Life Unexpected

In life, unexpected things happen. Sometimes they are good things, but many times, they are the most horrible things that take people longer to recover from, like death. When an unexpected death happens, nobody seems ready for it. Shockingly, it takes you more time to absorb what happened, unlike when you are aware of the situation.

A crisp, chilly Wednesday afternoon, on January 29, 2007, started out as a perfectly normal day. A sophomore in high school, at Dubuque Senior, I just got out of school and like every Wednesday, my bald headed, goofy dad and I always go over to my Grandmas to eat up some delicious supper and play liver pool rummy, a game that never goes forgotten in my family.  Excited, I got all of my work finished, so that I could spend more time over there.  

            In the meantime, my best friend, Kim with radiant, medium, straight blonde hair called and asked, “Do you think that you could come over tonight.”

I thought for a second and answered her with a soft tone, “Sure.” There went my usual Wednesday, but I thought to myself that next week I would go over. I called my dad up and told him, so he drove me out to Kim’s house and then went over to my grandma’s.

I got home about 10:00pm that night, and completely exhausted, I went straight to bed. I dreamt that night that something bad happens sometime soon. I never received a clue of what I should keep my eyes out for. When I woke up in the morning, I looked around me and fell back asleep.

            My uncle Ed was a fun loving guy who was interested in the western lifestyle. He always dressed in cowboy boots, and a brown or white cowboy hat. On Thursday, January 30, exactly a month after my uncle Ed’s birthday, my Grandma woke up at 5:00am to find that Ed failed to wake her up to take her medicine and put her eye drops in. My Grandma with teary eyes announced, “I went to the stairs and looked up to where Ed’s bedroom lay, and the light was on. I thought he was just getting up, so I shouted his name multiple times, but he never answered, and Gypsy would not come down stairs either. I called the boys, Bill, Bob, Dale, and Ray.” Gypsy was Ed’s black dog, which I helped pick out at the Humane Society. Soon enough, my gray haired Aunt Martha who developed arthritis and walks with crutches came out of her small, green colored room that lay in the corner of the kitchen. She asked, “Is there something wrong with Ed?” My Grandma’s eyes got big and she mumbled, “I think so.”

            My bald headed uncle Ray who looks like he could pop out triplets got to the small lime green house on Jackson Street first. He went up through the living room, walking on the brown shag carpet, and the walls filled with pictures of family and up the brown-carpeted stairs. When Ray got up the stairs, Ed’s glasses still sat on his nightstand, and the country western books he reads every night before bed lay right next to him. Ray felt his forehead; it chilled Ray’s hands with an ice-cold feeling. Next, he checked to see if his heartbeat still ticked. Waiting to hear the news at the bottom of the stairs stood my Aunt and Grandma. Ray said with his deep voice, “He’s gone.”

            Ed, unfortunately, died of a heart attack in his sleep. My Grandma then called 911, and the ambulance came to get him. Awakened by my mom, tears rolled down her face. “What’s wrong mom? What’s going on?” “I just got a phone call from your Grandma and she said that Ed died.” With my sleepy ways, I thought she said my Uncle Denny, and then she repeated herself. “WHAT! How could this happen? He was perfectly fine last night!” I shouted as loud as I could.

            I was full of tears because this came as a big shock to everybody, and I never expected this tragedy to happen. I spoke to myself within my mind ‘Never will I get through this school day, and track practice, without everybody asking me what happened. How can I possibly concentrate the whole day?’ I wanted to stay home, but I never got to choose if I wanted to or not.

            My mom yells, “Get ready for school, honey.” I hurry up and in no time, my friend, Rose and her mom, Jane pull up in front of my house. I walk out of my house, with my eyes all puffed up and teary eyed. Opening the car door, all I can hear are the words, “What’s wrong?” from the both of them. I tell them the whole story, and of course, like Rose, she could always make me smile and forget about the pain.

            When Rose and I got out of the car at Dubuque Senior High School, everybody looked at my face as if it deformed overnight, and I became a little insecure. “It will be alright,” Rose said. We walked up the stairs, all the way up to third floor where the location of our lockers remain all through high school. Just like every morning, all of our friends waited for us to arrive. They all asked what arose to make me cry buckets. I gathered my books and walked away because I could not talk about it, and I figured that Rose would tell them.

            After setting my books down into my first hour German class, I usually walk around. Instead, I sat at my desk, with my head down. Shortly after the bell rang, everybody piled into class. They all saw that my eyes looked red with sorrow, but decided not to ask, which I liked.

            I made it through my first four classes. These hours remained the toughest so far and it only got worse as a migraine slowly pinned my head. I went to go run my every day passes for the office; I got all teary eyed again.  Julie McCaw, who always gives me the passes asked me “What’s wrong, Sarah” and I told her. She gave me a great big hug that just made me cry even more. This day seemed like a never-ending ocean, and I leveled out to remain the saddest fish in the sea. I ran my passes, and then went back for my last two classes. I tried as hard as I could to keep my emotions stable, even though it became more difficult.

            After school that day, I needed to go to track practice. My dad showed up to tell Coach Lynn what happened, and she told me that I should not stay if I could not handle it. Strong willed I stayed but only ran 2.5 miles out of the six we were supposed to run.  I figured that I might as well get some running in because nothing could get worse than the situation which my family got slapped with. After I finished running, my dad picked me up in the parking lot.

“We are going to go to Grandma’s. Everybody is over there, and we are figuring out the arrangements, and who is participating in what at the funeral,” my father explained to me, keeping his emotions inside. When we got over there, papers fled all over the table, as if the whole house exploded into one tiny space.

With everything discussed when we got there, there was “One important thing to ask” my Uncle Ray said.

Continuing, he looked at me and asked, “Would you like to read Ed’s eulogy?”

“Of course I would! I’m honored!” I replied. They all knew that I always would stay as one of the closest nieces to Ed.

            The time passed slowly, and I took Friday off school, so that I could cope. Saturday, would be the funeral and I knew that I would need a day of rest. That Friday, I slept the whole day away and by the time I woke up it was already 7:00 at night. I opened up my curtains, and the stars looked down on me and I imagined that Ed was one of those stars. I kept looking up to the sky, hoping that Ed was looking down on everybody to make sure they were all right. Ed never liked when anybody worried about him.

            Standing at the window for about ten minutes, I could feel his spirit. I then hoped back into bed and slept the night away with a few tears rolling down my eyes. Shiny, crystal like tears, melted into my skin. In the morning, I awoke by 8:00 am, so that we could be at Behr’s funeral home by 10:00 sharp. Hurrying up, I got dressed and read over the eulogy one last time before I would reciteit in front of many people. 10:00 came too fast. The funeral home was filling with many familiar faces, and faces that I have never seen before in my life; some of them were family. There were not nearly enough seats, so many stood.

            As the funeral started, people spoke and they played some lovely songs that Ed would have loved. My cousin Phaedra sung Amazing grace with her beautiful soprano voice that filled the room. When she was finished, it became time for me to go up to the pulpit. It frightened me a little bit, because Ed’s body lay right behind me, and funeral homes scare me anyways. It took me about five minutes to speak, and I moved back to my seat quickly.

My Grandma leaned over and told me “You did a wonderful job. Ed would be so proud.” “Thanks, Gram,” I replied softly.

            After the service ended, we all processed to Memorial Garden’s Cemetery, located on highway 151, south of Dubuque. A cold day out, they could not bury Ed for about a week, because the ground was too hard. As many people that could fit, got into their little building and the pastor said a few words. He handed my Grandma the flag that was on top of his casket, and she broke down.

            Leaving to get into the cold car, we went back to my Grandma’s house, where a home-cooked meal waited. All tired after that long day, My Grandma said she wanted to get some sleep, so we let her after we all gobbled down the food and helped her clean up.

            Even to this day, I will never forget how Ed died, and how very much I regret not going over that night. I never knew that he was going to die at such a young age of fifty-nine. I always blame myself for not saying goodbye, even though it is not my fault. Not a day goes by that I do not think about Ed and the impact he had on our family. Always and forever, he will remain close in our hearts.