I used to use as a fort. The smell permeates the good memories from my childhood and reminds me of her embrace. Her musical voice. Her chocolate kisses.
I have not talked about her death much because it has been so painful to process. And because I feel guilty for not being there more. But I think I need to let it out, it's eating me inside. She died of sepsis (systemic blood infection) that was caused by bed sores on her back that were not taken care of. As someone who used to be a caregiver, it kills me to know who painful those are, and how slow and painful a way to die it is. At the time of her death, this woman who in life averaged 150 pounds weighed 88 pounds. Her medical records indicated that contrary to what her partner/caregiver had been telling us, she had not been to a doctor in three years. Senior and Disabled Services had tried to investigate but due to manipulation, they never made it through the front door. She entered the hospital around midnight on November 30th, hardly conscious and the infection was so bad that she couldn't speak, and could barely breathe on her own. She was gone within 12 hours. Her caregiver didn't tell them how to get a hold of us. He was barred from the room because when he entered, her heart rate and respitory rate would go through the roof. She died in a hospital room, with an off-duty nurse holding her hand because he didn't want her to die alone. We listened over the phone as the monitor flat-lined, never even being able to mutter a good-bye through the phone. The signs of malnourishment and mistreatment were so severe that her caregiver was charged on the spot. At a time when we should have been able to just sit and grieve we were dealing with police detectives and autopsy reports. When we were finally able to see her after her death, it didn't look like her. The harsh, sad face of the body in front of us was not the tender, warm, loving grandmother of my childhood. Her body was bruised from IV's that tried to save her and an autopsy that tried to answer questions. Her arthritic hands and feet were balled up. She was cold.
Last week the DA submitted a plea bargain for us to give input on before they offer it to the man that was someone she trusted, someone who was supposed to be taking care of her. While I am still trying to answer questions of my own about what I should have/could have done, and whether I feel he did this consciously, I am being asked to determine whether I think this judgement is a fair exchange for what he has done. I haven't even decided what it is I think he did do. But reading the plea bargain all my grief resurfaces and I am feeling a quiet rage inside of me for this man, who had everyone convinced we never offered help, that no one ever called to check in on him and my grandmother. He had my uncle convinced we had been out of contact so long that he didn't even know how to get a hold of us. And us the same about my uncle. He took out at least 10 credit cards in my paralyzed grandmothers name and wracked up over $30,000 of debt.
What I do know is this:
Court ordered letters of apologies and restitution in situations like this just feel really offensive. None of it will change the circumstances of her death. None of it will bring her back. It doesn't change anything, and it's not genuine. And what is money going to do? All the money he had, he stole from her. Two years of probation and 200 hours of community service in exchange for being responsible for taking someones life? Also offensive.
After spending so long trying to have compassion for someone who I would like to believe was doing the best he could, this rage is surprising and a little overwhelming. While on the one hand I would like to speak with him, hear his side, and understand and feel at least compassion for him, there is this greater part of me that wants answers. Why didn't he reach out for help? Why did he lie to us about so many things concerning her health and her care? And then there is the hurt granddaughter that just wants to yell "I WANT MY GRANDMA BACK YOU ASSHOLE!"
Lilacs are blooming all over town, each one serving as a reminder of my Grandma Joanne who passed away this last December. I have known all along that I was not done grieving, I don't know that I ever will, her absence has hit me hard. This woman was foundational in the development of who I am and what I value in life. She had a gigantic lilac bush in her side yard that my cousin Stephen and I used to use as a fort. The smell permeates the good memories from my childhood and reminds me of her embrace. Her musical voice. Her chocolate kisses.
I have not talked about her death much because it has been so painful to process. And because I feel guilty for not being there more. But I think I need to let it out, it's eating me inside. She died of sepsis (systemic blood infection) that was caused by bed sores on her back that were not taken care of. As someone who used to be a caregiver, it kills me to know who painful those are, and how slow and painful a way to die it is. At the time of her death, this woman who in life averaged 150 pounds weighed 88 pounds. Her medical records indicated that contrary to what her partner/caregiver had been telling us, she had not been to a doctor in three years. Senior and Disabled Services had tried to investigate but due to manipulation, they never made it through the front door. She entered the hospital around midnight on November 30th, hardly conscious and the infection was so bad that she couldn't speak, and could barely breathe on her own. She was gone within 12 hours. Her caregiver didn't tell them how to get a hold of us. He was barred from the room because when he entered, her heart rate and respitory rate would go through the roof. She died in a hospital room, with an off-duty nurse holding her hand because he didn't want her to die alone. We listened over the phone as the monitor flat-lined, never even being able to mutter a good-bye through the phone. The signs of malnourishment and mistreatment were so severe that her caregiver was charged on the spot. At a time when we should have been able to just sit and grieve we were dealing with police detectives and autopsy reports. When we were finally able to see her after her death, it didn't look like her. The harsh, sad face of the body in front of us was not the tender, warm, loving grandmother of my childhood. Her body was bruised from IV's that tried to save her and an autopsy that tried to answer questions. Her arthritic hands and feet were balled up. She was cold.
Last week the DA submitted a plea bargain for us to give input on before they offer it to the man that was someone she trusted, someone who was supposed to be taking care of her. While I am still trying to answer questions of my own about what I should have/could have done, and whether I feel he did this consciously, I am being asked to determine whether I think this judgement is a fair exchange for what he has done. I haven't even decided what it is I think he did do. But reading the plea bargain all my grief resurfaces and I am feeling a quiet rage inside of me for this man, who had everyone convinced we never offered help, that no one ever called to check in on him and my grandmother. He had my uncle convinced we had been out of contact so long that he didn't even know how to get a hold of us. And us the same about my uncle. He took out at least 10 credit cards in my paralyzed grandmothers name and wracked up over $30,000 of debt.
What I do know is this:
Court ordered letters of apologies and restitution in situations like this just feel really offensive. None of it will change the circumstances of her death. None of it will bring her back. It doesn't change anything, and it's not genuine. And what is money going to do? All the money he had, he stole from her. Two years of probation and 200 hours of community service in exchange for being responsible for taking someones life? Also offensive.
After spending so long trying to have compassion for someone who I would like to believe was doing the best he could, this rage is surprising and a little overwhelming. While on the one hand I would like to speak with him, hear his side, and understand and feel at least compassion for him, there is this greater part of me that wants answers. Why didn't he reach out for help? Why did he lie to us about so many things concerning her health and her care? And then there is the hurt granddaughter that just wants to yell "I WANT MY GRANDMA BACK YOU ASSHOLE!"
Thursday, July 16, 2009
How could anyone ever tell you...
There are always people in your life that you may not be close enough to call at random just to see how they are, or that you even communicate with at all on a regular basis, yet you still consider them to be friends. I had the privilege of attending a C*UUYAN ConCentric business meeting in the summer of 2007 where I met several people like this. Beautiful people. Some that I haven't talked to since then, one of which I never will. Katie was a generous, warm, friendly, musical spirit. Upon meeting her she hugged me with a wonderful smile upon her face and a warm and genuine "So glad to meet you". She was there as I eased my way into an overwhelming experience with comforting words or a hug in passing. And she had the most beautiful voice.
Katie was on her way home from GA a few weeks ago when a on-coming car crossed into her lane and struck her head on. She did not make it. It's always a shock when someone makes a sudden departure like this, even if you didn't know them very well. I would like to think that she did not suffer long, and that she has moved on to do bigger and better things with her amazing spirit. She touched so many people during her time here that I can't believe that she would be doing anything else.
I will remember her with her smiling eyes as she sang a song that so many remember her for...
How could anyone ever tell you
You were anything less than beautiful?
How could anyone ever tell you
You were less than whole?
How could anyone fail to notice
that your loving is a miracle,
How deeply your connected to my soul...
Rest in Peace.
Katie was on her way home from GA a few weeks ago when a on-coming car crossed into her lane and struck her head on. She did not make it. It's always a shock when someone makes a sudden departure like this, even if you didn't know them very well. I would like to think that she did not suffer long, and that she has moved on to do bigger and better things with her amazing spirit. She touched so many people during her time here that I can't believe that she would be doing anything else.
I will remember her with her smiling eyes as she sang a song that so many remember her for...
How could anyone ever tell you
You were anything less than beautiful?
How could anyone ever tell you
You were less than whole?
How could anyone fail to notice
that your loving is a miracle,
How deeply your connected to my soul...
Rest in Peace.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
time makes you older/children get older
Stepping into the church I was hit like a battering ram into the stomach with memories haunting me. Memories from a past I can't let go, and memories from a past I don't want to remember. How do those two become so intertwined?
I sat in the courtyard with a group of people that has not sat together since I was 15. That was more than 10 years ago. Ten years. What have I been doing since then? A lot. More than I could put into a 20 minute life update a memorial allows for. I walked away from that circle filled with questions about these dear people I don't keep in touch with, and a yearning for these connections to maintain between the weddings and funerals that seem to be increasing in frequency.
I was struck by the maturity of his 5 year old daughter, who requested to be the first to light a candle in his honor. She walked up there and told everyone how much she loved her dad, and that no amount of missing him, and wishing he were back, would actually bring him back. But that she would still always love him and he would always love her.
This man filled the world with music and love beyond wonder.
I sat in the courtyard with a group of people that has not sat together since I was 15. That was more than 10 years ago. Ten years. What have I been doing since then? A lot. More than I could put into a 20 minute life update a memorial allows for. I walked away from that circle filled with questions about these dear people I don't keep in touch with, and a yearning for these connections to maintain between the weddings and funerals that seem to be increasing in frequency.
I was struck by the maturity of his 5 year old daughter, who requested to be the first to light a candle in his honor. She walked up there and told everyone how much she loved her dad, and that no amount of missing him, and wishing he were back, would actually bring him back. But that she would still always love him and he would always love her.
This man filled the world with music and love beyond wonder.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills...
Death does not scare me. It is inevitable. No matter what path we are traveling, we will all end up passing through that gate. What happens beyond that, I am not sure. The timing of things fills me with sorrow and questions. Today I received news that a friend of mine from my YRUU days has passed. He wasn't older than 25. He has a child right around my daughters age. He was my waiter at Olive Garden what felt like two weeks ago. And now he is gone.
I hate the way the voice on the other end of the line sounds. The one, that when you pick it up and say hello, you can tell by the way they ask "How ya doin?" that they aren't really hearing the answer to the question they just asked because there is something terrible leaping up their throat and dying to get out.
I am filled with sorrow.
And maybe a little bit of guilt. That I never got back in touch. That I never reached out when I knew he probably needed someone.
"They won't know what caused it for a few weeks still but it looks accidental."
Intoxication loses it's fancy when that is possibly what helped kill a friend.
I want to hug him one last time. Thank him for his kind words that night and tell him how much the memory of them got me through. I want to whisper in his ear to hold on. I want to hold his child to comfort her, and I have never met her. I want to cry. I want to sit in that house with his parents, to bring some sort of solace, but I know I wouldn't be able to. What could bring comfort to a parent at a time like this?
I hate the way the voice on the other end of the line sounds. The one, that when you pick it up and say hello, you can tell by the way they ask "How ya doin?" that they aren't really hearing the answer to the question they just asked because there is something terrible leaping up their throat and dying to get out.
I am filled with sorrow.
And maybe a little bit of guilt. That I never got back in touch. That I never reached out when I knew he probably needed someone.
"They won't know what caused it for a few weeks still but it looks accidental."
Intoxication loses it's fancy when that is possibly what helped kill a friend.
I want to hug him one last time. Thank him for his kind words that night and tell him how much the memory of them got me through. I want to whisper in his ear to hold on. I want to hold his child to comfort her, and I have never met her. I want to cry. I want to sit in that house with his parents, to bring some sort of solace, but I know I wouldn't be able to. What could bring comfort to a parent at a time like this?
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