What Happened?

Hi Chris, 

It’s Sunday. 29 October. You’ve been gone a week. I can’t stand that you’re receding into the past. That every minute that goes by is another minute without you. Every now and then I think you’re just not HERE with us right now. Like you’re out for the day or away at school, but we’ll see you again. And then I remember. 

We had more people over today. I think Mom appreciates that, so she doesn’t have to be alone. We had to put all the flowers outside; none of us can stand the smell - it just reminds of your wake. Your casket was surrounded by so many flowers. So many people loved you. But the smell now makes me sick and Mom and Dad feel the same. We sat around and started to to tiptoe around the future without you. Mom doesn’t think she can stay in the house; she wanted to get rid of it before but now she REALLY does. James did a great job counseling them not to make any rash moves, to postpone making any big decisions until we’ve had more time to process. I don’t know what I want. This house will never be the same without you, but I can’t imagine not coming here for holidays. This is the house you grew up in. 

I guess I’ll pick up where I left off yesterday recounting the Day After: when I arrived at the airport in Amsterdam I was a mess. My eyes were raw and red from crying. The woman who checked me in told me that I “looked tired.” I told her what happened, including the Stairs part. She was very kind but also mentioned that it must have been a really bad fall. Even she sensed something fishy. I had the whole stairs thing on repeat in my mind during the flight. Were they rickety basement stairs? Made of wood? Made of metal? How did you fall? Why didn’t you catch yourself? You were maybe a bit clumsy but also very athletic… I tried to watch a movie but could’t focus. I was also afraid. You know I used to be terrified of flying, which is ironic given how often I fly these days. This was the first time I was truly scared on a plane in a long time. I guess your death felt like a bad omen, but mostly I just couldn’t get out of my head that our family couldn’t take any more bad news. I circled in negative phobia spirals. I finally managed to fall asleep… 

I was at least partially coherent and awake when I landed at JFK. Our cousin Matt picked me up at the airport. I thought I was holding things together, but I broke down as soon I saw him. Matt being Matt he handed me a small box of red wine as soon as I got in the car in case I needed something to take the edge off (I did). I immediately started asking if we had heard anything else. He was fuzzy on the details but said there was some new information from the medical examiner. No sign of brain injury. No broken neck. It was as if you had just collapsed on the stairs, but it wasn’t the stairs that killed you. It all raised many more questions but I thought THANK GOD it wasn’t the Stairs. The Stairs felt pointless. But something inside you - still horrible and you were as out of reach as before - but it felt more predestined. At least in that it would have been harder to know or intervene. My thoughts were jumbled though. WHY did that make me feel better? If your heart gave out or you had some genetic abnormality, is that really LESS random bad luck than a slip on stairs? 

I arrived home and saw our family. The house was full but quiet. It’s fuzzy exactly what I said to Mom or Dad. I just remember that with each new person I broke down like I had heard the news for the first time. Our immediate family was the hardest. Mom and Dad because I could see how broken they were. But Kate and James made it too real. Four siblings down to three. Three brothers down to two. Our baby brother gone. 

In breaks from crying, we’d all turn to try to understand what happened. Dad was in full-on Doctor mode and had spoke with the medical examiner and detectives. No sign of fowl play. No sign of anything illicit, including in the initial toxicology reports. Like me, everyone seemed a bit relieved that it wasn’t the stairs. Kate had the best explanation: at least if it was something inside of you it was a PART of you. Like the seizures you had a child, a medical abnormality came from the genes, mind, body, that made you YOU. Changing them would change You. And we wouldn’t want a different Christopher. Don’t get me wrong if I could give you a medicine to prevent whatever it was that took you down I would do so in a heartbeat. But whatever it was that killed you seems deeper than that. It didn’t reveal itself in a way that would have allowed us to prevent it.

I don’t know if I buy all that yet. At most it takes an ocean of devastation and makes it into a slightly smaller sea. But it’s a start. 

Love,

Mike