Blotting of Light

A memoir I had to write for my creative writing class about tragedy and the adversities that come with it.

Blotting of Light

            The eclipse came at the end of summer. Many were fortunate enough to witness the great ball of flame obscured by the shining face of night, but I had missed it due to the rain and to work. Needless to say, I was disappointed. Such a historic astronomical event, and I missed it. However, I did manage to see another light in the world not only blotted out, but completely extinguished.

            Just months before, in June, after surviving a particularly exhausting semester and a nasty shingles infection, I discovered that my old friend and mentor, Deb Desteno, from my days at the First Presbyterian Church of Stillwater, had died. I was at a loss for words at the news, and when I attended her memorial, I was all the more devastated at the cause of her death: suicide. Apparently, between getting divorced, surviving cancer, being out of a job, and suffering from depression had all been too much for her. I was so taken aback. When I was in ninth grade, she was the one trying to help me get myself together, and was often disturbed by all the dark imagery that I surrounded myself with all the time. To hear that she left the world that way was such a shock. Prior to the service, I got in line to greet her youngest daughter, Marina Chaleen, for the first time in years. We hugged, and I told her I’m sorry for her loss, but beyond that, we didn’t say anything to each other. In retrospect, it seems ironic that “You Are My Sunshine” was played at the service.

            I had already been skulking in defeat for a while after that, between the pitiful excuse for an eclipse, my apparent failure to be prepared for my driver’s license, I kind of just wanted to call it quits and let things continue to fall apart. The first part of my year had gone well. I received an A in both my spring semester classes, I had finally started preparing to get my license, and it looked like I was just about ready to pass the test until an accident in the driveway. By then, I was beat. There was just too much that had disappointed me. That is, until my mom decided to let me take a couple more driving lessons with my instructor, Ken. She ultimately agreed to let me take the test, and with Ken’s help, I passed. For the first time since my graduation from high school, I made a major accomplishment in my life. One that was way overdue, if you ask me.

            Things were going pretty well after that. I felt confident and happy, ready to take on the world. Until one mid-October morning, as “Lamia” by Lord Belial was blaring in my headphones, another authority figure from my time at the church broke the news to me over Facebook.

 

Stephanie: Hey Ian, Sorry, but I have some more sad church news for you. Message me when you have a second.

Me: What happened?

Stephanie: This is sucky news for messenger but it is already out on FB - the paramedic

who was killed last night in an accident - it was Marina. I'm sorry, Ian.

Me: I wish I knew what to say.

Stephanie: me too. do you want to be kept in touch as more becomes known and set up?

Me: I would appreciate that. Thank you.

Stephanie: hugs. holler if you need to talk.

Me: I didn't know her quite as well as her mom, but this still hits close to home. Especially since I just saw her at the memorial a few months ago.

Stephanie: Got it. you take care of yourself. I am proud of who you are becoming!

Me: Thank you. I'm sorry that this happened.

Stephanie: me too. going back to work now. Take care

Me: You too.

 

As the conversation unfolded, I was once again at a loss for words. I couldn’t even really feel anything. Not sadness, not anger, just total numbness. I wasn’t even enjoying the music I was listening to, which now only seemed to depress me further. It was as though I was drowning and realized I could do nothing about it. I looked up information about that car crash, and sure enough, on Kare 11, it said Marina’s name, and displayed a picture of her with her sister, Miranda. I continued searching, and saw the final picture ever taken of her hours before the crash caused by the blindness of another ended her short life.

Shortly afterwards, I texted my mom to let her know, and she asked me to call her. We talked for a little bit before I hung up. Later that night, when my mom got home, she asked me how I was, and we hugged before I told her the honest truth. Afterwards, I went up to my room, wanting to be left alone to mourn in silence and the benevolent comfort of shadow, but my mom kept calling me into her room to show me the coverage on her untimely demise on Fox 9.

            The next morning, I had to go in to school to build a set for Century College’s production of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Since she still had some time before work, my mom took me there instead of my brother, like he usually would. On the way, she apparently thought it was a great time to get on my case about my homework, and guilt trip me for not working hard enough to keep my grades up, even suggesting that I stop attending after this semester ends “until I take my homework seriously.” I didn’t have much (if anything) to say to her before she dropped me off. This was nothing new with her, after all. She was and is notoriously bad with her sense of tact.

            Between the loss of my friend and the poor timing of my mom’s guilt trip, I only had enough clarity of mind to realize that I couldn’t go work on the set like this, so I visited my counselor to let some of the excess negativity out of my system. I ended up doing just that, even crying to her, my tears like acid to the tissues I dabbed at my eyes with. Shortly afterwards, I went down to work on the set. As had happened before, I had to leave early because the head honcho scene designer was a major prima donna who for some reason, needed to know a full day in advance that I would be there, so I was left with not much else to do other than go home and try to work on my homework for the rest of the day.

            A few days passed, and while things appeared to be okay with my mom now, I was still fairly morose, trudging through the days like knee-deep snow. There were a couple days when I wasn’t doing so terrible and actually managed to start looking up, until I received the GoFundMe page to help pay for Marina’s funeral expenses. On that same day, my mom took me out to Woodbury to buy some new shoes and look for a new mattress, and close to when we were heading out, I had sunk back into depression after looking at my Facebook and seeing a friend’s response to the link I’d shared. I was given a chance to take the driver’s seat, and despite my fear of crashing after hearing the news about the accident, I took the opportunity. Somewhere along the way, I made a few errors, and my mom chided me for it.

            “What the hell is wrong with you?” she asked, albeit softer than she did the last time she let me take the wheel. We didn’t speak for the rest of the drive home, and once we got there, she said she’s sorry for her reaction to my driving, and asked if I was okay. My response was blunt.

            “No.”

            I told her why, clarifying that it had nothing to do with her. Almost immediately, she gave me a hug and tried to comfort me. From there on out, and didn’t even try to hide the melancholy that I was so often taught to keep inside. Every interaction I had with those closest to me, I was honest, like a book left open and its pages free to turn. Whenever they asked me how I was, I told them about the accident.

            Over time, another strong emotion began to brew in me: anger. Anger towards the reckless ambulance driver who failed to notice the stalled semi that cost Marina (who had been sitting in the passenger seat of the ambulance) her life, whereas her own was spared. How could anyone be so stupid to miss something that should have been clear as day, even at night?

            It should have been her, not Marina. There’s no excuse for that. Because of her idiocy, a ray of light has been extinguished and left the world a darker place.

            Despite my newfound anger, the thought of trading places was also something I would half-heartedly think of at times. Of course, I knew that such a thing was an impossibility, anyway, so nothing ever really came of it, but I began to see myself as this horrible, unnatural darkness that the world didn’t need (only tolerating people who frustrated me for the pettiest reasons) whereas from what memories I had of her, she was always the first person to treat you with unconditional kindness. Always willing to listen to what you had to say. She deserved to live, not me.

            Once the time and place for the funeral had been announced, I requested (and was allowed) the day off work. The day came for the funeral. I woke up, showered, and got dressed in my best funeral attire before walking on up in my dress shoes to the Bradshaw Celebration of Life Center, where Deb’s memorial had been held just months prior. I got there, only to learn to my dismay that I’d read Stephanie’s message wrong, and that the actual service would be held at St. Andrew’s Lutheran Church in White Bear Lake. By then, it was too late to call an Uber, so I didn’t bother.

            I messaged Stephanie, letting her know that I’d be unable to make it to the funeral. She understood, and said she’d sign my name in the guestbook. Nonetheless, I felt ashamed that I was unable to make it, as though I’d disrespected her and those closest to her with my failure to make it. Another missed opportunity. When I told Stephanie my thoughts, she tried to comfort me, suggesting that I go and spend some time out in nature. Later on, after emailing Kat at Hope House to let her know that I wouldn’t be able to make it to volunteer that night, I spent some time inside and went digging through the DVDs to look for the recording of the play, Lady Pirates of the Carribean, we performed in together in junior high. Most of the performances in there were, well, pretty much what you’d expect from junior high students. Marina, however, stood out as a shining star amongst her peers, myself included. Granted, her performance wasn’t worthy of Shakespeare, but it brought a smile to my face to see her talent, and to feel as though in that hour, she was alive again.

            After finishing the DVD, I took Stephanie’s advice and hiked on up to the woods at Brown’s Creek Park, a short distance from my house. I trod through the fallen leaves, looking at the trees as I passed them, and eventually, just lay down, letting the rays of the setting sun shine down on me through the branches. It was then that I finally felt at peace. That I finally accepted that everything was going to be okay in the end, and that I would find my way through this ordeal. Granted, I had my days where I was still down in the dumps thinking of her passing, but for the most part, I was finally starting to move forward. Around a month later, I came to accept her passing.

            Today, I look back at Marina’s death in a different light, and I try not to be too mournful. Instead, I try to live it as she’d lived her life: hopeful even in the face of tragedy. But, although time heals all wounds, healing leaves scars. I have not forgiven the ambulance driver, although I know that she probably has it even harder than me, and perhaps just as hard (if not even worse) as what’s left of Marina’s family, because she actually has to live with being responsible for her death. Yet that gives me no satisfaction, and I’m sure that even if she did die, then I still wouldn’t be even remotely satisfied.

Occasionally, I still struggle with the stray thought that maybe it’d be better if I took her place. Maybe everyone would be better off if it was me that died that night, and not her. Then I remember that would make no difference in the end. That I still have people who care about me and appreciate me, and furthermore, that I have plenty of qualities beyond those surface-level flaws. As much as it pains me to know that sometimes, my mental illness can get the better of me and cause me to drag others down with me, my dying wouldn’t be worth it. Though I try not to base my existence on the opinions of others, I think that Marina would agree.