The Stairs
Hey Chris,
Yesterday was a lot. I went with Dad, James, Richie, and Pat Brosnan to the apartment where you died. I saw The Stairs. I’m glad I went. But man was it hard. Do you want to hear this? I’m not sure what you experienced. Did you feel anything? Did you realize what was happening? When did things stop? Go black? Did they?
I drove into the city with James and Gemma. We drove by your old apartment on the Upper East Side. I took a citibike from the station around the corner. I’m pretty sure we got bikes there together a few times. I had time to kill so I went to the gym (to work off some anxiety). I hopped on another bike and with the sun just above the skyline I made my way down to 19th street. The area and the building were nicer than I expected. I was thinking it was in Stuy Town but the street looked more like the Upper West.
I buzzed into the apartment. Dad, James, and Richie were there. Cole and Jack were there too. There wasn’t much small talk. Everyone was already busy trying to retrace what had happened to you that night. Poor Cole. He found you. It’s his apartment. I think we were all trying not to make it feel like an interrogation. We all knew it wasn’t his fault.
He told me he had spent a few months living on your couch on the Upper East Side a year back. In fact, he was happy to return the favor That Night and let you crash on his. You were watching TV, “the game”… something. You invited a bunch of your friends over. You were tired and wanted to go to bed but stayed around because you had created the party. You didn’t want Cole to be stuck hosting your friends without you. People trickled out and you went to bed.
Cole ordered food around 2am and ate it in his room. You were still downstairs. No sign of anything wrong on The Stairs. Sometime after that you woke up and came upstairs. You went to the bathroom, maybe you got water… and then you went to walk back down… or maybe you felt something was wrong and you grabbed the bannister? Either way you collapsed. You didn’t call for help. You just collapsed. You didn’t fall down The Stairs so much as you fell against the brick wall on the first landing. Your hands didn’t reach out to brace. You just fainted. And whatever made you faint also made you not wake up. Cole found you in the morning. Given how sudden it was the cause had to be either the brain or the heart. And since your brain was fine we are left with the heart. By process of elimination. It’s not very satisfying.
It wasn’t closure. There are still so many questions. But I’ve imagined a million times in my head what happened. I’m glad to have the actual place in mind rather than something made up. I think I’m most grateful to know it was quick. And that you had a great day out with friends beforehand. You were on top of the world. I still worry that you felt pain. Or fear.
We also played the “what-if” game over and over. What if someone had heard you fall? What if it had happened earlier? Or somewhere else? What if there were a miraculous defibrillator nearby? I’ve researched everything. 90% of cardiac arrests outside of a hospital result in death. The 10% who survive often face daunting recovery, brain damage, etc. I hate that such terrible statistics give me comfort, but whatever precipitated this terrible event was nearly irreversible once set it motion.
I do wonder what it was like for you? Was it like a near death experience? I imagine you peaceful, seeing a while light, maybe relatives? Grandmas, grandpas… and Tommy of course. He would be front-of-the-line. When I go, I want it to be you.
We may never know the root cause. We’re left with probabilities. Best guesses. But knowing won’t bring you back. I think the best part of the visit was meeting more of your friends. Hearing how you spent the day (minigolf!). Seeing where you spent time. Those are the things I want to know about now.
Love,
Mike
