Death
10.30.7

I've been in a terrible mood lately. Only in the past few days have I begun to snap out of the depression I was thrown into last weekend.

It all started when I returned home from the store last Sunday night. As I walked in with my first armfuls of groceries, I noticed a bright red light flashing on the new phone I had recently installed. I set down the bags of food, and pressed the caller-ID button to see who we had missed. When I saw the name of my best friend's mother come up, my heart instantly sunk.

I met Chris Brennan on April 14th, 2000 at my first annual Anti-Valentine's Day party. That night, I bestowed upon him the nickname of "Newguy." Perhaps it wasn't the most creative of monikers, but it stuck. For quite some time, however, Newguy has lived out of town. It was this fact that instantly made me dread that I had received a call from his mother's house.

Another flashing red light...this one on the answering machine. I walked over to the table and let my finger hover over the play button, thinking the worst and bracing myself for terrible news from Newguy's mother. When I finally depressed the button, I was instead greeted with his voice informing me that he was in town.

I was so relieved that I didn't even consider the strangeness of his being here. I brought the rest of the groceries up from the car, happily talking with Autumn about how excited I was. When the final bag was on the kitchen counter, I picked up the phone and dialed.

"Newguy!" I exclaimed after hearing my best friend's signature hello. Over the next few moments of conversation, though, my jubilation faded as I began to recognize his hushed and composed tone. Eventually he began his story. He told me that his sister Katie had been in a car accident the previous night. The whole time I kept waiting for the words that we all expect and hope to hear in these situations: "She's ok, but..."

There is usually a very clear distinction between the way one tells a story about a surviving person, and the way one tells about a death. When the person in question has survived, the storyteller will attempt to divulge that fact as soon as possible. Otherwise, the subject's condition is usually reserved until the last line.

As I listened to my friend talk about the details of the accident, while almost glossing over the parts about his sister, it became clear that this was the second type of story. Moments later, he confirmed that she was no longer with us.

I had really only met her a handful of times...mostly at parties. My memories of her are not the clearest, partly because of the alcohol that was usually involved, and partly because of the time that has passed since the last time I saw her. I do remember that we always had a great time when Katie and her friends were involved, though. Specifically, I remember playing drinking games on a coffee table one night, and the rampant looking-under-the-glass-table brand of cheating that it degenerated into. Past that, of course, is all a rather drunken blur.

Good times...

My recent thoughts have mostly focused on Newguy, though. I can't really imagine what he's been going through these past 10 days. To lose someone so close, who was so young, must be simply terrible.

One thing I must say, though, is how proud I've been of him for the way he's stepped up to take care of things through all this. In his grieving, I'm not entirely sure he feels the same, but it seems like he's really proven to be a very strong person since last Sunday.

I think the real show of his character was when the pastor (who had, in my opinion, spent too much of the funeral advertising Christianity) stepped back from the microphone to allow friends and family to come up to speak.

For what seemed like minutes, the room was filled with an almost painful silence. Having been so young when she died, Katie's funeral was filled with teenagers and younger adults who very much lacked the courage to speak and mourn in front of such a large crowd. I had even wanted to go up myself and share my limited experiences, but decided against it, thinking that it would be silly and perhaps disrespectful for a mere acquaintance to speak at her funeral.

I sat there listening to the sounds of muffled crying all around me, watching Newguy through the rows of motionless heads. Eventually, an audible echo permeated the silence as his chair squeaked against the hardwood floors. I watched as he rose and stepped slowly towards the podium.

It was a beautiful speech, from the heart and filled with the love of a brother, but also tinged with the type of logic and constant questioning that I would expect from him. While the pastor had spent his podium time trying to convert atheists, Newguy had done what really needed to be done. He assured the audience that no matter what they believed, there was something to be learned from his sister's life.

When he stepped down from that stage I had a newfound admiration for my friend.

While the hardest parts may be over, I'm sure that Newguy will still have difficult times ahead. In his speech, however, he had included a quote that his sister once posted on her MySpace profile. I only hope that he'll take those words to heart now...