Your Art Matters
“Have you ever wondered what marks our time here? If one life can really make an impact on the world…or if the choices we make matter? I believe they do. And I believe that one man can change many lives. For better…or worse.” ~ One Tree Hill
My daughters introduced me to One Tree Hill back in 2006, and at first, I thought it was another teen soap opera, like OC, or Dawson's Creek but I watched it. I watched it because my kids were watching it and were positively affected by it. I wanted to know why that was. So, I watched it with them for a while, and then went back and started from the beginning. Considering it launched in 2003, and I had a lot of catching up to do.
That was my first 'binge' of any TV show. It was like a good book that you couldn't put down. It wasn't just a show, it was art. A collage of music, literature, art, beauty and philosophical, thought provoking on-screen theatre. That 'art' changed and affected my life so greatly that it became a piece of me, so ingrained in my soul, that it even influenced my own art. One person had unknowingly impacted me; one person's art had impacted my life.
This TV show became my constant companion. The thing I would default to watching when I was going through difficulty. I binge watched the entire series after it finished its last season, in 2011. In 2011, I joined the military - at 41 years old. At the end of my training, I finally watched the final season. I couldn’t believe it was over.
It was such a good show, with a committed fan base and strong following. So many musicians had either launched or built on their music careers by being featured on, or acting in the show. So many people related to the characters and the plot lines in one way or another. How could it be over. I bought the entire series so I could watch it whenever I wanted after that, and that is exactly what I did. Each time I watched it thereafter, I would pick the season, episode or episodes that was/were relevant to and inspired strength in me for whatever I was going through at the time.
I introduced the show to other friends throughout the years and they had the same reaction to it as I had, and as my girls had. The show, the premise of it, the characters, and the art within the art were all relatable and you couldn't help but love, and in some cases hate them. I remember one time, after having got my friend T, (another Military Police member who I had met during training) into the show getting a text message from her out of the blue that said, "I can't believe they killed him! I'm going to cry!". I knew exactly who and what she meant and why. Because 'he' was one of those characters created in such a way that everyone loved him, or aspired to be like him.
I had seen strong and dramatic reactions to movies and TV before, like the time my daughter stood up and very dramatically yelled, "Oh my god he remembers her!", in response to the scene in "A Little Princess" where the young 'orphan' Sara, played by Liesel Matthews runs outside to stop her father, played by Liam Cunningham - who had amnesia and didn't remember that he had a daughter - from leaving the orphanage. And, he suddenly recognizes and remembers her and they embrace. My daughter, at seven years old could relate and empathize so much with Sara, that she responded like someone living it. It was beautiful and illustrated the power of art, and how it can invoke such strong emotion from people. This same daughter, was just as affected by One Tree Hill, and was one of the ones (she and my other daughter) who suggested I watch it, in the first place.
So, when it came time to take a trip to Wilmington, North Carolina to experience "Tree Hill", and all of its locations, it was with my daughters that I embarked on this adventure.
It's What Got Me Here
"I want to draw something that means something to someone. You know, I want to draw blind faith or a fading summer or just a moment of clarity. It’s like when you go and you see a really great band live for the first time, you know, and nobody’s saying it but everybody’s thinking it: 'We have something to believe in again.' I want to draw that feeling. But I can’t. And if I can’t be great at it then I don’t want to ruin it. It’s too important to me." ~ One Tree Hill
My eldest daughter came from west of Toronto and my other daugher, from Chile and met me in Kingston, Ontario where I lived at the time. We spent one night at my place and then headed off to Wilmington the next day. We drove the 1335 kms, taking shifts sharing the driving and sleeping between shifts. Daughter number two was supposed to be on her holiday from work, at the time but still had work to do for the first few days so, we had a litle mini-adventure trying to find places for her to have Skype meetings enroute to North Carolina.
We stopped in Gettysburg on a ghost hunting trip; where daughter number two, who was navigating at the time asked, "do we just put in the Gettysburg address?". That was just one of so many belly laugh moments throughout this adventure. That, and the same daughter refusing to get out of the car afraid that the ghosts would get her, while daughter number one went ghost hunting. Twenty plus hours of giggles, listening to music and singing at the top of our lungs; of searching for rest stops and late night food along the interstate. Before we even arrived in Wilmington, it was a trip I would never forget; a fun, random and hilarious, special adventure with my girls. My first trip alone with them.
When we finally arrived we quickly settled into our AirBnB and in typical fashion for us, not wanting to miss a thing, didn't rest but went directly out to dinner and started exploring Wilmington. What an adventure it was! Daughter number one had mapped out all of the filming locations and had made a strict itinerary for our trip (she is the daughter who is a Combat Engineer in the Canadian Armed Forces, and is very efficient and organized).
Day by day we checked off 'things to do and things to see' items from our bucket lists; including all of our favourite characters houses, the cafes and record shop, the "Naley" bench, the water front, and the bridge from the opening credits (where we met some really nice, polite southern police officers; because the area it was filmed in was actually kind of questionable) and, of course, the famous "Rivercourt". We stood in places where our favourite characters had stood, ate in establishments they had eaten and saw things that they had seen; through different eyes and different perspectives. It was very 'fangirl' of us, at first but that was okay by us. But then, something happened. We fell in love; with the area, with its charm and beauty, and with the local people. Daughter number two, using her expert travel skills (she works for an international company and travels more than half of her year, every year) helped us find places to go, and things to do that weren't OTH related, as well.
We explored the whole area, went on a boat cruise to see Wilmington from a different perspective, and fell deeper. I'm guessing that is precisely how the location had been picked in the first place. Suddenly, we could relate to both the characters, actors and crew members from One Tree Hill. Relate both a passion for the show and a love for its creation, lifespan and community.
The experience was a dream come true on multiple levels for multiple reasons and contained multiple layers, like us. Driving home was exhausting and difficult, but not as difficult as leaving.
While we were in Wilmington, we learned that we were missing the One Tree Hill convention that was being held there, by one day, and decided we would try to make it to the next one - or one, at least.
I Don't Wanna be Anywhere but Here
"Most of our life is a series of images. They pass us by like towns on the highway. But sometimes a moment stuns us as it happens. And we know that this instant is more than a fleeting image. We know that this moment, every part of it, will live on forever."
After our trip in 2016, my daughters' and I decided we would return to Wilmington, or "Tree Hill" again one day. We had missed the Eyecon One Tree Hill convention when we were there by a day. So when I saw posts on Facebook for Eyecon's 2018 "Return to Tree Hill" convention, I let them know and asked if they wanted to attend. They were both busy with work and travel and couldn't attend so, I booked a flight for myself, bought the 'Diamond package' (that got me entry into all of the events and some meet and greets with the actors), booked accommodations and was off to "Return" to "Tree Hill" a few weeks later.
I had never been to a convention before. Not a comic-con or a fan convention of any kind so, I had no idea what to expect. I thought it would be alot of panels with the actors and crazed fans trying to catch a sneak peek at them while they entered and exited the building with security in tow. I had done security for so many bands throughout the years, and fought off so many of their crazed fans so often, that I assumed all 'celebrity' interactions and 'sightings' were the same.
What it really entailed was a bunch of normal, down to earth people, some who resembled their OTH characters so much that you felt like you were eating dinner with "Lucas Scott", not Chad Michael Murray. Some were the polar opposite of their OTH character, like Devin Mcgee, who played the deranged Xavier Daniels.
I remember when I first saw Devin at the convention centre, joking with one of they Eyecon volunteers that I wasn't going anywhere near that table because Xavier creeped me out. To which he replied, "Devin? He is literally the nicest guy". I did talk to Devin, a few times throughout the convention, and then kept in contact over social media. He was so different from the character he had played, and apparently that was the character he seemed to be cast in more often than not. The Eyecon volunteer was right. He is a really nice guy - and one hell of an actor to make me, a former copper, believe that he was really that creepy!
The whole experience; being back in Wilmington, meeting other people who felt the same connection with this particular piece of art, meeting some of the actors who played characters that I had come to know and relate to through some very difficult times in my life, and meeting and getting acquainted with more, incredibly talented artists, actors and musicians. It was one of those moments that stuns you; one you will take with you everywhere you go, and will live on forever in your heart and mind.
What You do Matters, How You do it Matters
As I looked back on that first trip to Wilmington, with my daughters; a trip that started out as one where we journeyed thousands of miles to see locations from our favourite TV show and ended up being an incredible bonding experiencing for us. I didn’t believe it was possible to bond more with my children. I mean we have always shared a bond so deep and meaningful that time, distance and external forces couldn’t break. Our relationships had always been admired and the kind that people had wished to emulate. Throughout this trip, I discovered even more about my girls.
As a child, daughter number one was fearless, and always seeking adventure. Adventure through tree climbing and other normal, childhood risk-taking behaviour or through the pages of a book that took her on amazing journeys, allowing her to live vicariously through the adventures of others. Adventures taken through her imagination, as written in the pages of the books she read.
She was a quiet child with a stillness and inner calmness that suggested that she was one of the oldest souls to walk the earth in the body of a tiny human. She wasn’t overly social; not shy necessarily, more particular about who she spent time with. I realized that she was simply unwilling and unable to settle for second best. And she was unwilling to be second best, herself.
She rose above every challenge she faced; from difficulties fitting in at school, to friendship and relationship difficulties. She was that powerful girl, who wasn't happy with 'half-way'. When she joined the military, she topped both of her career courses – and in a few cases, was the last female on the course – in a combat trade. Her lot in life was to serve others, share her empathy, compassion and stillness of being with others.
On this trip, I discovered that little girl that she once was; her true soul. Life had tried to break her so many times, and yet she had become stronger and more compassionate than ever. She’d come back around to that little warrior princess that she had always been as a child. The pain of her past healed, and the weight of her life, lifted by walking on her true path.
Daughter number two had always been a born humanitarian taking on enormous tasks like; raising money for bullet proof vests for K-9 officers, at the age when most kids were manning lemonade stands. She attended ‘Me to We’ events, became a Ryan’s Well Ambassador, stared a ‘Free the Children’ chapter at her university, hosted students from other countries, and did humanitarian aid all over the world with various groups and organizations.
Since she was small, she had trouble expressing deep emotion toward her family and friends but expressed a great desire to effect change and to make people’s lives better by helping those less fortunate than she – never realizing that we had less than many because of her gratefulness for what she had. She had always been an adventurer and a lover of travel, experience and exploration.
Since 11th grade, she had wanted to start her own non-profit, NGO, with volunteers who do humanitarian aid all over the world. She has travelled all over Central and South America, Asia, Russia, Europe, UK, New Zealand and Australia. She travelled the world; working for an international company that does what she has always wanted to do, but for profit. What she has done has prepared her for what she has always wanted to do but she doesn’t always see the value in what she does or how she does it. Neither of them do; in part because of their sincere desire to serve others, and in part because of their humility.
Throughout this trip; as we walked in the footsteps and down the path of people we admired and characters we all related to, we realized that we felt as we did because this particular piece of art mattered to us. It mattered to us because it expressed what we felt in our hearts all along but didn't see in ourselves; that what we do matters and how we do it matters. What we did and how we did it mattered to us, as well. And everything we did, we did with our whole heart and soul, and in service to others. How we did it was; with integrity, honesty, compassion and truth.
This particular piece of art, this show that affected us all so deeply had said the same thing; what we knew and could relate to but what we so often were unable to see in ourselves. That what we did mattered and how we did it mattered; to ourselves, one another, and to the world.
My Art Matters. It's What Got Me Here
My Pen is my Instrument
My Pen is My Instrument
My song is my story
My story is my music
My instrument is my pen
There’s music inside me
It is expressed through ink on paper
My song is a ballad
My life is a metal song
My thoughts are like screamo lyrics
My heart is a punk album
There is a rap battle going on in my soul
I manifest grunge music
And dress like it too
Music is in my soul
Its tune has saved my life more than once
When a chord or two has nearly struck me down
It has given me hope where there was none
Inspired art and literature on my otherwise blank canvas
Within my instrumental soul
Music is inside me
Its lyrics exist in my body’s reaction to both pleasure and pain
Love and loss
Silence is deafening to me
Music inspires hope in me when I can’t find or manifest it elsewhere
With a hook that either lifts me up
Or stabs me in the gut
Through music I grieve
Through music I love
Through music I re-invent myself
Through music I create
Through my pen I sing
The song that is inside of me
Through music I find strength
When there is nothing left to go on for
Through music I see the world more clearly
Colours, more magnificently
Through music I find;
Beauty Peace Love Hope Dreams Strength And Life
Where none existed
Through my pen, I sing the song from deep within
Through music I exist to tell a story
My pen is my voice
Through music I speak
Through music I cry
Through music I feel
Through music I live
Art, History, Art History
Painting a Mystery - 1998
Sarah McLachlan’s haunting music was playing in the background as I stood at my canvas, brush in behind my ear and overalls covered in a mess of acrylic paint. Hair tied back in a loose bun, feet bare and Earl Grey tea steeping on the table beside me. As she sang, “You’re working, building a mystery…”, I worked away gluing strips of torn rice paper and leaves that I had gathered earlier in the day while out for a walk with the kids onto the canvas. Each piece of the puzzle smeared with acrylic paint and then promptly wiped down again to reveal only partial pieces of this mystery I, myself was building.
I had always wanted to be an artist. My mother’s drawing ability was something I was always envious of so, I had tried my hand at drawing to see whether or not I had inherited her skill. I don’t know if it was impatience at having to work hard at perfecting this particular skill or simply that I couldn’t seem to capture the mystery within each character I worked on, but I quickly switched mediums to see if maybe my talent existed somewhere other than within the pencil.
I had gone to Wallack’s and purchased canvasses and paint brushes and then to the dollar store to buy cheap acrylic paints – just in case my talents weren’t immersed in paint either. I used pumice, gold leaf, gold dust, old earrings; whatever I could find. I wrote words, drew pictures and told the canvas my secrets; then painted over them. It was hidden, but the story was told. Only the canvas and I knew.
It started as an exercise in talent seeking. What came out of it was a series of paintings that told the story of me. I had been living a lie for years; in a world of judgment and disapproval, torture and abuse at both the hands of the one sworn to protect me, as well as my own. I had been pushed around and torn down to the point that I no longer had any idea who I was or where I was going. I had tried to escape physically so many times before, but there was no way out. He had every corner guarded. Every exit had been protected with psychological barbed wire that he had strung out to keep me there. It wasn’t because he wanted me; on the contrary, he was just keeping me there as a part of his collection of normalcy; to hide his sociopathic tendencies to the world at large. If he could keep up appearances, he could fool them all.
I suppose it was partly my fear of being alone, as I had no real friends and no relatives in the area that led me to find comfort and solace in this tumultuous relationship with him. He was not a nice man yet my personal history and upbringing had taught me that I didn't deserve any better. That perhaps it was my fault that he was always angry with me?
What he didn’t know was that I had found an escape. Painting had become that emotional escape. I picked up the brushes and it all went away. I went away. I grew wings and flew to far off destinations; I found myself in the arms of a beautiful stranger and felt beautiful, myself. I gained strength and felt powerful for once. I found the cure for my own self-pity; all within my mind and soul, all within those canvasses on my wall.
I realized that I was weird, I was beautiful, I was obsessive, I was passionate, and I was a freak, a spiritual person, a mother, a sister, a daughter and a friend. I was alive, I was awake. I had my heart ripped out and, I had healed broken hearts myself. I was pleasure, I was pain. I had been bled out and revitalized. I had loved and hated; had charmed and disgusted; I was normal - but not ordinary.
I had found freedom through paint – cheap, dollar store paint had saved my life! That night in particular, was the best night of my life – up until that point anyway. I was free! He had finally left and I was moving on. I had no idea what I was going to do so, I asked the Gods through my paint; and they answered – keep painting! I painted, and painted and painted until I had nothing more to say. I wrote, and wrote and wrote and then painted over it so no one else ever knew what it was that I had said. I built a mystery and unraveled it all at once.
It was a moment like no other before. It was a moment in which I realized that all the other moments that had come before it and all the moments that were yet to come; they made up our lives and our happiness. In this moment, I realized that life was not to be lived seeking happiness every moment, but finding happiness within every moment. Even if that was through cheap dollar store paint and a good soundtrack.
See You Again
See you Again
The music video, "See You Again" is playing on my television in the background, as I look at a picture of my brother. Wiz Khalifa sings, “It’s been a long day without you my friend and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again”, and I begin to cry as I realize how much these lyrics ring true in my life. I always think of Christian when I hear this song.
The song continues, “We’ve come a long way from where we began…”, and I think to myself again how much truth these lyrics speak of both mine and my brother’s lives. I begin to wonder if anyone in my life during my childhood would have ever thought that I would have come this far? I think to myself, "who would have thought that someone like me – the girl who lived in the dilapidated house, and who came from poverty, abuse and neglect; the girl who was bullied all throughout her childhood, and who’s parents were unstable at the best of times, would come so far and do so much?".
I think of my brother, and his struggles and, his battles with his own demons and how far he had to go to escape them. I think of his lifestyle throughout the last ten years of his life; living in the woods, by himself and away from everyone just to escape the insanity and betrayals in our lives. I wonder if he was stronger for having walked away when he did? Was he happier leaving it all behind and trying to fight his battles on new ground? Was he more alive? More free?
Then I think back to my drive in October of 2002 – right after I got my license.
The Drive
The Drive
It was a beautiful fall day. The leaves were turning and the air was crisp, but still warm and sunny; the perfect day for a drive with the top down on my jeep. I headed out with coffee and camera in hand. No kids that day and no responsibilities or expectations so why not?
I drove up the 1000 Islands Parkway taking photos of the river, the trees, the wildlife and the sky; escaped to little side roads that I had never traveled down before with the intent of getting lost. And, get lost I did; but getting lost was the fun part, and getting lost is how I found my way home. Driving fast, wind in my hair and music blaring; stopping only to snap photos of churches, cemeteries, speeding trains and old homes. Nobody could stop me. No one even knew where I was; I was free!
I was 32 years old before I got my driver’s license. Partly because I had been kept in a box for so long that I hadn’t had the chance to seek out new skills like driving and partly because I had been in so many accidents as a child and then lost my best friend, Lisa in a car accident, that I had developed a phobia of driving. So, when I finally decided to take a chance and take driving lessons I was a really nervous and paranoid student.
It took a long time and a lot of courage to drive on my own. I got myself a job out of town so I had to drive everyday to get back and forth to work. It was the only way to guarantee that I wouldn’t chicken out and decide never to drive. It seems that had been the way with me for so many things. Taking the seemingly easy way out of everything – not realizing that the “easy way” was actually the hardest way.
As I drove, I thought about my brother; how he lived his life up north. He lived his life on, “Yukon time” – it didn’t matter how you got there or when you got there; what mattered was what you did when you got there. It didn’t matter what you did, who you knew, but how well you did whatever you did and how good a friend you were to those you did know. There was no need for watches, cell phones, computers or even taxes. There was no one asking you to justify your life; justify your time. Nobody expected you to be anyone other than you. Oh, how I admired my brother; how I wanted to be there with him and live like him.
I couldn’t though because I had responsibilities here and I had cell phones and computers and punched a clock everyday to prove that I could justify my time. But I could be free that day, as I drove; I was free. Cell phone was off, enough gas to go all day long and enough money in my wallet in case I ran out of gas before I ran out of the inspiration to keep driving. I was living on Yukon Time, if only for one day.
As I drove, I thought; about what it was like before I got my driver’s license. I thought about all of the times that I had been forced to beg for rides for either myself or the kids; how I had allowed myself to be held hostage by a crazy, controlling force simply because I didn’t have the balls to conquer this ridiculous fear and take control of my own life for once. But I had done it now! I had summoned up the courage to be courageous; and I was free for the day, as a result; this day anyway, this moment.
I thought of my brother again, this time I thought of him as a small boy. I thought of how he had looked up to me and had followed me around like a lost puppy dog; how annoying that was. I loved it, but that didn’t stop me from tormenting and traumatizing him! I taught him to smoke. I thought I should call him, write him; buy a plane ticket to either go visit him or bring him here for a visit. I thought about how sick he was as a boy, how many trips to the hospital, and when he had surgery on his foot. He had stepped on a rusty fence wire and it never bled. It got infected. He was in the hospital for months. My poor baby brother, my poor annoying pain in the butt brother; suddenly at 14 years old, I realized that I actually cherished him.
The skies began to darken. I better get home. It’s been an amazing day! Yet, another moment to transcribe into the journal within my mind, but now I’ll go home and call my brother. I’ll call or write my brother to tell him about my moments and create yet another with him.
Wine, Pizza, Toothpaste and Purging
I was going through old letters and paperwork when I found the letter I wrote to my brother that day. I realized I hadn’t sent it to him and thought to myself that I would send it this week, along with some newspaper clippings that I had found for him – about a man in Toronto who was being led around the city by a team of dogs – he was an inner city musher. I thought Christian would find it interesting and funny because he, himself had run dogs for a few years out in BC before moving to Dawson City, Yukon. I put the letter and article aside in the, “to be kept” pile.
I was moving in with my new boyfriend – J – so, I had to sort and downsize my life a little; a task which can be referred to as nothing less than enormous! I had already sorted out kid’s toys, clothing, dishes and pretty much everything else I could downsize. I was a bit of a pack rat and I needed a purge anyway. The hardest part was the paperwork though; years of kid’s artwork – I couldn’t throw anything away, pictures; letters from friends, journals I had kept and letters I had written to my best friend, Lisa after she had died in the car accident. I seemed to carry a lot of baggage with me – not emotional baggage, but baggage that carried emotional attachment within it.
I re-read the letter I had written to my brother; “Dear Christian, I was going to type this letter out and print off a copy to send to you, but after the past few frustrating weeks, I have had it up to my eyeballs with technology and all of the wonderful, time consuming complications that go along with it! Besides, I found this incredibly cool pen and decided I should use it for a purpose more meaningful than that of writing my name over and over again. This pen reminds me of those invisible markers we used to get when we were kids. I always thought those were cool, then again I did always fancy myself as either a Nancy Drew or Maxwell Smart. I suppose it’s better than Captain James T. Jerk or the incredible shirt ripping Hulk like you! When you look at this ink on the page in a certain light, it is like it disappears. Wish I had some of these pens when I was a little girl….”
The letter went on to describe my life as it was at the time and suggested he write back, or even better; visit sometime. After reading the letter, I filed it and went back to sorting.
I thought how my life had been up until that point. I pondered my own existence, as well as all my fellow human beings. I found a tube of toothpaste and thought about making a dentist appointment; found another card made by one of my kids and thought about how much they had grown. I remembered that I needed to make parent/teacher interview appointments with their teachers. I found a picture frame and thought about putting Christian’s picture in it; realizing that I didn’t have any pictures of him grown up. The last time I had seen him he was still a teen. I thought about how quickly time slips by us. Then was distracted by the knick knack in the bottom of the box; where would this fit in at J's place?
“I should send Christian pictures of the kids and I with the letter and ask for him to send some of himself, as well”, I thought. Then, when I realized I was hungry I thought about ordering pizza for dinner for the kids and me. J came by. We talked. I ordered pizza. I had a glass of wine that night instead of going over to see him. I figured I could substitute one pleasure for the other just this once – or was it a vice? I realized how in love I was and how little I really knew him. Were we going too fast?
I poured myself another glass of wine and sat on the deck with a book and a pack of cigarettes. Yes, definitely a vice. And I reveled in the moment, thinking that this was to be one of my last few moments as a single woman.
Into the Fire
It was mid-October and the leaves were changing. It was beautiful out still. I thought about that drive I had taken a few years back shortly after having got my driver’s license; that wonderful, life-altering drive. I thought about doing the same drive again that day, but still had so much packing to do. I had taken a few boxes over to J’s already and had set up a few knick knacks, hung a few pictures and put away a few dishes in his cupboard. It was really happening. I had stepped into the fire again after having promised myself that I would never do this again. After 10 years of absolute shit I was never getting married or moving in again, dammit! Not until I met J anyway; until the night of the kiss. “Enough self-torture, Lynda”, I thought aloud. “Get to work.”
I started packing again; books, CD’s, movies, magazines and more stupid knick knacks. I asked myself sarcastically just how many knick knacks does one person needs and then answered myself that I have OCD and that makes me both obsessive and compulsive so, “shut up and get back to work”. I threw on a CD and wondered to myself, why all of my favourite songs were always number 3 on the disk. Was it some kind of strange coincidence or was it planned out by the record companies to always put the best song in that position? None of the songs were top 40 type songs though. I wasn’t into mainstream anything, or so I thought.
When I was finished packing for the day, I took some boxes over to J’s and told my daughter I would be back in a few hours. She was busy packing her own room and I thought I’d leave her to it. The other two were at their dad’s for the day so it gave me some time to do some moving.
I was unpacking some of the paperwork and telling J about the letter I had found and about my brother and how he lived, when the phone rang. It was my sister. She had “bad news”. I thought to myself, "the last time someone had called me with bad news it was that Lisa and her husband Gary had been killed in a car accident". Nausea washed over me as I asked “what now?” I really didn’t want her to tell me, but I couldn’t stop what was coming.
“It’s Christian”, she paused. “There has been an accident… a fire. Linda, they found a body that they think…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I just asked her how they knew it was him and told her that if they weren’t sure, then there was still hope that it wasn’t him. Maybe it was someone else’s brother. What a selfish thing to think, but I didn’t care. It couldn’t be mine. I wasn’t ready to lose him. I hadn’t sent the letter yet.
“It’s not him!” I tried to convince her. “It’s not him is it?” I begged. After I hung up the phone, I searched frantically for the letter. I re-read it again and remembered the letter I had not sent to Lisa. The letter that she had written to me but never sent, as well; and I hoped that Christian had left me a letter unsent, as well. I thought about Lisa and the last time I had seen her; remembered the dream I had the night she died. I remembered the journal entries begging the Gods that I didn’t ever have to lose her and the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized that I felt responsible for her death because I had written it down. I
wondered if, I had I sent the letters; if I had shown them how much I appreciated them would they still be here? Was I somehow inadvertently responsible for their deaths? Are they taken away if they aren’t seen for what they really are to you? Why do we have to learn so many lessons the hard way?
It felt like I had been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat! I was bleeding emotionally internally and externally, all at once. Suddenly nothing made any sense. Two of the best people I had known were gone and there was nothing I could do about it; nothing anyone could do – but scream, cry and scream some more! I thought about what he had said to me when he was nine. He had just got home from the hospital after having been there for months, and was still in a wheelchair because of the multiple surgeries he had had on his foot. Despite all the pain and the months of being bed-ridden, he was still happy and positive.
He amazed me; his eternal sunshine. I sang him that song when he was little – “you are my sunshine…” I later sang it to my children, too. We were playing on the highway; I was wheeling him around in his wheelchair pretending that he was a race car driver when a car came squealing around the corner like they always did on that road. I yanked him back and he almost flew out of the chair. I was breathless; he was laughing and I was almost crying when I said, “that was close”, to which he had replied, it's okay, I'm going to live until I'm 30.
I later found the article online; “Body found in cabin...". It was my brother, Christian. He had died – October 16th, 2004. He was 30 years old.