M. A. C.

The day we put him in his final resting place was bright, clear and hot. We gathered at the cemetery in the late morning, before the heat of the day, and still the air was damn near unbearable, wet and hot and heavy, like a dryer full of hot wet towels.

The day before was the first day that I had stopped at the scene of the accident. It was everything I was afraid it would be. Heartbreaking. Standing on the side of the road, reading the spray paint markers left for the investigators. Seeing the permanent marker my sister’s friends placed- a cross marked simply with his initials and the day he was so cruelly taken from us, wound with English ivy. Looking at the entire scene and wondering what might have been.

If only that woman had taken one more look, if only she had hesitated before pulling out in to the road at the top of a blind hill. There is no other conclusion to come to, not after looking at the intersection, looking at the spray paint marks- the line with PoI written underneath, and five feet from it, another line, marked F and a circle marked Helm., as if the shorthand somehow erased the obvious. “Look Twice, Save a Life”- it really is that simple. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t take some pleasure in the permanent marker being perfectly situated so that this woman sees it every single time she leaves her neighborhood. Even that is a light sentence, compared with my baby sister, who is reminded in every breath and step that she’s alone in this world. Look twice, save a life. But she didn’t. She didn’t.

And so that is why we were all standing in the marble walled courtyard of the cemetery, shielded from the road but also the breeze, and grateful for the small patches of shade afforded by the stunning Japanese maples planted in the center.

The ceremony is short. We all cry quietly. We file out one at a time, each of us stopping to lay a flower at the foot of the wall, to say goodbye before the urn is sealed in the vault and the nameplate is installed. My turn comes, and I can feel my chin quivering as I lay my rose on top of the pile. It is both comforting and disturbing to see that blue marble urn tucked so carefully into the vault space; knowing that his remains will be here forever, and disturbed to see his earthly body fit into such a small space. The irony of that. His spirit, his energy, his smile, his heart- these were all far too large to fit in there. Mark was like the smell of perfume in the air- he expanded and dissipated through out the entire room, his energy filling every available space.

I know that his spirit and energy do not have to fit inside that vault. Thank goodness.

We stopped outside of the courtyard to wipe our tears away, to take deep breaths and give and get hugs and to give my sister a few moments alone with her beloved. She came out of the courtyard, and that was it. We went back to the house, where she showed people to carefully sorted piles of his things.

And so it goes. The troubled but promising and stunningly vibrant life of a 25 year old man ended on April 12th, 2009. He was laid to rest on June 27th, 2009. Quietly and privately. Soundlessly, almost. In those single moments, a handful of lives were changed forever. He will be remembered fondly, and is already missed so very much. What I wouldn’t give for one more glimpse of that thousand watt smile directed at me. To see my sister’s face shine with happiness, love and pride.

Look twice. Save a life.

No Matter What

Much of the reason I didn’t post was that I was resting. Life has been a little much for me lately, and I had not done enough eating or sleeping in weeks.  I found some peace and serenity that I had gone without for far too long.

What it comes down to is this. I’m going to be okay, no matter what. My family will help me the best that they can and they will be there for me, no matter what. MH and I are going to get through this. Together. No matter what. My friends, the people I love so much, will stand by my side. No matter what.

That kind of finality is a double edged sword, of course. Mark is gone. No matter what. My sister, who is doing well considering her circumstances, is changed forever. No matter what. My Mom is who she is, sick or well, no matter what. My Dad will inevitably mark all occasions with a trip to the liqour store and won’t see a need to leave a drop of Grand Marnier in his bottle when he leaves town. No matter what.

I didn’t realize just how bad my general state of being had become until I heard those words. I worried and rung my hands and sweated buckets thinking about talking to my Dad about our financial situation, fearing his reaction. Fearing more than anything that he wouldn’t be able to help us. He was not in the house five minutes before he started the conversation. He just knew. He just knew that it’s the end of the month, that things have been hard for us, that I hadn’t been making my usual volume of calls to my Mom (who had boarded the crazy train again, meaning that there was no way I could handle her and my own situation and especially not her being crazy-face about my situation), and he knew. He knew what I needed, knew how much I needed, and within a few minutes of getting a good look at me, how scared I was. So he just came out with it, and he gathered me up in his arms, and he told me.

“I know where you’re at. I’ve been there before. I understand. I don’t want you making yourself sick anymore. I’ve got you covered. No matter what.”

In that one moment, all the stress and shame and pain and angst lifted. I felt normal again. Actually, I felt so sleepy and hungry that I couldn’t hardly stand it. So I took a nap, and then Dad took us out to dinner, where I proceeded to demolish a huge steak and all the trimmings, and washed it down with a few vodka and cranberries. They were, of course, of somewhat subpar quality, because my sister was seated across from me and was not behind the bar.

My sister. She takes my breath away. To see her surviving, thriving in some ways, through this tragedy. To see her in her element- behind the bar, shaking and stirring, snapping her fingers at the servers, cracking ass in the kitchen when she’s running food. Every movement precise, but not planned- there’s no time for that. Seeing the respect and affection that she inspires in her coworkers and watching the way that her boss looks at her, with pride and gratitude.

There were, of course, comments from all over about how much we look alike. This was compounded by my father’s arrival. I have his smile.  I was asked if I also have his temperament, and answered in the affirmative without hesitation. All weekend long, the three of us- I can’t believe that, even when we were little girls, there was a house big enough for the three of us. There are these moments, like the one I shared with my father, at every turn- moments where it becomes undeniable that we truly are family. Looking in at a face and into eyes that are a fun house mirror of your own- almost the same, but not quite. Knowing what they are thinking or feeling, and that opposite eerily comforting feeling of knowing that I cannot hide much from these people who have been reading out of my book for the better part of a quarter century.

Add to that a husband, who as a matter of survival, has gotten just as good or better at taking my emotional temperature. Who has his own decade-plus of history in our family. Watching my husband care for and comfort my sister was quite possibly one of the most incredible things I will ever witness. Second only to watching her gracefully and gratefully accept it from him. He is there for her, no matter what. She is there for us, no matter what.

We are all going to be okay, somehow, some way.

No matter what.

Cat on a Wire

Things have just gotten completely insane. It’s as if my week off has served only to make room for everything else in my life to catch fire at my feet. Yesterday was one of the craziest days I’ve had in quite awhile, with the only respite from constant crisis and madness was a visit from a sweet friend yesterday afternoon, and a few conversations MH and I could fit in between all the craziness.

I’ll be offline most of the day today, making phone calls and doing some bookkeeping work that has to be done, and should have really been done yesterday. Or last week, if we’re being really honest.

Speaking of really honest. I put that donate button on the sidebar, and though I discussed it with Twitter, I’ve yet to really address it here. There was a point in time that this was suggested to me, and I thought about it seriously, but couldn’t seem to justify asking you for your hard earned money. I didn’t feel at the time that it was right for me to receive your help/goodwill/shoe money above and beyond anyone else. I still do feel that way, to some extent, but necessity is the mother of invention. Our situation has just gotten to the point that if you feel the need to share your hard earned income with me? I can’t turn it down. It’s not going to buy cute shoes or sweet makeup that I babble about on Twitter in the afternoons. The money that lands in that account at this point will be used to help make those ever elusive ends meet.

So. Do it if you want to. Don’t do it if you don’t want to. After all, that’s not why I’m here- to increase my income- I’m here because I love blogging, and because I love you. Truly. If there ever was a time, though, that you thought about clicking that button and sending something my way? Now would probably be the most helpful time possible.

I would love to put all my cards on the table and give you lovelies details here, but there comes a point where private business is better left unpublished. This is that point.

Meanwhile, I’m going to go get some things taken care of that I have some control over, so that I can leave here in a few days with a clear head and a positive checking account balance.