Angels
The sound that came out of my brother's room on the day he died was a sound like no other. I can not describe the sound but I will never forget it either. The evenings are the time of the day when I miss him the most. He was supposed to come out and watch the Warriors play off game, game one, on the day he died. He stayed in his room most of that day and came out to eat and went back in his room. That was his usual routine. He liked being by himself. He liked reading his Sports Illustrated magazines. He liked playing MLB on playstation 4. He liked keeping things clean and in order.
The day the sound that rocked everyone's world came out of his room I was scared. Very scared. The firefighters had been here many times to take my mom to the hospital and so they were no strangers to our address. My sister and I lead them to my brother's room. My brother was lying on the floor face down and the 911 operator told us before the firefighters came to try to turn him over on his back. We tried hard. We had to turn him over. We had to get him to breath again. We just had to. We were still trying when they arrived. They took over and we left the room to let them do so. A few minutes later they asked us to move from our places we were standing in the living room so they could move my brother in the living room for more room to work. We watched in disbelief and pure panic as they drug him across the rug from the bedroom to the living room. I was thinking "Oh dam he is going to get rug burn. They are hurting him." I looked at my sister and she looked at me in complete disbelief. Our mom was standing there holding on to her walker in the kitchen with us she was in shock too. We could not believe that of all people we would be looking down on the floor at my brother not breathing, not moving, eyes closed.
"Breathe, breathe dammit." I wanted to yell to the top of my lungs at my brother. "Why aren't you breathing?" "Why aren't they making you breathe?" The firefighters pushed in and out on his chest and. "Paul, breathe dammit. Just breathe." I was shouting in my head. A few minutes later which felt like hours or years the firefighters said they needed to get something to take him out. I didn't understand the words. I didn't want to understand the words I just wanted him to breathe and to open his eyes and look up at all of us and say something. Minutes later one of them came back with a bag, it looked like a body bag but it was not black it was brown and had a stretchy material sort of. They rolled him into it and zipped it half way and lifted him outside down the 17 steps to the ambulance. They asked me 20 questions about his health and medications. He was not on any medications. He was healthy. He was 39.
My sister called my nephew and he came from work. They followed behind the ambulance to the hospital. My mom and I prayed. My son prayed. But, deep down I think that we all knew that was we could do all the praying in the world but he wasn't not coming back to us. My sister called about an hour later and said he didn't make it. He was gone.
We were all numb. I could not feel anything for the rest of the day. All I could do was hear his voice screaming at the TV for the Warriors to win and getting upset when they were behind in points. It was like he was still here. Like he was sitting on the floor in front of the TV like he had done so many times and watched the basketball game. Watched his teams.
It was not until several weeks had went by before I had a dream. I could have sworn I was wide awake and he was standing in my room at the corner of my bed wearing his yellow A's tee shirt, his A's baseball cap and black pants. He was standing there and I told him to come back. He told me that he wish he could but he could not. He was gone. Then he stood there for a couple more seconds holding his magazine and a bag and he was gone. I felt a calming peace. That was my brother he would not hold any punches. He would tell you like it is. And it would be him to say that he can't come back he is gone. Straightforward.
I still think of him often but I know he is okay. He is no longer here but where ever he is he is okay. I keep thinking that my cousin's mom has him there with her. They talk and they laugh and they watch over us. Angels.
The day the sound that rocked everyone's world came out of his room I was scared. Very scared. The firefighters had been here many times to take my mom to the hospital and so they were no strangers to our address. My sister and I lead them to my brother's room. My brother was lying on the floor face down and the 911 operator told us before the firefighters came to try to turn him over on his back. We tried hard. We had to turn him over. We had to get him to breath again. We just had to. We were still trying when they arrived. They took over and we left the room to let them do so. A few minutes later they asked us to move from our places we were standing in the living room so they could move my brother in the living room for more room to work. We watched in disbelief and pure panic as they drug him across the rug from the bedroom to the living room. I was thinking "Oh dam he is going to get rug burn. They are hurting him." I looked at my sister and she looked at me in complete disbelief. Our mom was standing there holding on to her walker in the kitchen with us she was in shock too. We could not believe that of all people we would be looking down on the floor at my brother not breathing, not moving, eyes closed.
"Breathe, breathe dammit." I wanted to yell to the top of my lungs at my brother. "Why aren't you breathing?" "Why aren't they making you breathe?" The firefighters pushed in and out on his chest and. "Paul, breathe dammit. Just breathe." I was shouting in my head. A few minutes later which felt like hours or years the firefighters said they needed to get something to take him out. I didn't understand the words. I didn't want to understand the words I just wanted him to breathe and to open his eyes and look up at all of us and say something. Minutes later one of them came back with a bag, it looked like a body bag but it was not black it was brown and had a stretchy material sort of. They rolled him into it and zipped it half way and lifted him outside down the 17 steps to the ambulance. They asked me 20 questions about his health and medications. He was not on any medications. He was healthy. He was 39.
My sister called my nephew and he came from work. They followed behind the ambulance to the hospital. My mom and I prayed. My son prayed. But, deep down I think that we all knew that was we could do all the praying in the world but he wasn't not coming back to us. My sister called about an hour later and said he didn't make it. He was gone.
We were all numb. I could not feel anything for the rest of the day. All I could do was hear his voice screaming at the TV for the Warriors to win and getting upset when they were behind in points. It was like he was still here. Like he was sitting on the floor in front of the TV like he had done so many times and watched the basketball game. Watched his teams.
It was not until several weeks had went by before I had a dream. I could have sworn I was wide awake and he was standing in my room at the corner of my bed wearing his yellow A's tee shirt, his A's baseball cap and black pants. He was standing there and I told him to come back. He told me that he wish he could but he could not. He was gone. Then he stood there for a couple more seconds holding his magazine and a bag and he was gone. I felt a calming peace. That was my brother he would not hold any punches. He would tell you like it is. And it would be him to say that he can't come back he is gone. Straightforward.
I still think of him often but I know he is okay. He is no longer here but where ever he is he is okay. I keep thinking that my cousin's mom has him there with her. They talk and they laugh and they watch over us. Angels.
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