The Aftermath
You may have told yourself that if you could just get through the funeral, that you would be ok. That is not always the truth for some people. The funeral was easy compared to what you face now, emotional and spiritual restlessness. What can you do? What do you do now without the person you loved so much in your life? It can be harsh to realize that today it is over. The wake is over, the funeral has passed and here you are. You are doing the same things, driving the same roads, living in the same house, but nothing will ever be the same again. Get a firm grip on that fact because we are about to learn that although things will never be the same again, you can improve on what you are, what you feel and what you do, because of the harsh loss you have experienced.
After Alex was killed in a car accident that I felt responsible for, I felt a whirlwind of horrible feelings. Guilt, sorrow, loneliness and anger just barely touched the surface of all the horrid things I felt. Things you never considered may begin to pop into your thoughts now that the hectic moment after their passing has passed you by. I remember a couple of days after Alex’s funeral I woke up in tears, and remembered something horrible. I never really told him I loved him. A couple of months before he died he had lost his drivers permit. He was very upset one day when we were discussing what he was going to do. He had been delivering pizzas and without a permit, how could he keep doing that? He was so upset at the thought that he would lose the car that he had worked so hard for. I told him very honestly, that if he couldn’t do the job, I would drive him and his pizzas around. I remembered that day the look on his face, the smile and the warm feeling he gave me when he looked at me and said “You would really do that for me?” Of course I would was my reply. I’m sure he knew I loved him in that moment. In my heart though, I kept feeling horrible because I had never just came out and said the words. Oh the pain and the guilt and the anger at how I should have said so, how I should have done more things that would have let him know. It’s not fair that someone who gave so much happiness and comfort to my life had to leave without my having told them just how much they meant to me. That day I learned a hard lesson for me. I had been raised to keep feelings that may make me vulnerable to myself. To not use the words I love you too freely, or they would be diminished from overuse. My reserved nature that had protected me for so long hurt me the most in the end. I had protected myself alright, but in the process I had hurt myself more then I would even be able to figure out for years to come. I hated myself for that for so long. My best friend died without me ever having just looked at him and told him exactly how much I loved him. We are all scared to bare our emotions to some extent. We seem to fear that saying those things will make us defenseless. To be honest they do just that. They make us vulnerable. Telling a friend you love them might make them think they can treat you differently, and you may fear that. Take a moment to reflect on someone in your life you may have this with. A friend or loved one that means the world to you, but has no idea the effect they have had on your life, your love. Imagine for one second living your life without them. Find the strength here and now to write it down, or call them and tell them. It may surprise them, or even upset them. In comparison to what you will feel like if you never speak those words, or share those feelings, telling them right now will cost you far less pain or struggle then living years and years beyond them knowing they never knew how you really felt. Consider how doing so will honor the love that you so recently lost. If that is not honoring a memory, and a lesson gained from it then nothing is.
For a couple of years after Alex died I kept telling myself that no one would ever replace him. Allowing someone to replace his position in my life would be doing a disservice to him. I was wrong, totally. I was only dishonoring him by not allowing myself to have that same love and respect for someone else. That was fine too. But I promised myself and Alex that the one who I would call my best friend again would earn that right. They would be at least what he was, if not more. They would have to do worlds of good in my life to be so labeled. This time though, they would know that I loved them. Every chance I got. Every time I felt it. That’s what Alex’s death taught me. I learned that I had to say it out loud. No matter how shy or reserved you are. When you feel it, say it. You may not get a tomorrow. You may have to live your entire life having the guilt on your heart and soul over something that would have taken you only one single moment of vulnerability to share. It’s worth the risk. Trust me, I know. I didn’t at that moment, but life showed me that I was more right at that moment of clarity then I had ever been.
It always amazed me the behaviors of the parents of the friends of mine that died. Such as Paul’s dad comforting me in his sons last moments. Like Alex’s mom approaching me at the funeral and apologizing to me for my loss. I was always stunned into silence. I couldn’t even fathom what kind of love it took to comfort me in those moments. She was the one who needed comfort. Her firstborn died, and his childhood friend was her concern. I understand now. It is those still living who concern us in a time like this. The ones who have passed on have already taken their walk to the other side. Those left behind are the ones who suffer. I have no idea what I would do were one of my sons to die. I would hope that I could show the compassion that they showed me. It’s unforgettable and impacting. I recall riding to the graveside service for Alex. As we turned into the cemetery a meaningful but sad song began to play on the radio. The friend I was riding with cried and told me she was sorry, and reached for the radio dial with a shaking hand. I told her no, to leave it. The song was describing a loss of love, having to leave before its time. The song even mentioned the day of the week, the same day we were burying Alex on. It spoke of a friend who had disappeared like the wind. Perhaps it was a message, perhaps not. One thing is certain. I will never hear that song again without seeing that exact moment in the cemetery. Somehow, I’ve got to carry on the message in the lyrics said. Yes, somehow, I knew I would have to. Little things like that can offer worlds of comfort later if you just take the time to savor those moments. Even if they are unpleasant, they could carry you when you have not the strength to carry yourself. Today when I hear that song, my chest gets a little tight and I reflect on where I have been, and how far I have come since that day. But it always brings back memories of the friend I so loved, his beautiful face smiling at me. The memory stings and brings love with it at the same time. It is and always will be one of those cherished memories.
With Paul’s death I learned the importance of living fully. You never know what might happen to you. You can be the most safety or health conscious person on earth and an illness can still sneak up on you and try to claim your life. His death took a bit of my teenage innocence. The part that it took, I could live without. I was nearly an adult; it was time to grow up. It was just an ugly way to have to do it. Alex’s death was entirely different for me. Whether it was different because of the length of time I knew the two, or because of the amount of time that I spent being close to each of them, I am not quite sure. It only matters that I took important lessons away from both of those funerals. I would never again take the love of a friend for granted. Any friend I had would hear my feelings towards them, good or bad.
Around five years later I met the person who may have very well been the only person I’ll ever meet that could have come remotely close to replacing Alex’s friendship in my heart. I was working in a manufacturing plant as a temp. My heart was still breaking daily over the loss of Alex. Yes, five years later I was still in much pain. I can say with certainty that I cried once a day for Alex. Probably more. I was so alone. Partially by my own hand, partially the loss of my friend. I refused to let anyone in. I had gotten married in the five years since I had lost him, but it did nothing to fill the empty space his death left in my heart. It should have, it just didn’t. I had even married a man for the wrong reasons, he reminded me of Alex. I had went into the marriage unhealed from my losses and falling into the same old trap of relying on another human soul to carry yours when you are too worn out to do so. All of the wrong reasons. I began to doubt that anything would ever bring me out of the hole I had let myself fall into.
One day while shaving some parts down a guy, very good looking and very outgoing, came and sat in front of me. I must have stared at him oddly because he laughed and asked me what was going on. He looked so familiar. We began talking and I found out he was the son of the only woman outside of my family that I had ever loved. His mother, Jen, had been a counselor in a facility I was placed in as an errant teenager years before. She was the one person who had taken up for a confused teenager. She had a backbone of steel. Even as a wild unruly teenager who thought she feared nothing. I feared Jen. I didn’t fear she would hurt me or anything so dramatic. I respected her. She demanded respect, and she got it. She got it from kids who respected no one and nothing. I had not seen her in years. When I found out that her son, Rob, was sitting in front of me in that plant that day, I felt an odd relief. I always felt that maybe Alex had sent him to me. It was going to take an incredible person to be my new best friend. Incredible sat in front of me that day. Rob was tall, long blond hair and had the deepest soul searching eyes. It felt like he read my soul that first day. Rob had a lot of female friends. He was a sort of playboy type. At the same time, he respected women. It was a new experience for me. One I will never forget. Whereas all these young girls were fawning around him, I was there to be his friend, a very good one. I think he knew that. We became so close so fast I didn’t really know what hit me. One day I was still crying myself to sleep, the next day I was laughing again. He was a true gift to me. With my logical brain it was safe. Rob was safe. I had a friend, and logic dictated that he would be there forever. Looking back now I know that Rob was the one person that seen the tough girl I was, but knew I still needed to be protected. Without ever having asked him, that is just what he decided to do. For quite some time I struggled with how much I cared for Rob, and how Alex would feel if he knew that all the love and respect I had reserved for him was being, even cautiously, given to someone else. I remember talking to Rob about Alex and how that all felt. I think that was when Rob realized that I was a tough girl on the outside, but so much love and softness underneath. Somehow, he figured out quickly exactly how to treat that. Within months we were best of friends. Best friends. We worked together every chance we got. We took our breaks together. Even the boss there realized how close we were and made sure we did get those breaks together. He made sure we were put on machines next to each other. We spent so many evenings at work, on break, sitting in his car discussing everything. Life, death, people we loved, people we missed. We talked about how we wanted to be buried when we died. We talked about all the ways we could die. Even though Rob was almost five years younger then me, he was just as intelligent as me, if not more so. His parents had raised him right. You could always see the respect and love in his eyes when he talked about his mom and dad. That was a new experience for me as well, one that I very much needed to see and be a part of.
Rob knew that my husband was abusive towards me, and it enraged him. Where most people will refuse to get involved, Rob refused not to. Where most people would lay down judgment on me for remaining with the man, Rob never did. He did exactly what a real friend would do. He covered me. He was there for me when things went bad, and he comforted me in my pain. He never raged at me in judgment, he never told me I was stupid. He only told me once, “I hope you get away from him before he kills you, but until you do, I am here for you.” Maybe I felt like all the suffering I had been through had earned me Rob. If that is the case, I would do it all over again. He was worth it. For four years we were inseparable. My husband didn’t like it of course. Even without the abuse factored in, most men wouldn’t like it much. Rob got all my respect and love, but then again, he deserved it. At that time in my opinion my husband, John, didn’t. I recall several nights where I would call John to let him know I was on my way home from Rob’s girlfriends’ house. John would be already drunk and Rob knew it. He would always watch my face when I spoke to John on the phone. He could tell by my expression what kind of reception I was looking forward to when I got home. Every time I got off the phone looking concerned, Rob was there. “I’m following you home.” I lived 30 miles outside of town.
I always told him he did not have to. He always knew how very much I appreciated that he wouldn’t let me talk him out of it. Rob was a lot bigger then John, and it became clear to him the first time that Rob escorted me home, that had he said or done anything out of line, Rob was going to make sure he couldn’t hurt me that night. He would come into my house, and sit there, sometimes for hours, until John slept, and he felt he could leave me in relative safety. Never judging me. If he got frustrated with my ignorance, he never said so. I always went home those nights with Rob following me, fearing the worst. I knew if John made as if to hit me, Rob might beat him, Rob might beat him to death. I resigned myself to that very thing many times. Love John as I did, I wouldn’t have ever defended him or stopped Rob from hurting him. He only did it for me. He protected me like no one ever had in my life. I think he knew that I endured the suffering because I simply didn’t know what to do with myself. I am not the type who is scared to be alone, but in the early days, my husband had reminded me so much of my long dead best friend, it was hard to let go of that entirely. This is exactly the reason why we have to look for our healing moments from the day we lose one we love. If we do not seek them, or do not find them, it’s quite possible that the loss will continue to cause us more losses, or even just bad judgment. I’m sure that bad judgment racks up the biggest death tolls all over the world. It has come very close to taking my life several times.
One night, four years into our friendship, in early spring, Rob and I went over to Toms house to visit with him. I’ve always kept in touch with Tom. So I wanted to take Rob over there to meet him and hang around a little bit, keep Tom company for a few moments. While sitting in Tom’s living room, Rob got up and went to the bathroom. He was in there for what even seemed like too long to me. I began to worry a bit. I had fears that Rob was doing some drugs that never do anything but kill or maim its users, but I also knew that if that was the case, I had to do what Rob had been doing for me for so long. Cover him. Not judge him. I was scared to death. When Rob came out of Tom’s bathroom my worst fears were confirmed. Rob was pale, sweating and had a sick looking smile on his face. My worse suspicions were founded, he was doing heroin. It took all I had to not just jump out of my chair and start screaming at him. No judgment Joy. He’s never laid me out and he very much has reason to. I loved him so much; I promised myself that very moment that he would know how much, that very night. When we left Toms house a little while later, I took a deep breath. I knew what I had to do wasn’t going to be easy. Love of a friend was stronger then my feeling of weakness for what I had to say.
“Rob, you know I love you don’t you?”
“Yea Joy, I know you do, you know I love you too.”
“Yes, I do. That’s why we have to talk.”
“I know”, he said. He sounded defeated a bit. My heart was pounding in my chest, my blood was throbbing through my veins. I knew this feeling. It was the same feeling I got when I learned Alex was dead. I remember as I was driving that I got stuck on some words in my head. Please, please, please, please. I didn’t even know what I was saying it in my head for until we reached his driveway.
“Rob, you can’t keep doing this. It is going to kill you. I can’t take that. I can’t be without you. Please Rob, please.”
I knew where he was coming from. Although I never had the problem he was having, I completely understood. He talked to me, in tears. He explained that he wanted to seek help. He explained that it was hard for him because both of his parents, whom he loved more then anything, were drug counselors in our city.
“How can I go get help without breaking their hearts?”
I became Paul’s tough love friend in that moment. My heart was shattering for Rob. I was angry and scared.
“Really? Well just how much do you think it will break your moms heart to bury her baby Rob? I want you to sit here right now and picture your moms face at your funeral. Do it.”
He broke down into sobs. I just grabbed him and we sat in his driveway for what seemed like hours, holding each other. I had never heard Rob cry. I had never even imagined that he would. So strong for me he had always been. I was the secret mess. For all appearances all of our friends thought we were the crazy ones, the risk takers, the ones that drove too fast and did all the wrong things and should have probably been killed by something long ago. In that moment, we were both just lost little kids. Him, wondering how to fix himself without hurting the people he loved, and I, wondering how to help him without losing the one I loved.
“I love you Rob, please stop doing this. I’m here for you; I’ll help you go get help in another city, another state if you want to.”
“That’s what I want to do Joy, I talked to someone about a place in Utah, that’s where I will go.”
We hugged each other one more time, hard. I didn’t even know I had strength left in me until Robs tight hug tore a bit of it from me. I didn’t care. I hoped he would take all my strength if it would only save his life. With all of the emotions I had felt in the past hour or so of talking to Rob I had almost completely forgotten that I had offered to give a considerably younger friend a ride home after I dropped Rob off. He was sitting in the backseat, quiet, which was something this particular friend wasn’t ever. Even though he didn’t know Rob, I knew even he could tell the situation was dire. His silence only concreted in my heart that this journey could only end badly. As I backed out of Robs driveway I remember telling him I was sorry for taking so long. His softly spoken “its ok” only increased my fears for Rob. I dropped him off and cried the 30 miles home that night. Feeling like I had lost Rob already. Thinking that even never quiet Chris knew something was horribly wrong by being so silent. I felt I sat there knowing with my very soul that eventually, this would take Robs life.
Things seemed to have changed after that night. We were closer if it was possible. If it was even possible, he shared even more of himself with me. He told me his deepest fears and biggest dreams in the year that followed. I never seen him look the way he did in Toms living room that night again. We didn’t discuss the drug. We simply did what we always had done, covered each other. I’m quite sure that he hid any future use of the drug from me. He didn’t want to hurt me more. I still worried. I still watched him. I still made sure he knew I loved him every chance I got, in play and in seriousness.
Late one night the following March, Rob, his girlfriend Felicia and I were all hanging out at her house. I once again made the call home, and once again, Rob followed me home. When we got to my house we all just sat around talking. Felicia’s brother was getting ready to go to college, so we discussed what he was going to have to do to get ready for it. In the morning Rob was going to be taking her brother out to get some supplies. Rob sensed some extra fear in me about my husband that night. I knew what he was doing when he made plans with me for the next morning. He was letting John know that he was leaving, but it would be only a few hours before he was back at my house, picking me up. Without instigating a fight he was letting John know that he was going home and pretty much coming right back, and any marks or bruises on me were going to cost him. After John went to the bedroom and passed out, I walked Rob to the door.
“Are you going to be ok?”
“Yes, I am now,” I said, smiling on the outside and within.
“Good, I’ll see you in the morning.”
I lay down on my couch that night feeling like everything would be ok. I knew I was right in thinking that even if my husband did hit me that night, he would pay for it in the morning. Knowing that if he hurt me badly, I would only have to suffer a few hours before Rob was there, repaying him for it.
As the phone rang and woke me up I realized I had actually slept a restful sleep for once in a long time.
“Joy,” the voice on the other end of the phone said. “It’s Felicia, Robs not going to make it up there today.”
“Oh, that sucks but ok. Why? What’s up? What are you guys going to get into?”
“Nothing Joy, Rob is dead.”
“Felicia don’t mess with me like that its sick. What the hell is going on?”
I cried. I didn’t even believe what she had said was true. I thought it was a sick joke.
“Joy, I’d never mess with you like that. He is gone Joy, gone.”
I know I hurt her with my comment. She was who I had been the day Alex died. She was the bearer of bad news, the messenger. I had been there, I knew how hard those phone calls were to make.
The receiver fell from my hand. I remember hearing screaming, Robs dead, Robs dead, Robs dead, Robs dead over and over. I wanted the voice to shut up. I wanted to kill whoever was screaming that in my face. I didn’t even realize it was me who was screaming. John came running out of the bedroom we hadn’t shared in a while. He fell to his knees in front of me and just held me, tried to calm me down.
The voice changed its mantra. “Kill me, Kill me now, damn you. I want to go with him. KILL ME!!!”
He didn’t say anything that I remember. Just held me and refused to let me move. I know that he knew something horrible inside me had just broken free. He probably saved my life by doing so. I am sure that had I gotten into my car at that moment to race to the city, I would have died along the way. I don’t know how long I lay on the couch that day screaming, but I know I screamed until I couldn’t scream anymore. The girl with the iron will and steel backbone had just died in his arms. I was the shell that I had seen Paul become so many years before. I wanted to die. I wanted him to kill me right there on the spot. I had enough friends who were gone already. They would welcome me to the other side. I had no fear. Living had suddenly become a burden. It is so much harder to live. I gave up. I had no strength left for this fight. Even in those raw moments I never considered killing myself. I just gave up worrying about being killed. All the natural fears we are born with, were dissolved in that one single phone call. I felt caged, beyond trapped. Suddenly my life was thrown into tunnel vision and I ceased to care if I’d ever find the end of that long lonely tunnel. I railed at God, at the creator, at Fate, at whoever had their hand in this. I kept telling myself, “But I loved him, I told him I loved him, I did the right thing, I did it ALL RIGHT! How could he be gone?”
It didn’t matter what I had done this time. Rob didn’t die leaving my house that night. I am not sure how I would have lived with myself if he had. He had died the next morning when he and Felicia’s brother were coming back from a department store after having gone out and bought some college supplies. He died crossing some train tracks, going 25 miles per hour. Tracks he had crossed almost every single day of his life. His car had flipped into a ditch that isn’t even big enough to cover my head if I stood in it. Not long enough to fit a bus in. When I heard the details of his death I felt I knew how he died. Heroin. He had likely just floated out of consciousness for a moment, a deadly moment. As his car flipped he was ejected and the car landed on him. Felicia’s brother had come through the accident unscathed. He had crawled out of the car and spent Robs last moments with him comforting him. Telling him he would be ok, he likely knew he wouldn’t. I have to be thankful for him. Had it been Felicia or I there that morning, our reactions would have made his last moments terrifying. A moment after he crossed those train tracks he would have been back at Felicia’s, picking her up for the trip to my house to get me, to check on me and to protect me.
“Bad things come in threes.” Rob used to say. He was a bit superstitious. I always joked with him about it. He was right this time though. Three dead boys. Ten long years, but three dead friends nonetheless. I had thought that my journey through these harsh lessons had ended with Alex. I had felt safe loving Rob, because the chances of him dying had to be slim. We teased and taunted death every chance we got. We slapped fate in the face with our wild activities that were reckless, carefree, and fun. That was the friendship, unrestrained. No one could have shared that but us in those moments. People who loved us would have been so mad at us had we died doing some of those stupid things. We always knew that, but still pushed the limits. Those things will always haunt me and yet still comfort me.
‘Only the good die young,’ the old saying goes. I believed that finally. Someone told me around that time that God takes the best ones back sooner. I hated that. I hated the people who told me that. Rob was my angel. Rob was protecting me, without him it was very possible I could be killed by my own ignorance. I didn’t care. Then I would get to see my long lost angels that much sooner I told myself.
A few days later I found myself at the funeral I had warned Rob about. I found out I still had a heart that day, because whatever was breaking in my chest was killing me. The conversation in the car that night haunted my every move that day. Rob and I had talked many times about being cremated. He was. There was no casket to peer into, there was no fake looking friend laying there to cry over. I recall thinking then that it was kind of strange, but I learned something in that moment too. All those times I had visited Alex’s grave, were useless to me. Alex wasn’t there, six feet below where I sat. Visiting a piece of grass with a stone on it was not honoring his memory; it was not doing his life justice. It was not good enough for me. It was clouding my own perception of what death was. As I stood on my toes to search for Robs mother Jen, I realized I would never go to Alex’s gravesite again. I would find other ways to honor him. I would honor him in my actions, not by dropping a rose on the place his body was laid to rest. His soul wasn’t there. Robs soul wouldn’t be in the urn that held his remains. The honor of those lost boys was in my heart and in my soul and in the actions I carried out in their names.
As I spied Jen across the room, the look on her face shook me. She was broken, as I was. When our eyes met across that room we peered into each others souls, for just a moment. Blinding pain was all that was there. I found myself near her soon enough. Here I was, looking at that face that I had warned Rob about.
Although I couldn’t even believe I had found a voice at all, I found mine. Still gravely from the screaming I had done days before, I offered all I knew I could without sounding stupid, or petty.
“Thank you Jen. Thank you for giving life to an angel. Thank you for raising him. Without you, I would have never known him.”
I walked away after that. I walked out of the funeral home and got in my car with my husband who was scared of me for once. I know it hurt him to see me grieving so hard for the love of someone who wasn’t him. I relished in it. Something died in me, something was also growing and I was scared to death of what life was about to bring me to.
I went home and wrote 3 pages of words about Rob. How great he was. How he was an earthen angel for me. How he had probably saved my life more then once. How his death had taught me how to honor him and my other friends. All the love and tears I poured into those words exhausted me. I was indeed a shell. I had grown up beyond what I ever wanted, or expected.
What do you do when it’s all over?
I have always been a face your fears type of person. When I was scared of heights I went into the tallest building I could find and looked down from a window. When I was scared of small closed places, I went into a cave where I had to untie a shirt from my waist to squeeze through a hole, in the dark. I don’t believe you can make progress through life if your fears stall you, stop you, and you never face them head on.
Go visit the places you and your loved one went together. Go alone if you do not want others to see your pain.
Write your feelings down. Write it as if you will share it, even if you never do. Write another one that is never meant for anyone’s eyes but yours. Put it in a special place.
Find the lessons in these miserable moments. You can find a lesson in about anything, finding a lesson in the death of a loved one should be relatively easy. Learn from those things. Act on them.
Change past regrets into good memories. I tried to find Felicia for about a year after Rob’s death to apologize to her for doubting her in that phone call. I never found her. If I run into her 20 years from now, I will apologize to her then. I do not carry that as a burden, I carry that as an honor I owe to Rob. He would be upset with me for hurting her, but he would understand why it happened. He would smile upon me for just wanting to right that wrong.
Find people who knew your loved one and talk about their memories. Talk about the good and the bad, and enjoy the visuals and thoughts that you gain from it. Honoring a memory requires that you face down those fears of how it may hurt to talk about it. It will hurt, but eventually the pain will cause the tears and hurt to turn into joyous memories you find you couldn’t easily live without.
Rely on your friends a bit. Without the close knit group of friends I have grown and matured with, I wouldn’t be half of the person that I am today. Just as I was there for them when they needed me, my strength, they were