Post by jagggar on Oct 30, 2006 22:54:05 GMT -5
Originally Posted on the Internet at WickedTribe on November 30th, 2003.
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I miss my brother. There's some old, dormant topics buried somewhere from that weekend.
Labor Day weekend, 2003. I can't say it's offically my second worst time period or not. I honestly don't know if it was easier on me, or if it hurt more than the week of Christmas, 2000.
I've been though the greiving process before. Only twice, so close. Then again, "only" may not be the right word. George's funeral was only the second Travis, our Youth Director, had been to in his life, and the first was to his friend's mother's funeral in high school. It wasn't the first funeral I'd been to, obviously.
First, quite a while back, was Jesse, one of our church's custodians, the other one is/was his wife. Second, my dad. Now George. And hopefully the last death within our church for the year, Lois, our Children's Minister's mother, and one of the nursery workers who changed my diapers when I was little. Oh, and those are just the people I've known well enough to truely grieve.
I've had a lot of upset at school. The news reports didn't help any. What help is the head of the rescue people talking about they tell people and tell people to stay out of the man-made creek dranage systems? What help is the "friend" of the "victium" who's really just some girl that went to his school. Honestly, you should of heard her, she "didn't think he'd do anything dangerous"?!? That's not someone who knew George. If she'd had known George, she would've known that "dangerous" probably would have been his middle name if it wasn't already Wesley.
But back to the people at school. That week, I took the paper to school each day with me. Not any specific paper, just whichever section landed in our driveway with his picture on the front. First day was the most hurt, yet I stayed silent. I wasn't prepared to deal with any jerks at that time. Fourth hour, Photography. Some guy asked to see my paper, so I let him. Front page was George's picture, well, as George as a school picture could be. I guess within a minute or so he said that "that kid from South" was "stupid", or maybe it was "dumb". Either way, it hurt.
Sixth hour is Calculas. Our class is talkative, lots of thanks to the teacher. Like always, we started talking about stuff, specificly, that weekend. It was the first rain in quite a while, and George wasn't the only death. There'd been some people washed of a road. It was four or five in one family, only the dad was left. But eventually the conversation turned to George. Even after I'd announced that I knew him, so jerk in the back (that probably hadn't heard me) said something about drugs. I was about get up and turn around and yell about how George didn't. I didn't though. After a bit of thinking and trying to keep calm, I realized that George did do drugs. ADHD medication, those are drugs, right?
So there was the funeral. A bunch of odd time that just felt empty and wierd and not real.
Then it was 9/11 again. Not like I remembered it. Only reason I know it was 9/11 now is because the counslor asked me if that might have anything to do with it, it didn't.
I was in third hour, Fibers. It's all girls, the one guy had dropped out before class had even started. So there was some talk going on behind me about how boys were stupid. Then there was some mention about the boy in the creek. I'm pretty sure they were talking about George. It's not like there'd been any more recent creek related deaths. I was trying to draw a line on something. I remember that because the ruler I was using flipped up in the air a little ways, then smacked back against the table. I think it may have gotten the attention of the people behind me. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I got one of those "what's wrong with you" type looks. So I was shaking and asked to go up to the conselor's, got to, and left.
I can't think of any more recent upsettings.
That part was written a week ago. Right now it's weird.
I guess I thought it was final when they put him in the ground. Right now it doesn't feel like it. The just got the tombstone in and buried. Went to see it today with his mom, brother, my friend Stephanie that I've grown close to since then and another guy from our church. It's just so weird. It's not right at all.
So now I know where to go Memorial Day weekend. Just another addition to the list. Iowa, then back here. Or maybe here, then go up to Iowa.
So we drove in the cemetary for a while afterwards. Yeah, one of those nice city ones, you have to have a flat stone unless you're uber-rich. I'm getting buried in the country, I don't care how small my connection is with it, it's just so much more peaceful. If you want me to R.I.P., don't put me where traffic's rushing by.
Went to Godfathers, got some pizza. George's what? Not a widow, they weren't married, but I can't dare say ex when it wasn't a choice parting. Anyway, she came and joined us there. It was weird to see her laying on one of George's close friends so soon afterwards at his brother's birthday party. I'm sorry, I just could not have such a quick recovery.
So we crowded into the car, dropped off the extra guy, oh, by which time we had picked another one up. Then we went to their house, sat down for maybe five minutes, then started work on the X-mas lights. Yeah, I'm not much into decorating anymore. We'll get our tree and put it up late, I think we at least put it off until Christmas Eve Eve last year.
So yeah, it's just not right.
I've sort of started wondering if George had started feeling restless. He was born about six months before me. After the mission trip he said he wanted to go back as an intern and work for a summer next year. I wonder if he said that because he felt restless, that he didn't fit here anymore. That after seventeen an a half years, that he couldn't stand it anymore. Then again, he had moved around some. Slept in a tent one summer. Same one he slept in in Mexico.
I just wanna go back there. Go back to this past summer. It was
. . . indescribable? I just can't finish that sentance with anything. Maybe "It was." is all it's supposed to be. I wanna go back to CYF camp at Tall Oaks. I wanna go back to Cornerstone. I wanna go back to Mexico.
There's just some part of me that doesn't wanna be here. I wanna go home. Sorry, I wanna correct that, I wanna go Home.
Post questions, comments, or replies here.
Post questions, comments, or replies here.
Eighteen and a Day
I miss my brother. There's some old, dormant topics buried somewhere from that weekend.
Labor Day weekend, 2003. I can't say it's offically my second worst time period or not. I honestly don't know if it was easier on me, or if it hurt more than the week of Christmas, 2000.
I've been though the greiving process before. Only twice, so close. Then again, "only" may not be the right word. George's funeral was only the second Travis, our Youth Director, had been to in his life, and the first was to his friend's mother's funeral in high school. It wasn't the first funeral I'd been to, obviously.
First, quite a while back, was Jesse, one of our church's custodians, the other one is/was his wife. Second, my dad. Now George. And hopefully the last death within our church for the year, Lois, our Children's Minister's mother, and one of the nursery workers who changed my diapers when I was little. Oh, and those are just the people I've known well enough to truely grieve.
I've had a lot of upset at school. The news reports didn't help any. What help is the head of the rescue people talking about they tell people and tell people to stay out of the man-made creek dranage systems? What help is the "friend" of the "victium" who's really just some girl that went to his school. Honestly, you should of heard her, she "didn't think he'd do anything dangerous"?!? That's not someone who knew George. If she'd had known George, she would've known that "dangerous" probably would have been his middle name if it wasn't already Wesley.
But back to the people at school. That week, I took the paper to school each day with me. Not any specific paper, just whichever section landed in our driveway with his picture on the front. First day was the most hurt, yet I stayed silent. I wasn't prepared to deal with any jerks at that time. Fourth hour, Photography. Some guy asked to see my paper, so I let him. Front page was George's picture, well, as George as a school picture could be. I guess within a minute or so he said that "that kid from South" was "stupid", or maybe it was "dumb". Either way, it hurt.
Sixth hour is Calculas. Our class is talkative, lots of thanks to the teacher. Like always, we started talking about stuff, specificly, that weekend. It was the first rain in quite a while, and George wasn't the only death. There'd been some people washed of a road. It was four or five in one family, only the dad was left. But eventually the conversation turned to George. Even after I'd announced that I knew him, so jerk in the back (that probably hadn't heard me) said something about drugs. I was about get up and turn around and yell about how George didn't. I didn't though. After a bit of thinking and trying to keep calm, I realized that George did do drugs. ADHD medication, those are drugs, right?
So there was the funeral. A bunch of odd time that just felt empty and wierd and not real.
Then it was 9/11 again. Not like I remembered it. Only reason I know it was 9/11 now is because the counslor asked me if that might have anything to do with it, it didn't.
I was in third hour, Fibers. It's all girls, the one guy had dropped out before class had even started. So there was some talk going on behind me about how boys were stupid. Then there was some mention about the boy in the creek. I'm pretty sure they were talking about George. It's not like there'd been any more recent creek related deaths. I was trying to draw a line on something. I remember that because the ruler I was using flipped up in the air a little ways, then smacked back against the table. I think it may have gotten the attention of the people behind me. Yeah, I'm pretty sure I got one of those "what's wrong with you" type looks. So I was shaking and asked to go up to the conselor's, got to, and left.
I can't think of any more recent upsettings.
That part was written a week ago. Right now it's weird.
I guess I thought it was final when they put him in the ground. Right now it doesn't feel like it. The just got the tombstone in and buried. Went to see it today with his mom, brother, my friend Stephanie that I've grown close to since then and another guy from our church. It's just so weird. It's not right at all.
So now I know where to go Memorial Day weekend. Just another addition to the list. Iowa, then back here. Or maybe here, then go up to Iowa.
So we drove in the cemetary for a while afterwards. Yeah, one of those nice city ones, you have to have a flat stone unless you're uber-rich. I'm getting buried in the country, I don't care how small my connection is with it, it's just so much more peaceful. If you want me to R.I.P., don't put me where traffic's rushing by.
Went to Godfathers, got some pizza. George's what? Not a widow, they weren't married, but I can't dare say ex when it wasn't a choice parting. Anyway, she came and joined us there. It was weird to see her laying on one of George's close friends so soon afterwards at his brother's birthday party. I'm sorry, I just could not have such a quick recovery.
So we crowded into the car, dropped off the extra guy, oh, by which time we had picked another one up. Then we went to their house, sat down for maybe five minutes, then started work on the X-mas lights. Yeah, I'm not much into decorating anymore. We'll get our tree and put it up late, I think we at least put it off until Christmas Eve Eve last year.
So yeah, it's just not right.
I've sort of started wondering if George had started feeling restless. He was born about six months before me. After the mission trip he said he wanted to go back as an intern and work for a summer next year. I wonder if he said that because he felt restless, that he didn't fit here anymore. That after seventeen an a half years, that he couldn't stand it anymore. Then again, he had moved around some. Slept in a tent one summer. Same one he slept in in Mexico.
I just wanna go back there. Go back to this past summer. It was
. . . indescribable? I just can't finish that sentance with anything. Maybe "It was." is all it's supposed to be. I wanna go back to CYF camp at Tall Oaks. I wanna go back to Cornerstone. I wanna go back to Mexico.
There's just some part of me that doesn't wanna be here. I wanna go home. Sorry, I wanna correct that, I wanna go Home.
"Going home. . ."
-Inside of David L. E.'s (my father) coffin
-Inside of David L. E.'s (my father) coffin
Post questions, comments, or replies here.