Man In Black

A story about a young girl struggling to find her faith and cope with the passing of a beloved family member.

 

Man in Black

 

                I remember walking to my grandparents’ house from school with my little sister on that cool October afternoon. The sinister air blew our hair into our suspicious faces. The screams of the fallen leaves beneath our feet concerned us: something was wrong. As we turned the corner onto our grandparents’ street I spotted the driveway. Usually occupied by my grandfather’s grey Dynasty, the driveway was now filled with cars belonging to my relatives; most suspiciously my parents’. My sister ran ahead of me, anxious to see what was occurring, while I quickened my pace and my mind blanked. As I walked through the open door I saw my Aunt Judy sitting in my grandfather’s armchair, sobbing into the phone. Somehow I could not hear the words she was saying. My feet carried me to the back bedroom where a collection of my relatives, including my parents who were now holding my sister, were. Oh God. My stomach rolled over and I knew what had happened before any of them had even opened their mouths.

                “Sam,” my Mom began, “Uncle Ross is in the hospital. They say he won’t make it through the night.”

                In an instant my world shattered, in a single second my heart had broken into a million pieces. My uncle, my best friend, my confidant: dying. In my eleven years only Ross had been my constant companion. When no one else would listen, he was always there. To share music, tell me stories, make me laugh, or simply ask about my day, my uncle was constantly at the ready. In my darkest moments he brought light. Looking back now I knew he was sick, but not dying, never dying. How could he die when he was only thirty? Ah, but I am getting ahead of myself. Let me take you to the beginning, where the story first begins.

***

                “Tag! You’re it!” my bratty cousin Josh says with a laugh.

                “Not anymore!” I yell as I poke him, adding, “No touch backs!”

                As he charges off in the opposite direction, my cousin Caitlin screams and runs with a chubby grin on her face. Every weekend it was customary for the entire family to get together at my grandparents’ house. The parents would sit in the living room and catch up while the children were sent to the backyard to plat. The only grown-up who wasn’t married was my Uncle Ross. I knew very little about my uncle other that the obvious: he worked, lived in his parents’ basement apartment, and drove a motorcycle. He always had friends coming and going; some who looked less than reputable. I can remember a group of men who would go into the basement, drink Pepsi, and talk to my uncle for hours while their motorcycles cluttered the driveway.

                As a child curiosity always got the better of me, and on that day I left my cousins in the backyard for the excitement of the unknown in my uncle’s basement. As I passed through the open door I noticed the air; it was heavy and thick with smoke. There wasn’t much light. I was cautious as I said hello to his friends and sat on the couch, leaning in to my uncle. They were watching a hockey game on the TV so I sat, patiently waiting for it to end and the men to leave so that I could claim the attention of my uncle. It was only the first period of the game, so I knew there was a long wait ahead of me. Ross lead me to the kitchen during the first intermission and poured me a small glass of Pepsi; his drink of choice. The fizzing of the black liquid as it deepened in the glass would forever be etched into my head: it reminded me of the poison Snow White’s stepmother used to send her to sleep.

                When the game was finally ended and the cigarettes extinguished, it was time for the men to leave. One by one, adorned in black leather, they mounted their motorcycles and left noisily in a cloud of exhausted which looked like serpents intertwining. Returning back to the basement I thought about how nice it was that Ross watched the hockey game with his friends. Something my father seldom did. How could I have been so naive? I would not know until years later when it was painstakingly obvious that I interrupted something important that day.

                “So, what’s up?” He said, staring at me with genuine interest and an earnest smile.

                “What do you mean?” No one had ever asked me what was going on through my head. I was young, it didn’t seem to matter to anyone what I was feeling.

                “I mean, how are you? What’s going on in your life?” He finished with a wink, making me laugh.

                “Well, I’m a little worried about Grandpa...Mom says he’s sick with pneumonia.”

                “She’s right. But don’t worry, Grandpa is a strong man and he’ll get through it.” Ross moved beside me and wrapped me up in a hug.

                That day marked the first of many talks that would take place between my uncle and I. At least once a week I would sit on the couch and spill my guts; letting him in on every detail of my life. He was my only confidante in the world. The talks became a ritual; one which would not be disturbed for anything. If the phone rang he would let it go to the machine. Aside from talking, Ross liked to have fun with me. He introduced me to hockey, which I was never really smitten with, and video games. We would play video games for hours and he would never let me win on purpose; it made me feel great when I won because it felt like a true accomplishment.

                With one side of my family looking stronger, it stands to reason that Einstein’s theory would apply: for each action there must be an equal and opposite reaction. My dad’s uncle Mike passed away, and it was the first time I had occasion to experience death. My mother took me shopping for an appropriate ensemble. I hated to wear black, but I was told it was out of respect. When we came to the shoe department of the store, my mother handed me a pair that was a size too big.

                “You’ll grow into them.” What an idea; growing into “funeral” shoes.

                A few months after Uncle Mike’s funeral, things seemed to go from bad to worse. One evening my mom received a phone call from my grandmother which brought her to tears. I watched her cry and ask the same question repeatedly, “will he be ok?” When she placed the phone on the receiver she called for the family to join her in the living room.

                “It’s Ross...” she whipped away her tears. “One of his friends slipped some Ecstasy into his can of Pepsi as a joke. You know how he was always counselling people, telling them to quit drugs. Well anyway, he was allergic to it. Grandma took him to the hospital, he has brain damage.” I thought of my mother as a pillar of strength, but she couldn’t help it, she broke down into tears and so did I.

                “There’s more,” my mother continued through her sobs, “when they were giving him tests they discovered some abnormal cells. It may be cancer.”

                My dad held my mother and assured her that everything would work out, but I knew from that moment that it wouldn’t. When Ross was discharged from the hospital we weren’t allowed to visit. He didn’t know who anyone was. My heart sank in the realisation that my best friend no longer knew me; no longer knew how to make a sandwich. I had never seen my family so broken. Every day became a challenge for us, not knowing if today was the day that Ross would come back to us. We never knew if he would begin to love and trust us again. As hard as it was for us, it had to be a hundred times harder for him. How would it be to feel alone and scared all the time? To be in constant fear of being hurt again? It was beyond my comprehension. One thing I was certain of now was that Ross needed help, and just as he had been there for me, I would be there for him.

                It took months and months of steady visits and trying to get him to remember. But during those months my family grew to become stronger, closer. When before our family had been so broken, the swift change in attitude was confusing at first, but it was all because of Ross. We found that his memory returned slowly at first, and then seemingly all at once. He remembered how to cook, how he liked to dress, and most importantly: who he was. He came back to us, the old Ross, no longer frightened or unsure. He knew us now, and it was as if everything had returned to normal; the lights turned back on and life as we knew it resumed.

                A year had passed and I was blissful with apparent perfection of my own small world. My weekly rituals with Ross resumed and I found myself asking more provoking questions. I learned about who he was at the core, his interests and his values. He confided in me about his previous drug addiction, and how it ruined him; causing him to lose himself.  I asked him how he stopped, how he pulled away from a life of drugs and alcohol. He told me quite simply: “there by the grace of God.” It was powerful to hear that with God’s help my uncle was able to turn his life around. It gave me hope. Ross and I would talk until my grandma came to give Ross his medication. It made him sick, so I had to leave.

                Soon after that our visits to my grandma’s house got less frequent. My parents told my sister and I that we needed to five them and Ross both time and space. Then, on the cool 21^st of October, walking to my grandparents’ house after school, I saw the driveway. That night my mother stayed with my uncle and grandparents at the hospital, phoning periodically to update my dad who, no matter how many times my sister and I plead, remained tight-lipped. When I went to bed I didn’t sleep well. My dreams turned from peaceful rivers to screaming nightmares.

                I woke to the sound of a hairdryer humming a few rooms away. Turning to my alarm clock I saw that it read 3:34 A.M and my stomach sank. I walked from my bedroom to the bathroom where I saw my mother, half way through her morning routine, only a few hours too early. I sat on the edge of the bathtub, looked at her, and knew. Gentle tears spilled down my cheeks as she spoke.

                “I’m sorry, Sam, he passed away last night.” As an appeasement she added, “He died in his sleep.”

                Grievance turned to anger. “How could you have kept me from him? He’s dead! I’ll never see him again.” Angry sobs shook my body.

In the next instant my mother’s arms were around me. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t have recognized him. His body was a shell of who you knew him to be. But he did tell me that he loved you, very much.”

Before that day I had never been angry with God, but through all my prayers, how could He ignore me? How could he take my uncle, my best friend, when I had prayed so hard for him to be okay?

The day of the funeral I dressed in black, slipping on the black shoes which were bought over a year ago. Mom was right; I did grow into them. As we stood at the grave sight, my high heels digging in to the soft earth beneath me, I looked down into the empty grave. The minister spoke as solemn faces looked on. In his words I found something I had not yet considered.

He said, “We pray that you take Ross to be with you in Heaven, free from pain and filled with love.”

It occurred to me that maybe God had listened to my prayers, and even more startling, that He had answered them. I prayed each day that Ross would get better, and now he was. In Heaven there would be no pain, no chemo, no sadness; and for that I could be thankful. Even though I couldn’t hold Ross in my arms, I could hold him in my heart, which is far more fulfilling.

In thinking about Ross, I came to a conclusion. Perhaps what shapes us the most are not the ever-fixed mountains, but the shooting stars who leave as quickly as they come; lighting up your life for the sweetest of seconds. In writing this to you I look not for sympathy or words of comfort. In telling this story I have found a certain solace. Though his life is over, mine has just begun and through it I will carry his message: live life to the fullest and never be afraid to make mistakes; you will learn something from each one.

Reviews

[CassieLynne]

wow :O he sounded amazing.