Strange as it may sound to individuals who cling so desperately to life that they will torture themselves for one more breath, I wish I could have died before anyone else in my family. That, you see, is a coward's way out of mental duress. This is by far the worst blow ever driven into me; if one was to sum up the worst possible occurrence to give to me, fate couldn't have picked a riper apple. It's not that I don't care for others. . . but Norm was special to me.
I also hate to see Mom and Dad so terribly wracked with pain. Not one child has been left unscathed by bad luck, while some families live a storybook life or screw up their lives out of their own stupidity. There is no such thing as justice in life. There is no equality or fairness. It is a fragile world, and so many seem bent on self-destruction while Norm simply wanted to live in harmony.
Only yesterday I was lamenting my inability to do things alone. I'm scared to go on walks, etc. . . especially now that I feel at a rather low ebb physically. Now I must do things on my own or not do them at all. And it's not the doing, but the mutuality of sharing a joke, a glance, or idle conversation. He won't be there, and he will be so horribly missed. I hope you have found your ultimate peace, Norm.
I woke up this morning to the sound of harsh, uneven gasps of breath. I thought Norm was having a bad dream, so I hurried to his room, only to find him on the floor; his chest and waist were along his bed and his legs were tangled in the bedsheets. I shook him and yelled his name, but no response was made. After several sputtered expirations of air, he seemed to attain an unearthly calm. I suddenly thought, "this may not be just a bad dream.". . . he wouldn't wake up. I ran downstairs at 6:20 A.M. and told Mom… she woke Dad and they went upstairs. He still was the same and I dashed for the phone and dialed 911 . . . they were here in five minutes. I kept flicking the yard light as they approached our house. . . a crew of two paramedics and later two policemen. All the while before they arrived, Mom and Dad were administering CPR… they took him out on a stretcher, still in the same state. I believe that I witnessed his last breath. I lost my touchstone.
Dad kept saying, "can you believe this?" I was shaking violently, still in my nightgown. I felt as if my bowels wouldn't hold. Mom was so worried about covering him up as they left the house; he wore only his bottom half of his sweats. His arms were dangling over the side of the stretcher as he was carried through the doorway… the paramedic told Mom not to worry, that the main thing was to get him to the hospital.
As I was dressing I felt disgust within myself at my concern to put on my make-up. Why should I care what I look like? We were taken to a small room to wait, it was cooler. I had to use the bathroom. A woman was there with us most of the time. . . to console us or help in case we "went off the deep end."
I still hoped that with the technically high developments, they would revive him. They worked and worked; Dr. Murrell said it was very bad. Later he came in again and said that he was gone. I was thinking that I'd be asking him how it felt to be gone and then revived. What passed through his mind? I never got the chance. I wonder if Norm knew I was trying to wake him. Perhaps that which comes after earthly existence was so sweet that he chose not living. Maybe it's that good. I hope so. For Norm.
I felt as if I had been reduced to a pulp after a calamitous beating, yet I could walk, talk and seemed to answer in a relatively normal fashion. My insides felt like so much lead; I felt dead, bereft of all poignant senses. Weak-kneed, we headed toward the parking lot, leaving Norm's body on the operating table. There would be an autopsy. . . none of us wished to see him again before they removed his corneas. I didn't want a blue-lipped memory of Norm, color had drained from his lips while he was at home.
Mom and Dad had to begin making arrangements for his cremation and his memorial service. I chose to remain at home and alone in the house. I promptly sat down and wrote page after page of my feelings, needing to express myself with a certain degree of permanence afforded by written words. It was as if I felt panic stricken that I might forget a facet of Norm if I didn't capture everything now. Finally, exhausted, I decided to go upstairs. Hesitant to relive the mornings events, I climbed the stairs and looked about. It seemed so empty, so utterly lifeless. . . the sun was obscured by gray clouds which multiplied the lonely effect. Had Norm been alive, the place would have simply been a room. Now it took on a character of its own, as if a bloodless ghost sought to haunt my mind with idiotic schemes. Reality hits hardest when loneliness sets in. I didn't associate God with loneliness; the two were separate, and to bond them would have been inconceivable. God did not forsake me. I am part of Nature… this is natural, as is my grief.
I began to straighten the furniture which had been hurriedly displaced to facilitate a wider exit with the stretcher. Looking at the tangled mass of bedsheets sprawling about the floor, I determined to change the bedding, and thus save Mom some of the stress. I felt like a mechanical man, functioning precisely as I'd done countless times before; doing menial tasks brought no comfort. . . it only helped to pass the day.