Two days ago, I went to Andreas's funeral.
Came home wth streets filled with cars. Another party. Another nieghbor's party with crowds outside, loud Spanish music in the backyard, and late night dancing. This was different. It felt different. No music, no sound. Just people outside. Strange. Picked up the morning paper. Front page reads "Car Accident. 100 Mph." I was stunned. Emptiness hits me. Flashing emergency lights I drove by a few hours earlier were for my neighbor, the cop, his son. Andreas, his girlfriend, and another kid up the street were passengers of an Audi Convertible that flipped over and over. . .and over. No survivors.
Walking inside my house, I felt my energies drain. Hollowness, emptiness fills me. This was okay. My neighbors needed it.
Couldn't help think about the people I lost--Dad, Mike, Rochelle, Tatay.
I thought about Baby Kaprece. Drove hours to Vegas for the Fourth of July weekend. Half hour later, we were on opposite side of the freeway heading back. My Brother's baby was being born. I am going to be an uncle. Supposed to be a glorious day. Our nation's birthday. My niece's birthday.
Cell phone rings. I hear the word "Complications. . ." Mom, the RN, sounds angry over the phone. Kaprece aspirated. What the hell does that mean. Whatever it meant, I knew it was not good. The gas pedal gets heavier. Streaks of light fly by. Michelle and I race home.
Close my eyes for a second. We're on the third floor of AV Hospital. The family is there. All are quiet. Close my eyes again. Out the window, the helicopter get smaller and smaller. Kaprece--only a few hours born--is being medivaced away. "May not see her alive again" I think to myself, as I lose sight of the helicopter in the clouds.
Close my eyes again. Freeway driving to Pasadena. "Children's Hospital 5 miles ahead" the sign reads.
Close my eyes. Baby Kaprece lies motionless in the clear plastic box. Her tiny chest barely rising and falling. The incubator is keeping her warm, keeping her alive. Tubes come out her nose. Her mouth. Out her wrists. I closed my eyes again. I pray.
We got lucky. Lucky, we had the helicopter. Heaven was near and the Angels were close. We learned Baby K is like her parents--She's a fighter.
Close my eyes again. Baby K is now 14. Kaprece has one leg pointing to the sky as she hangs perilously on the the four inch wide beam. Without looking She throws her arms and head back as she blindly completes the back handspring. Nice. She is did well. Again.
My eyes close. She is on top of the podium, her medals are draped all over her. Camera lights flash as Kevin takes another picture. Kaprece competes in gymnastics, State. Level something. I don't know. She unwraps her wrists bands. There they are. Scars. Light brown patches on both wrists. They are from by the tubes that kept her alive some time ago.
My eyes close again. I see the helicopter. I hear the family crying. My nostrils flare. That anti-septic smell of the patient room come alive. I feel the coarse touch of hospital scrubs.
I close my eyes. Its not Kaprece. Its Rochelle. Rodney's sister, my cousin. She was so thin, barely 80 lbs. She wears that funky hat to cover her hairless head. Rochelle had cancer. She died. Not yet fourteen. Not even given the chance to grow up. Not given the chance to compete in gymnastics. Not given chance to finish high school like Andreas. I was so angry. Could not see straight. I was lost. Pain everywhere. I could feel it. It was the only thng I felt. Did not know what to do. Did not know where to go. Could not escape. Pain was all around me. In me. Growing.
Watching the chemo ravage her body made me feel so helpless. Her healthy physique just wasting away. I did not know how to help her. I did not know how to tell her I love her. It was not right. It was not fair. I had all this rage and pain inside.
Her death changed my life. Got into peer counseling. Joined the wrestling team. Got involved in Student Government. Became President of everything. I wanted to do everything and be everything. Her death changed my attitude of life.
Can't say I know how my neighbors are feeling. The loss of their 19 year old son over a car accident. Can't say I understand the purpose or meaning of their loss. I close my eyes thinking of Dad. Rochelle. Kaprece.
I open my eyes. I am on the kneeling pad as the priest says words of prayer. I am at St Mary's. Andreas' father wears sunglasses through the entire service. It is prounounced. No one else is wearing mirrored sunglasses at 6 pm at night in church. I understand now. It hides the redness. It hides hide his tears. Yet, I see the strength--and pain--of a father losing his only son. Andreas, at the starting point for next phase of life, taken.
His beautiful mother and sisters place their hand on the white-covered casket. They hold on. They knew when they let go, it would be the last time to touch their brother, her son. Andreas would be gone. It hurts to watch. So many people--young and old--at the Church. So many mourners waiting outside. They stood there by the hearst. The pallbearers--high school age--young men. Dressed in black. White gloves. Carrying their friend, their brother on his final journey. They place the gold casket in the hearst. Mourners waiting. Waiting. Waiting. So quiet. Young Andreas is driven away. His family stand and watch. Their only son, there only brother, gone.
Everyone stands motionless as Forever passes by.
It is cold. No sounds. No tears. It is quiet. So quiet.The silence is deafening. The sisters and mother shiver. Skies are dark. Everyone dressed in black. All of sudden like the ocean water rushing the beach, the mourners surround the family. Hugs given. Whispers of "I'm Sorry" boom out in the windy night sky. Babies begin to cry. Mothers start crying. Families start crying. It is a flood. A flood of emotions that bathes the entire crowd. So much sorrow. So much pain I can hardly breathe. I could not swim away. I am underneath. Its dark. I feel myself floating. No hope. No escape. Reluctantly, I surrender to the ocean. I just flow with it. Giving myself to the tide. Hope to come up in a better place.
I wait my turn. Wait to give my condolences to my grieving neighbors. So many people. Eventually, the ocean of mourners recede. Its my turn. I hug Andrea's father and whisper, "I'm Sorry for your loss." I turn to the Mother and Sisters, but they are in deep embrace with family and close friends. I'm neither. I decide to leave.
I don't know what my funeral will be like. Many people or none at all. I don't know. I remember watching part of Death of A Salesman and it hits home. My father was in Sales. A good sales person. I was good in sales. I am a Closer. Top in California and in the nation. I left. Did not to be remembered that way. Nothing is wrong with it. Sales is the lifeblood of business. I just wanted to be remembered for something more than just rebutting sales objections. I gave up wanting trophies and awards. I like them, but that is not the important stuff anymore. I mean I liked being in GATE, Advanced everything, AP whatever, Leadership this and President that, but looking back. I don't want to look back. It was who I was. It is not who I want to be.
I am no longer that person. I am person Becoming. . .
I feel a bit selfish talking about my self with the loss of my neighbor's son/ brother.
I know there is meaning to all this. Their loss. This accident. My loss. This everything. Right now I know my neighbors may not see the purpose for their son's death. I know there is one, but I can't see the Big Design. I know there is purpose to all this.
I'm not really close to our next door neighbor, but I felt compelled, obligated to be at the viewing and the funeral. Maybe it is losing my father, Rochelle, Michael--Almost losing Kaprece--that drives me to be with my neighbor I hardly know. Maybe it is my Peer Counseling training and a wanting to help. Maybe it is my realization of my mortality that drives me to be connected with veritable strangers.
Whatever reasons, I know that I just want to be connected. I suspect this one of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs. The need to Connect. Connect to my past. Connect to my future. Connect to my neighbor. Connect to my family and friends. We are all connected. There is a purpose for all this. I believe this purpose will be revealed in due time. I hope this blog, my first blog, can help others can see the forest while the the trees are in the way.
City of Angels--Meg Ryan and Nicholas Cage keeps coming to mind. May not know God's plan. . . you know the rest.
My first blog. . .Start at the end for this new beginning.
