Did you ever have something so traumatic happen to you that at the moment you are told, all you can feel is this huge abyss and you know if you take that step you will be lost forever? It is a very strange sensation. I experienced it once in my life, five and a half years ago. I am still hanging on that edge – stuck.
It played out just like you see on television. A knock on the door, two plain clothes policemen asking if I knew a this person. Every fiber in my in body suddenly went on alert knowing this was not going to be good. They asked if he lived there, and I told them he did, that he was my brother. They asked to come in, they met my husband, son, and other brother. They suggested that my husband take my son, who was 10 years old, in the other room. Then they asked some questions: when had we last seen Kirk, if we had a picture of him, and where his room was. I answered that the whole family had gone to the movies the day before but that Kirk never made it home. I explained that while we took the bus, Kirk liked to walk along the lake, he felt close to God there. I showed them pictures of my brother and where the sunporch was that served as his room. After they were satisfied that my Kirk was their Kirk, they told my other brother, Bob and I that they were sorry to have to inform us… No, oh God, please not Kirk. My knees buckled and Bob steadied me and helped me sit down. The detectives proceeded to finish telling us that Kirk’s body had been pulled from Lake Michigan that morning.
And that’s when it happened. That abyss, that cliff edge that I could not allow myself to fall into or go over, presented itself. I knew I would never make my way back, that I would be lost forever. My son needed his mom, I could not allow myself that level of grief and pain. It was an instant, unconscious decision and I started to shut down before I even knew it was happening. They stayed a little longer, telling us there was no sign of foul play, that it looked like a suicide, that the autopsy would be done the next day, and that we could go to the corner’s office to get his personal affects. I wasn’t really listening, but fortunately Bob was as he fought to keep it together until these messengers of death left our home.
As I closed the front door behind them my son and my husband appeared from the bedroom. No words were needed. My son had heard me in my moment of hysteria and, being the wise soul that he is, knew that his favorite uncle was dead. My husband wrapped his arms around me, I was numb, and Bob finally let the tears run. It was December 28, 2005 and we had just had a great family Christmas.
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