Rain filled clouds engulfed the sky. The grayness was the same shade as my heart that day. Little droplets fell upon my face masking my tears, washing away the salty evidence of sadness.
I tugged at the pale mint green dress my mother insisted I wear. The fabric was a thick scratchy wool and the tag irritated my neck. Before we had left the house I begged my mother to cut the tag off, but she had ignored my pleas. The tag, however, was a minor annoyance compared to the bombarding of strangers offering empty condolences.
As I reluctantly entered the brick church, I raised my head to the sky asking God, “Why?” My head was full of confusion already that day. So many unanswered questions, yet there was no one to ask. My eyes took in the awaiting sight as I slowly walked inside. Hundreds of people were staring at me sympathetically as I entered. There was an abundance of spectators, and not enough seats. I held my breath, feeling suffocated by the overwhelming presence of people. Many whispered as my family and I walked past to the front pews. Did all of these people know Bryan, or did they know what they read in the paper?
Taking our seats, I was angry to be there. My father clutched my hand for strength to make it through the service. He held it so tightly the color began to fade from my fingers. The pain that should have resonated in my head never registered. I was numb.
As his friends spoke, I became increasingly jealous. I wanted to be in their shoes able to share funny stories. The green-eyed monster was much darker than the shade of my dress. I felt as though I missed out on a close relationship with Bryan because I was still young. In that moment, I closed my eyes and I willed him alive. When I opened them all I saw was the closed casket in front of me. Tears trickled down my face. My cousin and additional older brother was gone, and for what?
The facts of his death were questions that lingered in my mind. I remember waking up early on a Sunday morning, earlier than usual. My father was coming over to give my brother and I some news. In the pit of my stomach, there was a queasy feeling. These were unusual circumstances, the news wouldn’t be good. We were told Bryan had died in an accident. My world came crashing down. When you’re ten, death is not a viable concept. I asked: How? Why? When? In the preceding days my family “sugar-coated” the events, but the news wasn’t so generous with the portrayal. The media didn’t censor the truth- “17 Year Old Killed While Drinking and Driving.”
As I sat in church the day of his service I was angry. My head still filled with endless questions. I had asked God “Why,” because I couldn’t comprehend why it had been his plan. Yet, there were questions that couldn’t be answered because my cousin was dead.
Sitting here fourteen years later, I’m no longer angry. I miss my second older brother and the future he would have had. But living in, “what if’s” won’t get you through tomorrow if you can’t make it past yesterday.
Courtesy of Jermil Sadler
