Dig 2000

Dig 2000

Age: Twenty-Six


     Shelly and I were more than confused. I had called him earlier that day and asked to borrow a Halloween costume so he knew we were on the way to his house. And yet he still answered the door alone and intoxicated. Shelly and I exchanged glances as we watched him stumble around both on his feet and with his words. 
     Our summer had been spent trying and failing to get together with him so we were already on high alert. Now his bizarre behavior confirmed that we were missing something. What the hell was going on? 
     He invited us in and motioned us to follow him upstairs where he handed me the desired Daphne costume he had made for a friend the year before. Then, he proceeded to show us the first drag outfit he had ever concocted for himself. He had come out of the closet a few years earlier so the fact that he was dressing in drag prompted little shock; the shock came as we watched him fumble around his closet searching for the desired outfit then struggle to put on the simplest of clothes. Finally, he topped it off with a brown, bobbed wig that sat crooked on the top of his head. 
     He then gave us a pathetic smile and looked for some kind of critique on his catholic school girl uniform. My body language and tone were an utter contradiction to my “it looks nice” comment, but the words simply fell out of my gaping mouth. Of course, since Dig was so far gone he had no idea that I had just lied through my teeth. My heart beat faster and faster as I watch one of my best childhood friends behave like a total stranger. 
     Unsure as to our next move, Shelly and I lingered upstairs for a bit longer then decided to head back downstairs to the living room while Dig changed back into his street clothes. I grabbed her by the arm and said forcefully, “what the hell is wrong with him? Is he drunk or on drugs?” 
     She shook her head, “I have no idea.” 
     “Well, I am going to ask him. This is bullshit. He knew that we were coming over tonight and yet he still chose to use whatever he is using by himself. This is ridiculous! And he has been avoiding us lately, taking forever to return calls. Something is wrong here and I am going to get to the bottom of it!” 
     “Are you sure you want to get into this right now?” she questioned. “He is clearly not himself tonight so shouldn’t we just let this stuff wear off and talk to him tomorrow?” 
     Well, in my state of panic and hyperventilation, I considered her response for about one second, watched Dig descend the staircase then blurted, “what…the hell is going on!” A million emotions were running through my mind and body with my heart racing, my face burning and the muscles in my neck tightening into knots. 
     With his head staring at the floor, he sat down, then took the longest three seconds I have ever known to look up at me and with a relaxed demeanor said, “well, this is a celebratory occasion.” 
     I raised my eyebrows and silently waited for more. When he did not offer any more of an explanation, I shook my head side to side and said, “a what?!” 
     “A celebratory occasion,” he said again slurring. 
     “And what the hell are you celebrating?” I snapped. Shelly sat next to me looking uncomfortable as hell but she too was curious. What did he mean by that statement? 
     He then proceeded to tell Shelly and me that he had an alcohol problem and was in the process of shaking it. What? An alcohol problem? We were shocked. We had known him to drink but not over-drink, well not often anyway. He went on to say that he had an extremely embarrassing incident that summer where he was pulled over for drinking and driving and was given a DWI. Then he was court ordered to attend the workhouse program where he would spend his days working and his nights incarcerated. 
     We could not believe what we were hearing. Dig was a straight A student and the smartest guy we knew. How in the world could he have let alcohol become a problem? So, because of his jail sentence he became depressed, because of his depression he began to drink and because he drank too much…well you get the picture. 
     I could not keep my mouth from hanging open. The news hit me hard and nothing seemed to make sense. I finally responded to his candor and said, “then why are you celebrating drunk? And alone for that matter?” 
     He forced a half smile and replied, “because I have decided that today is the last time I am ever going to drink, and it is bittersweet. I am happy because I want control back in my life but sad because I like drinking and partying and being social. So after today, my life will drastically change.” 
     A long silence followed those words, a very long silence. I decided that since I chose to approach the subject, I should be the one to comment next, “I’m sorry that I jumped all over you but I had to get some answers as to your bizarre behavior.” 
     “I understand,” he replied. “Although you probably got more out of me by asking tonight while I was drunk than if I had been sober.” That sad statement received my most pathetic smile in return. 
     I had nothing left to say at this point, therefore leaving before I made things worse felt like the right thing to do. I finished with, “o kay, well I am glad that you are turning over a new leaf. It sounds like you are on the right track and we will be here for you. We can get together and have fun without drinking. We spent our childhood sober right?” I was desperately trying to end on a good note. 
     Shelly and I then gathered our things and walked toward the door. We told Dig that we would contact him the next day to check in. He hugged each one of us and we said good-bye. 
     The silence between the two of us on our way home was eerie. We had nothing to say to one another. Life had jus dealt us the “take everything you think you know and forget it” card. Our reality had become surreal and one of our best friends had seemingly become a stranger. Dig was dealing with so much pain that we couldn’t help but feel a terrible sadness within us. 
     Neither one of us slept well that night. Our need for control forced us to toss and turn searching for the right approach to Dig’s problem. All we wanted was for Dig to be better right now and that was not a logical solution. We both knew that his problem would be a lifetime in the making and that knowledge sucked. Getting over “the quick fix idea” would be the first hurdle we would have to overcome. I could not believe how hard this was for me to handle. Dig must have been going crazy. But at least he knew something needed to change and that gave me hope. 
     The next day I kept my word and called Dig. I wanted to speak to him while he was sober and I also wanted help him work out a sobriety game plan. I had never helped anyone with an alcohol problem before but knew that support was an important place to start. 
     I can honestly say that I did not expect him to answer the phone drunk but he did and my heart nearly exploded. I took a long, deep breath which gave me just enough time to collect my thoughts and decide not to confront him on his current intoxicated state. I realized instantly that his issues would not begin to resolve themselves should we have another clouded conversation. 
     I found some way to cut our dialog short and approached Shelly with my bad news. Extreme anger was written all over her face as she threw her arms up and left the room. She was so upset that he had lied to us she could barely contain herself. We now know that lying and addiction go hand-in-hand, but at the time we found it extremely surprising. We were stumped. How in the world were we going to help our friend? 
     After a short debate, we decided our first course of action; there was no way we were going to bring Dig to our Halloween party. Prior to visiting him drunk and alone, we had invited him to our party but now, knowing his state of mind, we had to change our plans. Bringing an alcoholic to a party stocked with booze was a horrible idea and we were not about to enable an addict. 
     Since I chose to invite him in the first place, I was elected to break the date. My stomach was in knots before I made the phone call. I did not want to add to his depression, but what choice did I have? The knots turned into a burning sensation as the telephone rang and rang and rang. Then finally he answered. I made small talk for a minute or two stalling a bit then the true reason behind my phone call found its way out of my mouth. As I explained myself to him, he listened quietly and soon told me that he understood our position and respected our decision. Really? Okay. I experienced a sense of satisfaction yet couldn’t help shake the belief that Dig had been drinking again prior to our conversation. Just great, my lovely friend’s sobriety and our friendship was on the line because of friggin’ alcohol. My new reality was really pissing me off. 
     Days later, I received a phone call from Dig’s sister informing me of his troubles with alcohol. She told me that it was serious, much more serious than I could imagine. But she did not know about our Halloween confrontation so I brought her up to speed on the experience and assured her that I did realize the seriousness of the situation and that I wanted to help. It would not take long for me to learn that helping someone with an addiction problem was vastly complicated with no right answers and no quick fixes. My recurring thought during that time was My God Dig, how can we help you? 
     And we wanted to help him, in any way possible. We would occasionally find the time for a cup of coffee or a bite to eat, but he was still different—not awful, just different. If I could have fixed his all of his problems, I would have. But nothing I said or did seemed to pull him out of his funk. After some time, I began to realize that all of the encouragement in the world was not going to help him. He needed to take charge of his own life. But where does a mentally drained person find the strength to gain control? 
     As if Dig struggling wasn’t enough, Shelly found herself experiencing a bout of depression as well. She had been job hunting for a year in search of a position in her field, was unsuccessful in her search and beyond frustrated. She knew that something had to change, so she made the snap decision to try her luck in Hawaii. Shelly had always felt the need to travel and the job market could not possibly be worse there. Plus, the Fonio family had connections on the island and which gave her some comfort in her decision. 
     I, on the other hand, could not believe that what was happening. I thought I was depressed before by watching Dig’s personality dramatically change, but now my best friend, my lovely sister, was leaving me! I started to panic. And I hated to lose control. First of all, I did not have the background to help Dig find peace and now, Shell was dead set on changing her location. My pain became physical. What was I going to do? 
     Well…I will tell you what I did; I quit my job, sublet my apartment and decided to go to Hawaii with my sister. I’m telling you, as crazy as my decision seems, it was just the control I needed. 
     Writing these words brings back the guilt I felt for years about leaving Minnesota while Dig was struggling to find himself. At the time, I was feeling depressed about my inability to help Dig and then I was depressed with Shelly leaving and my job in Minnesota had been a good starting point, but was not a place to stay long term. I felt the need to protect my own emotional state and moving to Hawaii felt right. So guilt or no guilt, I was moving to Hawaii. 
     Shell made plans first and decided to move right after the New Year. And I needed time to tie up loose ends, so I followed her two weeks later. About a month before we left for the islands, we told Dig about our moving plans. He seemed sad to see us go but was excited for us to take on a new adventure. We were desperate for him to visit us and he seemed somewhat interested in the possibility. I felt terribly guilty for leaving my friend, and because of that guilt, I found myself trying to convince both of us that moving was the right decision. After a pathetic attempt, the conversation switched from my pain to Dig’s. It was his turn to convince me that his problems were on the mend. Maybe it was my guilt or wishful thinking, but Dig told me that things were getting better so I chose to believe him. He did, after all, work as a pharmacy technician at a hospital and was fully covered for psychiatric help. I could only hope that he was taking full advantage of their services. 
     By Christmas we had not seen much of Dig. Our schedules did not always line up and the few times we did see him could only be described as “fine.” He gained some of his old traits back yet seemed more passive and insecure than I knew him to be. I wanted my old Dig back and felt absolutely helpless. My spirits were raised, though, when he accepted Shelly’s and my invitation to join the neighborhood Christmas party. 
     In elementary school, the neighborhood kids began the tradition of Secret Santas. As we grew older, it moved on to gift giving where it ultimately became an excuse to reconnect with each other. 
     That year, Shelly and I hosted the gathering and everyone showed up, including Dig. We were so glad to see him yet his demeanor was still strange to us. He appeared anxious, uncomfortable and distracted. The Dig we all knew had nearly disappeared and was replaced by “that guy” and it scared the crap out of us. 
     “What the hell is going on?” Leah whispered to me as she dragged me into my bedroom. That had become the catch phrase everyone seemed to use when discussing Dig’s disposition. 
     “Who have you talked to?” I questioned. 
     “Nobody. What do you mean?” she said shaking her head. “Dig’s behavior is disturbing and freaking me out.” 
     I took a deep breath, rubbed my hands across my eyebrows then proceeded to clue her in on Dig’s issues and she was speechless. She just stood there almost star-struck by the information. We had known him since we were kids and the person who appeared to be Dig was seemingly a stranger. 
     Leah’s reaction was far too familiar. She seemed to be experiencing the same feelings that Shelly and I felt the day of our Halloween confrontation. Unfortunately for us and Dig, the answers to Dig’s problems eluded Leah as well. Depression and alcoholism were way over all of our heads. 
     I couldn’t help but break down to my parents after the party. They knew something was going on with Dig but were shocked to find out the seriousness of his issues. I sobbed and sobbed while I exhaled my concerns. I wanted him better and felt the physical pains of my loss of control. My heart raced, dizziness set in and the shortness of breath caused my constricted chest to hurt. My parents eventually talked me out of my panicked state and reminded me that my loss of control would not help anyone. All I could do was reach out to Dig and offer him my friendship in his time of need. 
     I knew they were right but why did this have to happen? Why did my friend have to deal with such agony? Why did alcoholism exist? I worried that he would not be strong enough to beat his demons. 
     Shortly after my breakdown with my parents, I spoke with Dig again and to my surprise he sounded quite put together. We discussed Hawaii and he seemed honestly excited for us. I secretly breathed a sigh of relief at his enthusiasm. My guilt still plagued me so any sign of approval helped ease my silent agony. I encouraged him to come visit us when he got a chance and he seemed genuinely interested. Hawaii seemed like a great place for anyone to recharge and at this point, I was trying anything and everything to help my beloved friend. 
     The last time I would see Dig before flying to Hawaii was at his grandmother’s funeral. Poor Dig. The guy did not need another reason to be depressed. Life can be so cruel sometimes. 
     I remember walking into the building and spotting him across the room. He was wearing fake, black-rimmed glasses—they were his newest accessory and looked great on him. I hugged him and said that I was so sorry for his pain. He looked down and replied, “I don’t know what I am going to do without her.” I felt so sad for my friend. With tear filled eyes, I reached out and rubbed his arm. It was a small gesture but I did not know what else to do. 
     I spoke with Dig one more time on the phone before I flew out to meet Shelly on Oahu. I told him that we would call often and would be anxiously awaiting his visit. With that I said goodbye to my friend and hello to my new adventure: Aloha Hawaii! 
     Ah Hawaii! Have I told you that I love Hawaii? What a beautiful place. 
     Shelly had arrived two weeks before me and worked out some great details. She did some investigating and decided on a flat two blocks from Waikiki beach. It was a large studio with a double lanai that overlooked the hotel pool next door. I loved everything about it! 
     We each paid $375 a month which made up for the lack of space. And within the first few weeks, we met some fun neighbors and had guests visit us from Minnesota. We were having a great time. We would phone home from time to time and tell tales of the beach and living in paradise. Our friends were slightly jealous but mostly happy that Hawaii had given us the peace of mind for which we had searched. 
     After two weeks of playing, we decided to get real and start applying for work. There was no way we could keep up a lifestyle all “outcome” and zero income. 
     Two weeks passed and it seemed that authentic-Hawaiian restaurants were not interested in hiring two sisters from Minnesota. Our dream, since arriving two weeks earlier, was to work on the beach at a cool Hawaiian establishment. We quickly learned that serving jobs of that nature were few and far between, so after countless rejections, we finally applied to some of the chain restaurants in town. 
     First we went to Tony Roma’s, then Chili’s, Friday’s, Hard Rock Café and finally Planet Hollywood. Thank you Planet Hollywood for hiring two desperate sisters from Minnesota! We needed the work! 
     During our first week of training, we met some awesome people that would share in our Hawaiian experiences throughout our seven-month stay on the island, including another Minnesotan. Our decision to move to Oahu was proving to be an excellent choice. 
     And then in the blink of an eye, our happiness disappeared. It seemed as though we had never even heard of the word yet alone knew it’s meaning. Happiness? Doesn’t ring a bell. 
     Shelly answered the phone that morning unprepared for the news that lay ahead. Her face changed expression even before my dad relayed the terrible message. His voice sounded so grave that she froze in her chair and nervously waited for the unwanted news. 
     I had never heard Shell cry harder in my entire life. She actually looked to be in physical pain from the message my dad had delivered. I will never, ever forget the way she cried. To this day, I almost lose my breath when I think it. It was raw and it was awful. 
     I sat on my bed watching her then would find myself drifting off to stare at nothing. I knew that when Shelly got off that phone, my world would change. And I was right, my world fell apart; Dig had died. 
     I felt as though a boulder was stuck in my throat. What did she mean he had died? How, when, why? Why, why, why? Tears were streaming down my face. Shelly sobbed as she relayed the details. She could barely speak without wailing. Oh my gosh…it was bad…so bad…so awful. 
     My breath was short and fast causing a dizziness that forced my head to hit my pillow hard. The pain of the event brought shock to my entire body as if I had endured a physical injury, and then I was numb. I could barely hear and felt nothing. 
     Shell walked over to me and we embraced each other like we never had before. Our Dig was gone and the thought of it brought us to our knees. 
     We cried for an eternity and then we cried some more. Tears felt better than words at this point. We would never see Dig again and our minds could not accept that reality. The only control we possessed was to cry and cry and cry some more. The sobs continued until our bodies could take no more. Finally we were given a break from our physical sorrows and in that amount of time, we decided that we needed to pack our bags, drive to the airport and find the first flight home. 
     As we packed, we put our travel plans into perspective and decided to call our parents back and work out the details before overreacting. We needed to get home as soon as possible and that would not happen if we stayed in our state of hyperventilation. 
     Our mom acted quickly and through frequent flyer miles, found us a flight home. The only problem, the flight did not leave for two, long, painful days. 
     The thought of waiting even an hour made us sick to our stomachs so you can imagine the anxiety we were experiencing by having to wait two full days before heading home. It was almost emergency room worthy. Although the shock we were in from the unthinkable situation kept us from losing it entirely. 
     We chose to spend our time feeling desperate on the beach crying. Our work allowed us to postpone our training so we were free to morn Dig while watching waves crash against the sand. I remember tears flowing down my face even when I was not sobbing. They were uncontrollable, which was very fitting actually. Was anything in our control? 
     Shell and I talked about everything Dig—our guilt for leaving, our inability to help when we were there, our past, our future without him, life after death. We had no answers to any of it but felt comfort in exhaling our thoughts. 
     Dig’s death was deemed an accident, giving us something positive to hold on to. I could barely handle his passing as an accident and have no idea how I would have gotten through a suicide. 
     Apparently, Dig was on a date with a new guy he had recently met. The guy lacked the knowledge of Dig’s alcohol issues and fragile state of mind so felt nothing about drinking with him on what seemed to be a low-key evening. They watched movies and drank too much therefore Dig’s date chose to stay the night. 
     Somewhere during the evening Dig drank so excessively that he lacked the average reflexes of a “normal functioning” adult. His innate senses were thrown off by the overabundance of alcohol, which triggered a malfunction in his brain that hindered his ability to alert his body when facing danger; the danger in Dig’s case, a mouthful of vomit; a mouthful of vomit which ultimately suffocated one of my dearest friends. 
     I never met Dig’s date but I do think about him from time to time and the amount of therapy he must have endured to move on from such a horrific event. I also understand that Disney’s Beauty and the Beast was playing when the paramedics arrived at Dig’s house. It’s weird but that movie makes me smile sometimes and sob at other times. Apparently, grief is not afraid to touch every emotion a person possesses. 
     Somehow the day to fly home finally arrived and somewhere, through the fog, we made it home. I was so afraid to face my reality. I wanted to see my family so badly but not like this, not ever like this. 
     My sister Lora was also on her way home. While Shell and I were sunning ourselves in Hawaii, Lora attended school in Scotland. She is my most sensitive sister and it broke my heart to think of her traveling by herself in such a fragile emotional state. With much support from her college friends, she somehow managed to pick herself up from the wreckage and get on a plane to Minnesota. Needless to say my mother and father were eager to have all of their girls home and safe. 
     When our flight arrived, we walked like zombies to the baggage claim and retrieved our luggage. In minutes we found ourselves outside looking for our mom’s car. Seconds after spotting her, she flew out of the car and instantly embraced us. We all sobbed uncontrollably. 
     As we drove through Minneapolis on I94-W I could not help but feel that the city looked different. The city where Dig had attended college, where he had lived and worked, well, it seemed to be missing him. 
     So many things reminded me of my friend. There was the Witches Hat in Prospect Park where Dig lived at one time and the Metrodome where Dig attended a Twins game during the World Series. My memories multiplied as we drove into Champlin where we grew up. Was this real life or was I in some surreal nightmare? Nothing made sense. 
     As we turned into my parent’s driveway, I almost lost my breath. Anxiety and sadness filled my body. My dad greeted us at the car with more tears and more hugs. Oh Dig, we loved you so much and now you are gone. I didn’t know how to handle myself. 
     Words were stuck in my throat, tears started falling and all I could do was look at my dad, shrug my shoulder and frown. He gave me another hug, taking forever to let go. 
     The only thing that helped our disposition was my parent’s home remodeling project. While their kids were abroad, my parents decided to expand their kitchen and laundry room, and add on a workout room and bathroom. They were right in the middle of the project when we made our unexpected trip home. 
     We fought back tears as my parents gave us the tour. I tried to show excitement about the addition but my mind was solely focused on Dig. I could see his parent’s house from the kitchen window and my heart began to ache. Memories flooded my mind and tears rained down my face. My dad gave me a hug and I hugged him back. How were we going to get through such a tragedy? 
     The answer, I don’t know. As I write this chapter of my life, it has been ten years since we lost Dig and I am still in the healing process. Death is weird. Every person will die someday but there is something in my brain that won’t accept that truth. As crazy as it sounds, sometimes I feel as though Dig is constantly working and that is why I haven’t seen him. It’s like my brain says, “sorry, I don’t accept the definition of death so it does not exist.” 
     I don’t want to get into a big religious discussion surrounding death but I do feel in my heart that Dig lives on. I believe that his cremated remains are not the end of him. And that he is now the guardian angel to everyone that loved him when he was on this earth. 
     “We miss you Dig, and believe me, you will never be forgotten.”

Kindle Select

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Kimmie Cont...

      The funeral took place in Red Wing, Minnesota, about an hour south of where my family and I lived. We were staying in a hotel because the wake was the first night and the funeral the next day. I didn’t even know what a wake was until this experience.
     I remember getting ready in the hotel room. Every one of my family members had little or nothing to say. How does one prepare for the wake of a baby? I had only seen her one time in her short life. She was born in the fall and attended either the Haider Thanksgiving party or the Haider Christmas party, I can’t remember, but she was a sweet little girl and I was lucky enough to hold her for a time. Nobody knew that it would be the last time any of us would see her. These unsettling thoughts flooded my head as we combed our hair and put on our dresses.
     Once we were ready to leave, I looked at the six of us and believed that our dark, drab clothes perfectly expressed the sadness we felt on the inside. We slowly walked to the car, piled in and quietly drove a torturous ten minute drive to the funeral home. I had a million thoughts running through my head and my worst stomachache to date. Then in the blink of an eye we arrived.
     I swear to you that I have never forgotten the smell of that funeral home. Even though Lilys are beautiful flowers, their bouquet will always remind me of that gorgeous baby’s funeral and the unbelievably chilling atmosphere. I had never seen my family in such despair. There were no smiles, just countless tearful embraces. Haider family gatherings were usually loud and full of laughter but not today. Losing that baby girl had broken everyone’s heart.
     My sisters and I huddled together, unsure of where to go and what to say. We simply hugged anyone who walked by while shaking our heads and wiping our noses. And then I saw it. As the sea of people thinned out, Kimmie’s open casket became visible. I started to panic. Knowing that she had passed was one thing, but actually seeing her dead body was another. Anxiety shot through my limbs and I felt as though I would collapse. My dad must have noticed my elevated stress level because he walked over to me and gave me a hug.
     Somehow he calmed me down and through some carefully chosen words, he convinced my sisters and me to approach our baby cousin. I cannot remember what he said exactly, but it must have been good.
     We held each other tight and sobbed as we moved closer and closer to her. She looked beautiful. I could not believe that that little baby was alive one minute and gone the next. Why…why…why…?
     I was so mad. So mad I could not see straight. Her little life was way too short. She did not get enough time to experience life and we didn’t get enough time to get to know her. Tears were streaming down my face as these thoughts sped through my mind.
     Then, for some unknown reason, my body went against all of my impulses and I found my hand reaching out to touch her. She looked so soft and warm but in reality, her face was rock hard and cold to the touch. My heart nearly stopped and it was at that moment that I decided to step away from the body that used to house my cousin. The reality of death had just become too much for me to handle.
     As I backed away, I noticed Kimmie’s older brother and sister running around the room. They were about two and three years old and seemed to be having a great time. They were dodging in and out of people, running up to the casket, touching Kimmie then running away. It was all very innocent yet slightly disturbing. They would never remember her, how could they? The thought made my stomach turn. It was the last time they would ever see their little sister and they were too young to know better.
     The last thing I remember about that wake was the conversation Shelly and I had with my uncle. He sat down with us and just poured his heart out. He was so angry at the loss of his little girl. He wanted answers and knew he would never get them. He wanted her back and knew that it was impossible. He sobbed and we sobbed. It was the saddest moment I had ever experienced. If I could have taken away his pain, I would have. He was such a loving father and all he wanted to do was share that love with his daughter Kimmie.
     I can’t tell you how the conversation ended because I was wiped out, I was pushed to the edge of hysteria. The wake forced emotions out of me that I would not wish upon anyone. And the fact that my family had to go through such debilitating pain made me physically sick. I was not sure how I would make it through another day. But as much as I resisted it, another day came. The day of Kimmie’s funeral.
     As I walked into the church, I was again blasted by the smells of Lilys. Why do funerals have to ruin such a beautiful flower?
     As I scanned the pews, I saw friends and family members forcing back sobs yet allowing tears to fall. And that damn casket, the symbol that is supposed to assist us in the grieving process, sat in the middle aisle like a knife stabbing every one of us in the heart. Nobody could look at that small visual without choking up. It was truly one of the worst sights I have ever seen.
     I wanted that service to end almost as much as I feared for it to begin. That’s the thing about death—it's a no win predicament.
     Like it or not, the priest eventually started the service and it was awful, just awful. We all just held on to one another and cried. There was nothing else we could do.
     Then, the priest turned to my aunt and uncle and motioned them to the altar. Apparently, they were interested in addressing their loved ones. I was shocked. I could barely speak without sobbing, how in the world would they be able to say anything?
     My aunt spoke first. She stood up at that podium and cried through her entire monologue. She told us of a dream she had that contained a number of doors and Kimmie was behind one of them. God told her that Kimmie had done her job and was ready to be with him. I cannot remember all of the dream details exactly but somehow that dream gave my aunt a sense of peace that her baby was alright and that she would see her again someday. It was a moving speech that surprised everyone. There was a mother, in the worst pain imaginable, and she was moving toward the healing process right in front of her friends and family.
     My uncle spoke next, but did not share her sense of peace. He vocalized his anger. He was angry with God for taking his baby. He was not ready to let her go and he could not see a time where he would ever accept her death. It was pretty obvious that he was my blood relative, because I understood every word out of his mouth.
     Both speeches were heartfelt and honest and every person at the funeral felt for the grieving couple without passing judgment. All any of us could do was listen and embrace our loved ones who were suffering.
     Kimmie’s passing devastated every person that I knew. Even acquaintances braced themselves as the news was relayed. A precious baby had left the earth too soon and that reality hurt everyone in its path.
     As a coping mechanism, my sisters and I developed an obsession with Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Every one of us did a report on the subject in high school and then again in college. We needed facts; Facts about the disorder that would help us understand the reasoning behind our cousin’s death. And even though the information recovered was limited, the act of researching assisted us through our grieving process.
     I cannot say that I ever truly got over the passing of my baby cousin. I still think about her today. I wonder about the interests she may have had and the Haider sense of humor she would certainly have inherited. I think about her looks and how they would have resembled her beautiful mother and sisters. The “what if’s” are endless.
     Though Kimmie’s life was short, she sure produced quite an impact on those of us who knew and loved her.
     “Kimmie, we miss you very much. You are still in our thoughts today and will never be forgotten.”

SAD

Kimmie 1988

Age: Fourteen





      How does one recover? Who could ever be prepared? As a fourteen-year-old child, I knew that I was too immature to make sense of it all and now as a thirty-six year old adult, I am certain that no age is mature enough to handle the devastation.
     The story that haunts my memory; that infests my dreams; and that still makes my head shake in disbelief, took place about twenty-five years ago on my uncle’s birthday. The events surrounding that day were passed on from family member to family member leaving the absolute truth slightly jumbled with each new translation. And my aunt and uncle, who experienced everything first hand, initially relayed the awful news under a cloud of panic and despair. The outcome, however, has never changed; the outcome, unfortunately, has always remained the same.
     On that life altering morning, my uncle and aunt awoke with their two oldest children and prepared to celebrate my uncle’s birthday. The baby lay sleeping while they began fixing breakfast. The day seemed normal, yet the fact that the baby was still asleep concerned my uncle. He decided to go in and check on his sweet girl.
     As he approached the crib, he realized that her blanket was positioned up over her little head. His heart began to pound rapidly as he ran in and pulled the blanket down only to discover her blue coloring.
     Panic set in as he ripped the blanket off, picked her up and tried to wake her. When he realized that she was not breathing, he screamed to his wife who ran to him and somehow, through her hysteria, managed to phone 911. My uncle performed CPR while they desperately waited for the ambulance to arrive.
     Unbelievable…unbelievable! How could this happen? Why did this happen? I cannot imagine the thoughts that must have been running through their heads: sheer panic, utter hopelessness, extreme anxiety. Plus, they had two other children to tend to while this horrific event took place. My heart races as I write these words and tears are forming in my eyes. Time has eased the pain, but my memory will not forget the trauma.
     The paramedics eventually arrived at my aunt and uncle’s panic stricken home, but it was too late. My four month old baby cousin, Kimberly Jean, had died and no amount of medical help or knowledge was going to bring her back.
     Having lost their ability to make sense of the world, my aunt and uncle rode with their baby to the hospital. It has been said that my heartbroken aunt sat in a hospital chair and rocked her daughter’s lifeless body for hours without a word.
     I have often pictured her in a state of shock and disbelief while she rocked that lovely baby. Nobody should ever have to feel the pain of losing a child, it is just not fair. Then adding insult to injury, as the terrible event played over and over in my aunt’s head, she ultimately convinced herself that Kimmie had smothered to death in her blanket. Even after hearing that the coroner’s autopsy concluded SIDS to be the cause of death, my aunt could not believe the findings and put the burden on herself for placing a blanket in Kimmie’s crib.
     Who needs those thoughts? Losing a child is bad enough, but placing unnecessary blame is torture.
     Through the thick fog, my shell-shocked uncle somehow managed to call his dad, my grandfather, to relay the awful news. My grandpa always said that losing Kimmie was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He could think of nothing worse than watching his son and daughter-in-law go through that kind of heartache.
     The news hit everyone hard as you can imagine: A full blow to the gut would have been less paralyzing. Nobody knew what to do, how to act, where to begin.
     I was in eighth grade and had never known anyone to die, nor had I even been to a funeral. Death had always freaked me out. I mean it. I used to have panic attacks about death, eternal life, heaven, hell. The uncertainty of the after-life really hit me hard as an adolescent and now I had to face it straight on and not at a funeral where you can celebrate a person’s long life and accomplishments, we had to face it at a funeral where “what could have been and what should have been” would be the focus.