I remember that day so clearly, which is strange because I have little or no memory of the weeks and months before or after it. Yet, everything that happened that day, well most of it, is etched into my mind. It was a Friday. December 8th, 2000. It started when I was on the school bus coming home from a day of fourth grade classes. In the front of the bus was my little brother, Joshua, that had started Kindergarten, toward the middle was my cousin, Brandon, and my older brother, Chris, sat near me somewhere in the back. I recall with such irony that I was so excited for it to be Friday. My dad and step mom would be coming to pick Chris and I up to visit them for the weekend. My parents were divorced, since before I was two, and my dad had recently moved to Marrero, which was an hour drive. We only saw him every other weekend, so I was one thrilled nine year old. Boy, was I horribly wrong.
In the neighborhood we lived, Brandon lived diagonal from us about a five minute walk or less from us. He was the first of us to get off usually. As we neared his stop, I saw his mother, my 'aunt' outside waiting at the bus stop, which was unusual. When we stopped, she came to the bus door and hastily ordered for my brothers and I to get off there. We did as we were told and went into the house. After a few minutes, Aunt Cathy came to us all in her living room with news that I didn't quite understand at first. She said, "Your dad has been hurt," along with other things that I can't recall. I freaked out only to realize she was talking to Brandon, not us. So it wasn't my father, as I'd thought, but my godfather. We all stared up at her, waiting for more details. I'm not sure how she worded it or how blunt she was as I think about it now, but Aunt Cathy told us my godfather had shot himself. Shocked and filled with fear, we were silent for a moment before Brandon burst into tears and hugged his mom for comfort.
The rest of the evening was spent in worry while I sat silently on her couch, not able to cry as much as I wanted to. Chris played Final Fantasy for hours, which I found rude at that age, but later understood it was his way of being in shock. As for Josh, I'm not too sure what he did for those hours, but I don't believe he could grasp it, the poor five year old. We didn't get much news except that our mom was with the police being questioned about the incident. I can't remember how long we sat there, local family members coming in and out, before there was a call from the hospital. My Paran Mike was officially brain dead. My aunt Cathy and Brandon left us with some of the adults and went to the hospital to see him one last time before they pulled the plug. My brothers and I weren't allowed to go.
Not too long after that, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see Mrs. Jeanie, my step mom. I'd totally forgotten about my dad. Chris and I told her what had happened and gathered the stuff we had and left. My dad was waiting for us at his friend, Ms. Jackie's house. When we got there, we stood in the living room while Mrs. Jeanie went to tell my dad. When they came out, the situation turned into a group hug with my dad crying. Still no tears came for me, and I felt quite awkward. My mom, godfather, and my dad had been best friends for 13 years, so they were really close. Soon after that, we departed for Marrero. It was a silent ride, and when we got home my dad told us how sorry he was and we all went to bed early. I didn't sleep well that night. I could only think about what had happened so suddenly. I still hadn't heard from my mother, and though I didn't know it, I wouldn't hear from her for a few days.
My godfather had shot himself. In my house. In my living room. In front of my mother.
So years and years later, here I am with a friend of mine, Susan. We haven't known each other long, but a recent conversation with her sent me into memory lane. She was a year younger than me, and when she was seven she had been diagnosed with a kind of heart disease. By the time she'd turned eight, she was in dire need of a heart transplant. As the condition got worse, they didn't think they'd ever get her a transplant. Finally, in November of 2000 she'd gotten to the top of the list. They only had to find someone with matching blood types and heart tissue. They eventually got Susan a heart, on December 11th. When I was told about that, my imagination ran off with me. Oh, I didn't mention that, did I?
My godfather was an organ donor. Some time after his suicide, we found out he had been able to donate seven organs, including a lung that had been previously collapsed. He saved seven people with his bad choices. I didn't know whether Susan was the lucky person to receive his heart, but I knew I didn't need to. Essentially, it was the same as if it weren't his heart. The point was, it could've been.
Many people would call such a day as I experienced on December 8th, 2000 a tragedy. It was, it was and so much more. But what a miracle it is to get life from such a tragedy. To get life from death. My godfather is no longer here with me, he departed years ago. But he lives on in the people he saved.
Reply
