TWO, TOO MANY
Written by Anne Yates
For nearly 20 years, these memories and emotions have been floating around in my mind. They are spiny, thorny, difficult to express and reflect upon. Yet, I know there are other lives that may be touched by my experiences, and perhaps comforted, knowing they are not alone.
December 22, 2004 was an overcast, cold day. I had stayed up late the night before wrapping Christmas gifts for my four children. The ribbons, tags, tape and wrappings were still on my bedroom floor as I left to go to work. I didn’t know that they would stay there for days, untouched.
I was eating lunch when my youngest son, Jordan, called. I had a hard time understanding him as he was crying so hard. He sobbed, “Mom, I think Kurt is dead”. Time stopped. I felt invisible fingers choking my breath away. I could hardly ask if he had called 911. He said, “yes”. I said I would be home in twenty minutes.
Walking up to my front door I saw yellow crime tape and an officer asked to see my driver’s license before I could enter. It did not seem real, but I knew I must gather myself together enough to call Kurt’s dad because he didn’t know. He keened- a wail I didn’t know a human could make. It pierced my heart with extreme sadness and unbelief.
Jordan had come home from the gym and remembered he didn’t have his key. When he couldn’t rouse Kurt, he broke in through a window in the family room and headed downstairs to see why Kurt didn’t unlock the door for him. Jordan found him there on the floor. The paramedics had him try to revive Kurt but he was already in rigor mortis.
Kurt had been suffering with drug use and depression. As parents, (we had divorced ten years earlier) we had tried counseling, rehab, every kind of support including extended family to help our son, but to no avail. I felt a moment of guilty relief and believed Kurt was in a better place where he could heal and be with his grandparents, he loved, that had passed on.
Kurt was the oldest at 23 and Jordan was 15. Brittany and Daniel were born in between. Kurt’s siblings called him “Brother” and they adored him. According to Daniel and Jordan, Kurt knew how to do everything. Brittany was a pall bearer at his funeral. She is still the “keeper” of her brothers. To his friends and acquaintances’, he was loyal, compassionate and helped those who crossed his path.
Surprising to us, Kurt had written a poem before he passed on. It was published in a poetry book and won the editor’s award for the “best”. We didn’t know about its existence until several weeks later. The poem is as follows:
“Just a Part of Me”
There is a part of me
sometimes hidden from the rest
but if you take the time to see
it really isn’t the best
Using dope nearly every day
was killing the better part of me
I’d sometimes think to stop and pray
but knew a deity wasn’t going to see
Drugs will change your life
one tiny amount at a time
and once you realize it’s a knife
stabbing you like this rhyme
it’s usually too late
because you know you are dying this time
So be aware of what dope will do
Destroy everything you ever loved
and turn your body blue
until you are six feet under
with nothing left to do
but to rot and decay
I recall taking a picture of Brittany, Daniel and Jordan on Christmas Day. I found a perfect description of them. “All expression left their faces. They became a blank slate. No smiles, no tears, no more laughter. They stared at the camera, the Christmas stockings hanging from the mantel behind, and didn’t flinch”.
(“Safe Harbor” by Luann Rice)
Kurt’s loss is still profoundly felt.
Fast forward to December 19, 2010. I had been known to call the first ten years of the 2000’s the “death decade”. My nephew passed away in 2001, 2002 was my mom, 2004 was Kurt, 2006 was my dad. I was crossing my fingers.
I got the call at 2:00 am. It was Brittany in her most tearful voice. Dan’s girlfriend had called her to say that he had accidentally overdosed. As Dan’s dad watched, the paramedics worked on him so long but they couldn’t revive him.
Daniel was our 3rd child, born in 1985. He was a tender and loving child. I can still see him crying in our garden pumpkin patch. He had one suspender hanging down from his “Osh Kosh” overalls. Someone had hurt his feelings. He loved his “Ninja Turtles” and took them everywhere. His favorite was his horse on springs. I swear when he rode it, I expected him to gallop right out of the family room window into the backyard! He wore his “He-Man” Halloween costume I made for weeks!
As Dan grew, he was the tough guy with a heart of gold. He was the one with all the girlfriends! He loved basketball, snowboarding and most of all, golf. He could outdrive anyone on the golf course. Dan loved working with his dad in the insurance business.
But the love of his life was his 5-year-old son, Kurt! (He was named after his uncle Kurt). They did everything together! He was swimming at an early age and could swing a golf club. Kurt knew all the songs Dan played on his car stereo. (Sometimes, too well)! Kurt is the “light” of our lives.
Losing a child is called “the ultimate tragedy”. That couldn’t be more accurate. It carves us into different creatures. Siblings lose their brother or sister but also lose their parents that once were. I read recently that “Grief is not for the faint of heart. It’s as physical as a stab wound”. (“Pretend She’s There” by Luann Rice.
I wore the same clothes for days. Jordan slept with Kurt’s phone and in my bed for weeks and wondered why he was the one who found Kurt. I’ll never forget watching the paramedics carry my son in a black bag up the stairs. Brittany was a pall bearer- again. She stayed quiet and within herself. I drank two bottles of wine after I heard about Dan. We talked in hushed tones to each other. I remember the skirt I wore to Kurt’s funeral but never wore again. I have no idea who was at Kurt’s funeral except my sorority sisters. I remember my sorority sisters making Jordan promise he would never do drugs. And listening to those at the mortuary, trying to sell us a casket like we were shopping for a car? But the worst was going home after the funerals and gravesites, leaving my sons alone in the ground. Then what to do the next day? Go back to work? Take the next week off? How long is someone supposed to grieve? We still are…
I love this reflection on loss:
“There are two ways of dealing with grief.
One is to open up to it-
to people and the world more than ever,
because you know how short life is and
how precious.
The other way is bad.
You feel so shut out and alone.
It’s so dark.
You build walls, lock yourself into your
misery, until it becomes all you know.
You’re alone in there and the people you
love can’t get in and you can’t get out.” (“Sandcastles” by Luann Rice)
