Memories Fade, but I’ll do my best.
I was 8 years-old.
It was springtime in Indiana.
I had a best friend, his name was Stephen.
I didn’t hangout with many people back then, I suppose I don’t now either, but we were always together; from the time the sun rose over the Wabash River, while it followed its celestial sphere, and until it vanished far below the corn fields on the edge of town. We had another friend, who was a couple years older than us, whom we called Dusty.
Stephen cared more about others than probably any person I’ve ever met. He wasn’t a big guy, but he wouldn’t sit idly by while others were picked on. Stephen stood up for others at all times. Stephen was the kind of person every father dreams that their sons will be. Stephen was full of life and love.
Stephen’s parents were divorced. Stephen went to spend the day at his father’s house while Dusty and I anxiously awaited his return. We had big plans that I can’t remember at this point in my life.
I was at Dusty’s house. We were on the porch waiting for Stephen to get back, and the hours started to pass by. The phone finally rang in the late afternoon. Was it the call we were waiting for? Dusty’s parents opened the door and told me I needed to go home. Confused, I shared a look with Dusty and started to walk toward my house. Disappointed, it seemed like our plans would have to wait for another day. I got home and I remember being on the porch when I saw Dusty and his parents walking toward my house. I don’t think his parents had ever been to my home before. My mind started to wonder. They were dressed in their Sunday best. Dusty wouldn’t even make eye contact with me as they climbed the stairs onto the porch.
“Are your parents home?” they asked. I went inside and got my dad. “You should probably wait out here,” Dusty’s father said as they all went inside. My mind is going crazy at this point. The only conclusion I can come to is Dusty and I did something terrible and his parents found out. I scanned my memory, but no situations came to mind… that was the only thing that even made sense though. A few minutes later they emerged and Dusty whispered “I’m sorry” as they somberly passed by and strolled back toward their house.
I went inside and my parents were in the kitchen. I remember they had something to tell me and that I should probably sit down. My stress levels started to rise, I knew I was in trouble, yet I hadn’t done anything wrong.
I’m sorry I have to tell you this…there was an accident today…Stephen was hurt.
What do you mean? Is he going to be okay.
I’m sorry he isn’t going to get better. He passed away this afternoon.
I immediately felt a force flood my body. The hair on my arms raised and my heart raced, oh did it race. My thoughts became distorted and I couldn’t move. I felt my skin burn. I could feel it from my fingertips and toes all the way through my neck just flooding into my mind. I stood still and tried to maintain my composure as I rubbed my fingers through my hair. I was feeling something I’d never felt and couldn’t explain. It was almost like I had extreme anger…yet I wasn’t angry, not even the slightest bit. I remember I asked for clarification because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Are you okay?
I’m fine, I said. I sat down on the bench to process what was going on. I wondered if I should be crying…because I wasn’t.
That’s my last memory from that day.
I slept in a closet, in the spare bedroom. I thought if I could hide from the reality of the situation everything would be back to normal the next day. I awoke from a restless nights sleep. I remember tossing and turning while dreams ran through my head. In my dreams I relived the events of the day before, only in my dreams Stephen appeared to tell me it was all okay. I was disoriented and confused when I woke in the dark windowless room. I didn’t know how I ended up where I was, and the entire previous day seemed like a nightmare that replayed in my mind. I laid there for a few moments trying to collect my thoughts. I was sure it was all just a dream. I got up and walked downstairs. I needed to head over to Stephen’s to tell him about my dream and make sure he was alright. My mom was in the kitchen making breakfast. As my hand touched the door handle, she asked where I was going.
I’m going over to see Stephen, I replied.
“Oh honey…” my mom said as hugged and consoled me.
I don’t remember much from the day I realized I’d never seen my friend again.
I remember laying in bed night after night thinking about Stephen. I had thoughts that I couldn’t seem to escape from. The first was the reality that I couldn’t cry for Stephen, about the situation, or the fact I’d never see him again. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I cry. What kind of monster loses his best friend and can’t even shed a tear?! I tore into my myself. I hated myself because of it. I had to be a monster right? How could Stephen die and I just get on with my life like nothing happened? I tried to think about how I’d never see him again… I tried to think about how his mom felt…I tried to think about how my parents would feel if I died…How would I feel if my parents died. Nothing worked.
The next day at school we spent the day sharing stories, praying, and going through Stephen’s things trying to find closure with the situation. I looked around and saw the tears in their eyes, from people that I thought “barely” knew him… Here I was unable to express my grief in what I thought was an appropriate way. The funeral was much the same. I remember a girl named Hope screaming and crying out so loudly over my left shoulder. I sat there on the floor stone faced trying to make the tears come. Yet, I was unable to feel much more than what I perceived to be anger…But I wasn’t angry, not even in the slightest. I didn’t know what I was. This made me feel worse about myself as nearly everyone in the funeral home had tears by the end. Everyone lost it when my dad spoke of seeing Stephen just days early.
Stephen called out, “Hey, Mike, watch this!” and he proceeded to flip through the air on the trampoline. Something about the hand motions that accompanied the story have been burnt deeply in my memory. This encounter took place on the trampoline next door. We shared a driveway. This was literally feet away from my backdoor. I relieved this moment every time I walked outside. Stephen, I can still see you on that trampoline, living every moment like it was your last.
My parents tried to get me to go to therapy and tried to get me to talk about it. I didn’t want to. I’ve never been one to ask for help or share feelings. It’s just not in my nature. Honestly, I don’t know if it would have helped. I was pretty sure if the psychologist got into my head she’d think I was evil for not being overcome with sadness.
I was angry at God for allowing this to happen to someone so young. I was angry that Stephen died and not me. I used to lay in bed begging God to change things, and let me take Stephen’s place. I couldn’t even cry over his death, so, surely I was far more deserving of death than Stephen was. Kids don’t die at 8 years old!
I’d known him to be someone I wanted to be like. He was so confident and kind. Just and caring. He always worried about you far more than he ever worried about himself. It didn’t matter if you were friends or not, he was just that kind of person.
I used to walk down his street. A lot. Looking toward his front door…I hoped to see him inside. I hoped he’d be there staring back at me. I just wanted to wake up, ending this nightmare that was now my life. Unfortunately, it was real.
As time went on, people moved on. The school let us plant a memorial garden with a tree. We wore his number on our little league Jerseys, though only for the year. Things went pretty much back to normal, yet my reality is they were changed forever. Stephen just seemed to fade away from everyone’s mind. Not mine.
I went to his graveside only twice that I can remember. And only once after his tombstone was finished. His face etched beautifully into the stone… I didn’t know how to feel about everything. In some ways I still don’t.
Secretly, Good Riddance by Green Day is my favorite song. I suppose it always will be. You used to sing it when we were hanging out. It played at your funeral. It was your favorite song and to this day I stop when I hear it to think of you. I sing along in my head, and I think about shooting baskets behind my garage, playing PlayStation (especially Tomb Raider), and walking around Clinton together.
6 Months after your death I finally shed a tear for you, if you could even call it that. I thought that would solve my issues. It didn’t. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was evil for taking so long to cry for my best friend’s death. I believed what my head told me. Almost 20 years later I’m still not sure I’ve completely moved on, but I’m well on my way.
Your mom handed out your last school picture. I keep it in a small gold frame. I kept it in my sock drawer, so I’d see your face everyday. In some way I thought if I held onto your memory I could make up for not responding to your death the way I thought I should. You’re long from forgotten. I still think about you daily. I just hope I’m living my life in a way…making enough of a difference… all to justify your life ending so soon and mine continuing on.
I don’t know if my parents handled the situation the best way, but I know I’m glad I had them during it. And they did everything they could. For that I’m eternally grateful. I never didn’t feel loved. That was always clear to me, even if I couldn't love myself. Some people just grieve differently and I suppose that’s the way things are. I guess I just lost myself in my head for awhile and had to find my way out.