The day before and after

the final goodbye

You Never Know When It Is The Final Goodbye

My 15 year old son was invited to go to Disneyland for Spring Break with his friend. He had just recovered from pneumonia. I did not want him to relapse, so I was hesitant to say yes. “Mom”, he said, “I finished my antibiotics, am caught up on my schoolwork and feel well! Pleeeease let me go. They are staying at the Disneyland Hotel. We could never afford to do that. Pleeease just say yes.” I realized he was right. Reluctantly, I said, “Okay.” he said, “Thanks Mom! You rock!”

On the way to his friend’s house, I had an uneasy feeling. I said, “Are you totally sure that you are up to this? I don’t want you to get sick again.” he replied, “Mom, I’m fine. I usually go on vacation with one of my friends over spring break.” He was right. I was being overly cautious. I was self-employed and could rarely afford the luxury of taking a vacation. His friend’s grandmother met me at the car and confirmed they would be home in a week. He was loading his bag into the back of the SUV. I called him back to my car. I got out and gave him one more hug and a kiss on the forehead. He shook his shaggy brown hair, smirked and said, “I Love you Mom. I’ll be back next Saturday. Quit worrying.” I knew that I embarrassed him by doing this in front of his friend, and I don’t regret it. As I drove away, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach. I heard my inner voice telling me to go back and change my mind. I quickly discounted that voice. I told myself, I was just jealous. He had worked hard and deserved to go. He was right. He’d done this before. I needed to stop worrying so much.

The Day After

At 4:00 am, on Sunday, March 21^st, 2004, I shot up out of bed, in midst of a nightmare that I couldn’t breathe. I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. It was the same uncertainty I experienced the day before, after I dropped my son off to go to Disneyland.

I attempted to go back to sleep. It didn’t work. I endlessly channel surfed for several hours, until it was light enough to take our Pitbull terrier, out for his walk. We usually walked the one mile stretch in our neighborhood. I decided to do something different. I grabbed the leash and loaded him into my car. We went to the park and spent a couple of hours looping around the pond.

Shortly after we returned home, there was a knock on the door. I was shocked when I opened it and saw a police officer. My mind began to race, was someone complaining about dog’s barking? Why would a cop be at my door? The officer confirmed my identity and then said, “There has been an accident and your son, is dead.” It was like a sledgehammer hit me on the head and shattered my life into 1000 pieces scattered on the floor. The biggest piece, the one closest to my heart, was missing. How would I ever put my life back together? My mind was frantic, and body was frozen. What the Fuck? How could this be? My identity, purpose, present and future had been revoked. I was now a Mom with no child.

I looked again and finally noticed that there was a chaplain holding a bible standing behind the police officer. I asked, “How?” the chaplain stepped forward and said,” How can I help?” I replied, “You can’t.” The officer said, “The accident occurred around 4am on I-5 between Buttonwillow and Bakersfield, California. The vehicle rolled. Both boys were ejected. The responding officers said that nobody was wearing their seatbelts. Your son was the only fatality. The driver and other passengers were injured and were transported to the hospital.” This didn’t make sense to me. My son always wore a seat belt, he was insistent about it. The officer handed me a piece of paper with phone numbers for the coroner’s office and the Bakersfield police. He asked, “Is there anyone that I should call?” I said, “No, I’ll do it myself.”

I called our neighbors. His best friend, answered the phone. I asked, “Could you and your parents come over right away?” When they arrived the police officer and chaplain were still with me. It was then and only then, I felt the tears running down my face. My body trembled as I acknowledged out loud, for the first time, I told them that Arin was killed in a car accident.” The four of us embraced, sobbing and holding each other up. I could feel my knees buckling. I wanted to scream. I just leaned in and cried. There were so many people I needed to contact. I didn’t want his death to be relayed through AOL Instant Messenger, although inevitably, it was going to happen. I wanted to be the person who gently let our family, friends and his teachers know that he was gone.

They remained with me at the house and helped me share the news of Arin’s accident. They called the Bakersfield police on my behalf to request a copy of the accident report. I kept trying to reach his girlfriend. No luck. After hearing of his death, his friends and family gathered at our small house. They were stunned, not knowing what to say or do. Finally, his girlfriend and her family walked through the door. We fell into into each other’s arms and collapsed to the ground. She was crying, I was apologizing and crying. We held each other tightly and rocked back and forth. I apologized to everyone that day for ignoring my gut feeling. I should have gone back and changed my mind. They assured me, it wasn’t my fault, it was an accident. Now here we were, linked by our heartbreak, our grief and missing piece, Arin.

I called the coroner first, I needed answers. The corner politely explained that he did not have all the details and would let me know as soon as he did. He expressed his sympathies and asked me how I felt about organ donation. He told me that I might find some sort of peace knowing that “part” of my son helped someone else. I asked for the number to the organ donation center.

The person on the phone acknowledged my loss and then proceeded to ask questions. He asked, “Was your son a drug user?” I said, “No!” He replied, “Did he use tobacco? Did he use Heroin? Did he use marijuana? Did he use alcohol? Did he use cocaine?” I was frustrated, and reacted, “If I say no to the primary question about being a drug user it means all drugs. I just found out my only child has been killed. I’m trying to do something good. Couldn’t you just automatically check no for the related questions?” The man replied,” I’m sorry, this is our protocol.” Fuck protocol, I thought. I answered a litany of similar questions and finally was done.

I lied awake that night, I heard the voice repeating like a broken record in my head. He is dead! He is dead! How could this happen? This is your fault! How could you live another day knowing this? Mothers protect their children. You did not! Arin is dead! I finally passed out.

Suddenly, I felt something at the end of the bed. I thought it was our dog, nudging me for a walk. As I looked up, I saw Arin standing at the end of the bed, hands on his hips, smiling, head tilted to one side. He said, “Mom, you have a choice, you can pull the covers over your head and drown in misery or you can do something and represent. What are you going to do? Make a good choice or a bad choice?” I thought that I had lost my mind. My son was haunting me, with my own words. I said, “Where are you? Why did they say you weren’t wearing your seat belt?” He replied, “I’m here. I don’t know. I was wearing it when I fell asleep.” Then he disappeared. I thought I was dreaming. I was not. I was wide awake, believing that I would never make it through another breath, moment or day without feeling like a hole had been permanently embedded in my soul.

The Final Goodbyes

As I reflect on the before, during and after of my all to short 15 year experience with him on the planet, I hold onto that final goodbye. I didn’t know at the time how the tilt of his head, the gleam in his eye, his laugh, annoyed reassurance followed by his compassion and shrug of his shoulders would be etched in my brain forever. It brings me joy and pain. Like colors of the rainbow with sun and rain. I’ve learned that 15 years were better than none at all. Without the experiences I would never have the support that helped me through this 22 year journey of life as a Mom with no child sharing the journey on the planet. I am reminded daily that as I move through the waves of this life that they are either easy to manage and swim through, they become a bit deeper and I tread water and if it gets too rough I can reach out for a lifeline from the outside. Two years after the accident, my grandfather was undergoing hospice care. He had been sleeping for days and on this day he sat up and asked me if I knew where my son was. I had told him that I thought I did. Then my grandfather indicated he saw him standing in the room behind me. I told my grandfather that if he was in the room that it was okay and that it was okay for my grandfather to go. This time I knew it was my final goodbye, a couple of hours later my Grandfather passed away. My son once told me not to be sad when people pass away they are not gone they are everywhere. I have realized that it is true and I am grateful for every sign that arrives from the other side while I am still on the planet.

It is important to me to be grateful for the moment, I am closer to the other half of the hill that I raced so hard to get to. It is what it is. In the hamster wheel of life, I’ve learned to love more, smile bigger, hug more people and be grateful for the present as I never know when it will be the final goodbye.