Chapter I — Death

I could tell you all about my previous life, before I had my first encounter with death. However for the purposes of what I’m trying to tell it does no good. I was one thing and death made me another. I was a happy boy living in the suburbs with my mommy and daddy, my biggest worry was what I was having for breakfast.

Then it all happened. She died. Actually she killed herself, but that’s only a technicality, the end result is the same. What I remember from those times is what follows.

From the week I learned my mother was dead I remember three things: the first thing was that, somehow, I already knew my mother was dead (something I would only understand well along the road); the second was the hug I received from a friend, right after arriving at the funeral; the third thing I remember was crying my lungs out without knowing very well why, just because that was what surrounded me. Friends and family were doing the same.

To the details; I was woken up earlier than usual and asked to go to my brother’s room. When I got there I saw my brother laying in his bed with my dad right beside him. At the moment, as strange as it may seem, as I sat down in his bed and looked at my dad, I immediately thought: My mom is dead. I Still have that moment engraved in my being, and I still feel that pain. My dad started to say something that sounded like a coded message that mixed the weight of the pain he felt and the willingness to spare us from that pain. However from that mixture of pain and fatherly love I understood what I had to. I mean the words, not what they meant. So I sat there with my brother crying, he was 14 years old, I was only eleven, what the hell should we do without a mother?

Some days passed by (please don’t ask me to be exact, since the memories of those days are nothing but a black cloud that won’t allow me to see anything clearly) and we were on our way to the funeral. I don’t remember the ride there, I don’t remember who was in the car with me or if it took long for us to get there. What I do remember, very clearly, is what followed: we parked the car and got out, then I saw the Netter family also arriving. As I walked towards the car my friend Ian got out. He is that kind of friend that is so important that we didn’t have to always be together, but we were together in the best times of our lives. He is that though guy that likes to be stronger than others in all possible ways, that friend that had never showed much affection or sensibility. Well that friend, walked towards me and gave me a hug, in the most honest and tight manner you will ever hug somebody. I remember that the hug was so tight that his arm hit my mouth on the way in, and my braces ended up cutting my gums. It was one of the first moments I realized the complexity of what was happening. As incredible as it may seem, the most caring hug I ever received, brought me to the realization of the biggest pain my chest has coped with to this day.

Besides that, from the funeral I only remember the tears that ran down my face as I watched her coffin slowly descend to the ground as whispers and prayers could be heard. On that weekend I was supposed to present an English class play. For obvious reasons I didn’t make it, but my teacher was at the funeral trying to comfort me by saying how good the play had been.

After having my chest shattered to pieces, even though I didn’t want to, life just had to go on. My dad thought it was best for us to quickly go back to school and so I went. I had heard from a friend that a coordinator at the school had already informed the class of what happened, and that the new developments were received with commotion. When I arrived at the school I went straight to PE class. When I got to the court all my classmates were looking at me, I was looking at them, and both parties couldn’t figure out how to communicate or if they should. I sat down alone at the stands and told the teacher I didn’t feel like playing soccer.

In a shy manner some colleagues started to direct their words of comfort at me, and for as much as I appreciated the gesture, they just didn’t comfort me. After the class was over, and another 45 minutes of history class, recess started. Once again I went to the court where my friends used to hang out, only this time something different happen. Estefano, this though guy that used to fight with everyone in my grade, and whom I had no previous friendship, gave me pad on the shoulder and said something close to this:

- Gregão, I’m very sorry for your loss, but if you need someone to talk to I’m here. My dad died, I know what you are going trough.

I was took by surprise and that gesture was marked to me as an act of pure goodness, he had no personal interest in mind or any other intention but to console a grieving boy.