Friday, December 14, 2012

Tissue Memories

As news of todays tragedy in Connecticut trickled in at work, my coworker put forth the idea that the children who survived the shooting will be forever changed and affected by the horrific things that they saw. At the time, I had thought that all of the murder victims were in the 4th grade, and that led me to remember the tragic event that befell me at the exact same age...

The year was 1993. I was 10 years old. My classmate, Jonathan Sellers, was murdered. I did not witness it, like the poor children of Sandy Hook. Thankfully. Nor was a gun used in the crime. Jonathan was raped and strangled to death along with another boy that I didn't know. Even now as I write this, a memory floats back to me, seeing him the day he disappeared. He was on his bike, riding towards the group of friends I was with. In fact I believe he and Charlie, whose name I learned later on the news, rode past us, to the top of the hill that dead ended my street and back downhill past us, having built up a good amount of speed. I believe he was smiling.

It was a day or two later that I saw the first news reports of their missing, and then eventually, the discovery and their deaths. I didn't know what to make of it. They were a remarkably long way from home for 10 year olds on bikes (Charlie was actually 13). I remembered that only a year earlier I had gone as far away from home as I ever had, on my bike, and with Jonathan. It wasn't even a third of the distance he had traveled, but it scared me none-the-less. I believe that's why I had stopped hanging out with Jonathan. Maybe he was too daring, too bold; but as I befriended and unfriended so many different kids in the neighborhood over the years, for so many different reasons, who could say? It was not lost on me that it could've been me there with him, or my friend Wayne.

I went to Jonathan's funeral with my Dad. A lot of classmates were there. I still have the program and the black lace armband that were given to all in attendance. I remember walking past the open casket at the end of the proceedings and seeing the marks on his neck. He was smiling. Not quite as large as when I'd last seen him but as best as he could under the circumstances.

I don't remember, or maybe I don't want to remember, shedding any tears at the time; though I can assure you I am shedding them as I type this. Our elementary school brought in grief counselors. I remember seeing a 3rd grader, Kenneth (unfortunately and publicly nicknamed "Dickens" by his parents), going to talk with the counselors and thinking, "What could he have to say to them?! He's [Dickens] not even in our grade."

I had already dealt with death by this time. My grandfather died when I was 5, the 25th anniversary of which was 9 days ago. I was watching Saturday morning cartoons with my sister, when I heard my grandmother scream. I was watching ALF Tales. An episode where an animated ALF was doing a Robin Hood parody. I'll likely never forget that. I walked over to where the commotion was and saw my grandmother on the floor of the bathroom with my grandpa. She was zipping him up. He'd had a massive heart attack, while or just after urinating. I'd rather not know those details.

I'm told that at his wake I approached the casket and told my grandpa to "wake up." Puns were beyond me, I can assure you. I have no recollection of doing this. My Mom tells me that my grandpa used to play dead with me for fun but I also have no memory of this. All I remember is being taken outside and walked around and talked to by my Uncle Johney, who distracted me with trivia about the things we saw in the nearby store windows. I remember him telling me about moccasins. There must've been a weird shoe store around that mortuary in 1987. I also remember this being the single reason for declaring Johney: my favorite uncle.

Perhaps that's why I never saw a counselor after Jonathan's death... I certainly had a family support system around me. And maybe by the time I was 10, I'd already accepted that death happened. I can't say for sure.

What is weird is that 3 or 4 years ago, out of nowhere, I was struck with the memory of myself, around age 10, waking up in the middle of the night, going into the bathroom, and crying in pain for what seemed like hours. What confuses me still is the cause. I remember distinctly feeling physical pain. Very generalized. But also a bit like when the guy turns into a wolf in An American Werewolf In London. I don't know. I believe when this memory came to me it was during a discussion with my ex girlfriend about growing pains. The literal pain of your body growing. I'd never considered that to be more than the title of a sitcom. Could that have been what that was...? Or was it the grief? I can't really put together the timeline in my head.

I think that around this same time I had a melancholy obsession with two songs, "It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday" by Boyz II Men and "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen. Both come out around that time, or in Queen's case been re-introduced by the movie, Wayne's World. I remember sitting and listening to these songs over and over, sometimes staring at photos in magazines intently. "It's So Hard..." is still one of the saddest recordings ever made. I can't hear it and not think about Jonathan. I recall being very aware and concerned with my own mortality. Partly because I literally felt physically ill at times and I have to assume due to being exposed to death twice in my first 10 years. The lyrics in the verses of "Bohemian Rhapsody" are all about death.

"Mama, just killed a man... Too late, my time has come... Body's aching all the time... I don't wanna die, sometimes I wish I'd never been born at all..." These were all so striking and sad and they just resonated with me at a time when death was all so real. I never got outwardly depressed. I don't think anybody knew. These episodes would happen late at night while everyone else was asleep. I've never contemplated suicide. I may have wished for death once during a particularly bad ear infection though. I just kind of knew death happened and felt like that was what happening to me during these episodes.

I wish I could say for certain that they were caused by grief. I don't recall expressing it in front of anyone in any way. So maybe, behind that bathroom door, in the middle of the night, my body just let it all out. Maybe it was growing pains.? That was definitely in the works at that time.

What I can be sure of is that the events of today reminded me of the fact that I am not, and likely none of us are, that far removed from tragedy in some shape or form. I don't think anyone can tell us how to grieve; one can only be there to help us through it. That in itself can be a tall order. I can say that writing this has been therapeutic.

It will be 20 years this March since Jonathan was killed. The man responsible sits on death row. Some dogs need to be put down is all I'll say on that matter. Perhaps a post for another day...

I guess in conclusion I should say that I hope the survivors of Sandy Hook can be helped, that they're able to reach out and seek counsel, which will be hard to know at such young ages. I know that it can only help to mend the internal wounds of this day. And hopefully, in the future there will be far fewer incidents like these to grieve.

2 comments:

  1. Charlie was my best friend. I've wrote about him for many years in my journals, dreamt about him for many years, and blamed myself for many years. See, even though I was just 12, I believed I had failed to be there for him. Even though I would have probably been killed, I felt like I had let him down. I couldn't go play that day. I'm pretty sure it was because I was perpetually grounded.

    I didn't go see them for the funeral. I spent it laying under a truck; soaking in the oil. Just staring and letting my mind wander. I just sat there staring at my fear. My mind projected images no 12 year old should have. Images of what happened, images of the rumors, images of how I could have saved him, images of him in the casket.

    What saved me? Many years later I had a girlfriend who held me as I cried and said "Its not your fault. Say it! Its not your fault." I said it and meant it. I was free to love again. The free flow of love, joy, and kindness flowed through me in a way I had never imagined was possible.

    I think its interesting that you thought that going to Rally's was far away. We were explorers. We would go under the freeway where the street ended and go hunt for frogs after it rained. We'd go up into the mountains when the dirt bikes would makes circles in the dirt. We'd meet kids on different blocks and connect people from different parts of the neighborhood. We were EXPLORERS.

    Charlie will always be my friend. He was my friend having the best human experiences possible as long as he could. ...and that I miss my friend. I miss him so much. ...and he was supposed to be here with me. ...and I needed him. I need him as an adult.

    I continue to this day exploring. I continue to this day to push the boundaries further than anyone I personally know. I am still part of what we created. I still link people together from different walks of life.

    From having looked within, I know that these kids will be okay. They'll need the help of their parents, friends and community. Some, like I did, will need to know that its not their fault. The moments they had with their friends were a gift that will only become more precious over time.

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  2. I'm not sure how you found this blog, but I am very glad that you did and that you shared your thoughts. I'm sure I know many people who were also affected, as it ravaged our whole community.

    I'm not sure where you live(d), nor Charlie, but Jonathan and I lived close to the 805. So Rally's was a pretty long ways away. That had to have been 3ish miles... I'm pretty sure they hopped a bus to get there. But that was far beyond what my parents would've allowed. When Jonathan, Wayne, Gabe, and I rode to Los Altos Elementary, I thought that was crazy. That's me though, always the safer path.

    Again, thank you so much for sharing.

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