Homework for the Overactive Brain

Today's Quote--"Happy birthday to me, Happy birthday to me..."

Tuesday, May 04, 2004

 

We've been talking about death and murder and forgiveness in class. It's been a little depressing, especially with bringing in the Holocaust this week. But it's brought an episode in my life to the forefront that I've ignored for a while; the murder of a family friend. The 3rd anniversary of his death was sometime in the past two weeks. His parents (mother and step-dad) are very good friends and my parents watched him grow up. I have very few memories of him, really, but I've always heard the updates on how he was doing...And I went and saw him before he died.

Anyway, the story is on my mind and I need to tell it. I need to get it out...I wanted to do it in class, but couldn't find the connection...I wanted to tell my friends, but it just seems morbid. But I need to tell it, so here goes.

During my senior year of high school, one day my mom came and got me out of class near the end of the day. She showed up in tears and tried to calmly explain to me that D. was in the hospital. I hadn't seen him in many years, despite hearing about how he was doing from his parents. (he had recently been sick from being in prision and his parents were suing the prision for not taking care of him) He was in his late twenties. My mom asked if I wanted to go to the hospital with her. In her state, I of course said yes, not wanting to see her go off to that place alone. Besides, so many people I loved and cared about were being negatively affected...I wanted to be there and help. On the way she explained what had happened.

D's father was Native American. D was on the reservation at a bar, just hanging out. His half-brother (same father) was there as was his half-brother's wife and several of their friends. His half-brother got drunk and started pushing his wife around and yelling at her. D told him to knock it off. He continued. D told him to go home and chill out. He continued. D helped throw him out of the bar. His brother was very angery, but D stood outside and told him that what he was doing was in his brother's best interest. He didn't want him to beat his wife, which he'd regret later. His brother got in his truck and started it up. He called D over, as if he were going to apologize or talk with him. Then he ran D down. D went over the top of the truck. Severly injured, with a major blow to the head, it looked bad. Then his brother backed up over him. Drove forward over him again. And drove away. Both D's legs were crushed, as were most of his ribs, and his skull was fractured.

When I saw D, he was comatose. He wasn't getting up ever again. They had tried to repair his legs, but were largely unsuccessful. The worst part was the preassure growing in his skull from the fracture. That's what kept him asleep and what eventually killed him. He was black and blue all over. It was the first time I had been in ICU and it was very quiet except for the machines. All I could think about was how much his mother loved him, no matter how much trouble he had been in, and how awful it must have been for him to see that truck coming back and being unable to move. His brother was arrested and I think he was remorseful when he sobered up, but I never heard much from that side, other than he got murder 2 instead of manslaughter.

I want to go on, I want to share more, but I need to go. Really, though, it was the first time I had encountered murder in my life. And I wasn't angry. I was sad. Very very sad, because I didn't know D as well as I had wished. And for me, that's the worst part, that I was robbed of the opportunity to know this young man as more than just a topic of discussion. Death is an interesting subject. I will return to it again, I think. But for know, I feel a little better. The images are still fresh, but...sharing really does help.

Later...

GL 2:22 PM