My Brother Died.
An unfiltered reflection on the death of my younger brother.
It is uncomfortable, difficult, and vulnerable to rehash the details of this tragedy, but one of the most cathartic things to come out of this is learning that grief is not unique to me. It is inevitable for each of us to experience the loss of loved ones, only differing in timing and circumstance.
I‘m sharing my experience because I rarely hear conversations about it, especially from the perspective of a 20-something sibling. I want to open the door for those that want to share - that want to commemorate, remember, and talk about the people in their lives that are so important to them.
I notice the tension, avoidance, and discomfort that often follows the mention of his name. I don’t want to ignore the fact that my brother existed, that he matters still, and that I, like many others, will carry this pain for the rest of my life.
I want to talk about it. Reach out to me, vent, ask questions, submit your own story to share, or leave a supportive message- the door is open.
The Day Before | Saturday, May 14th, 2022
I was supposed to be in Las Vegas this weekend at the Lovers & Friends Festival with my friend Morgan, but we had to cancel the trip last minute. I was bummed at first, but looking back, I am thankful for that. Being in Vegas on May 15th would have been a living hell.
Since moving to California last year in April, Riley [my college teammate, now LA roommate] and I met friends from PA through hometowns and college and we got together with them at a cider festival at Brew’s Brothers in Burbank, CA.
I think about this day a lot because it was the last day I felt familiar with myself. It was the last full day of my brother’s life. I was 2,400 miles away from him, but I had fun, laughed with friends, played corn hole, and drank ciders in a sundress. We went night swimming at the pool in the apartment I had just moved into and was so excited about. We played Nintendo Switch and ordered takeout. I was happy that day.
We don’t often think of days this way, imagining that we would give anything to return to it at some point. Every day seems ordinary, and it is until you experience something much worse. I’d give anything to live that day again, knowing my family was intact and I did not feel like drowning in heavy, permanent pain.
The Day Chase Died | Sunday, May 15th, 2022
Riley’s co-worker offered us six tickets to LA’s Dodgers vs. Phillies game. After living here for a year, we had been to plenty of Dodgers games, but this was our first time seeing the Phillies play here. A perfect Sunday afternoon for a friend group from Philadelphia. I ache at the thought of it now- enjoying a day with my friends in the beautiful LA weather, cheering for the Phillies, and bummed when they lost, blissfully unaware that my younger brother had just tragically passed.
I was leaving Dodger Stadium, waiting for an Uber home, when my sister, Megan, FaceTimed me, and I answered cheerily, “Hey girl!”.
She was crying. She said, “I need you to call me back when you are alone.”
Still in a good mood, I walked around the corner away from my friends. “It’s okay, just tell me now,” I didn’t understand. I cringe thinking back on it.
“I need you to call me back when you’re alone. It’s serious.”
It dawned on me what was happening.
“Megan, who?”
“Chase crashed his motorcycle tonight.”
A few seconds of hoping that maybe he was in the hospital.
“Is he okay?”
Silence.
“Megan, no.”
“Corinne, I’m not kidding.”
“You’re not kidding about what, Megan? Say it. Is he dead-”
“He’s dead, Corinne. He’s at the Bucks County Coroner’s Office right now…he’s dead…the police just left…there are about 100 people at our house right now.”
Words can’t describe the feeling that came after. Heavy and unnatural. My entire body went numb, and I dropped to my knees; my head was spinning, and my vision tunneled. Riley found me on the ground, and she hugged me in shock when I finally made the words come out of my mouth.
Our Uber just pulled up and was ready to leave. I had to hang up the phone, climb my lifeless body into a stranger’s SUV, and surrender to the surge of emotions welling up inside me. I wanted to scream and cry and throw up and pass out.
None of that happened though- nothing happened. I lay completely limp and motionless in utter shock. Devastated isn’t a strong enough word.
My little brother died.
Once I returned to my apartment, I went through a whirlwind of violent crying and felt completely numb. Sleep was out of the question on Sunday night. I spent it on the phone with airlines, my closest friends, and family members. I was passed around on the phone to aunts and uncles, and grandmoms.
I struggled to contemplate which of my friends to call. What should I say? Is it weird to call people this early? What could they even say as a response.
This was the beginning of an excruciating series of situations I had never imagined myself in. I was in tremendous emotional pain that felt like it would physically crush me. My dad said it felt like he had a 1000 lb boulder on his chest and it does feel like that. I now understand what people mean when they say they are “crushed” by something. I had never experienced anything close to this feeling before.
Unless someone has gone through this, I don’t see how you could imagine it. It is nothing like I could have ever expected, and I am sad to know my friends will have no clue how I am feeling or what I am going through, and that is not their fault.
It is lonely for each of us. My family members are individually grieving Chase in very different ways. We had very different relationships with him, and there wasn’t a thing we could hear from each other or anyone else that would make it better. Grieving is lonely regardless of the amount of support you have, only because absolutely nothing can fix it.
I spent the remainder of the night sitting on the living room floor or outside on the curb with Riley chatting, then falling completely silent in awe. It felt impossible to process such a massive loss.
The Day After | Monday, May 16th, 2022
Riley cried in bed with me. Friends took off work and came to our apartment with flowers and gifts. We made small talk but mostly sat in silence. I couldn’t think about anything but him. No conversation could interest me or distract me from the fact that this was happening. Trying to wrap my head around it made me dizzy. I was in no condition to fly that day.
I booked a 1-way ticket to Philadelphia for Tuesday morning, emailed my boss that I would be taking time off, and laid motionless in my bed until 7 pm, surrendering to increasingly intense waves of heaving sobs. I felt anxious about flying home the next day and afraid I would have a panic attack on the plane but having an extra day alone to process was helpful before traveling.
I peeled myself out of bed to pack a suitcase for the next six weeks, and I already had a flight booked for a wedding in late June from PHL to LAX, so I used that as a timeline to stay home. I didn’t sleep that night, I lay awake on the phone with my mom and sister, and we sat in silence together. There was nothing to say. Considering the number of people reaching out to us, it is discouraging to realize how meaningless it is to extend condolences to people.
“Sorry for your loss.”
Thanks.
I deleted all of my social media apps. I couldn’t bear to see his face captioned, “Rest in Peace.” It makes me so fucking sick. How is that even possible? I was so angry that day about how ordinary things could have been and how much pain we would now endure for the rest of our lives.
Chase had plans to go to South Dakota with his friends in August, we were going to meet in Montana in September, and he was visiting me in LA in the spring. The rest of my life looks different now that he is gone. My once happy and carefree outlook on life has been abruptly shattered, and I unwillingly surrender to a future of pain and healing.
Flight Home | Tuesday, May 17th, 2022
Riley drove me to LAX for a 6 am flight to Philadelphia, and I felt slightly less fragile than the day before but knew I was in for a long day of travel. My first flight was about four hours to Chicago (ORD), and I had a two-hour layover there before heading home. Earlier that morning, Megan posted an Instagram story about Chase, announcing his death and opening the floodgates of texts and DMs.
I found out Megan posted as soon as I boarded the plane when a former college roommate of mine texted me saying she saw Megan’s post. I thanked her for reaching out and turned my phone on airplane mode.
I spent the entire flight scrolling through pictures of him, and it was the first time I looked at his face since I found out. I thought it would be too painful, but it was very comforting. We have so many memories, videos, and goofy photos together, making it feel like he was still here. Looking at him makes him feel so real, alive.
I got together 10 of my favorite photos from the last 19 years during my layover. Baby pictures of us, this past Christmas together, a few in between. Imagine trying to sum up someone’s entire life in 10 photos. To write a caption about the loss of someone so deeply ingrained in my life and my being. It seems so stupid.
“My little brother, I will love you and ache for you every second of the rest of my life. Rest in Peace, Chase. It’ll always be us.”
Martha
I posted about Chase’s death before boarding my second flight from Chicago to Philadelphia, which resulted in uncontrollable sobs. I took off my hoodie and balled it up to muffle my crying as I walked down the boarding ramp. The flight attendants stopped me when I boarded the plane, asking if I needed orange juice, water, or tissues. Honestly, it was pretty embarrassing, but I couldn’t care less at the time.
I could feel the woman standing in line behind me hovering close to me as we boarded the plane. She sat right next to me in the aisle seat when I took my seat in the middle. She was a friendly-looking woman in her mid-60s with a short white bob and fun-colored glasses. As soon as she sat, she offered, “Is there anything I can do to help you?”
“No.” There wasn’t.
I don’t know if I was tired of bottling up my emotions or just wanted to justify my state, but I blurted out, “My brother died. I’m flying home for his funeral.”
I appreciated that she didn’t flinch at my words or look at me with pity. She calmly replied, “I figured it was something like that.”
After a moment of silence, “Was it sudden?”
“A motorcycle accident. He was 19.”
“My brother died in a motorcycle accident too! He was 25.” She said it so flippantly, like, “What a coincidence!”
“I’m 24.”
“Is Philadelphia your final destination?”
“Yeah, I am from Pennsylvania, but I am connecting from Los Angeles. I moved there last year.”
“I had to do the same thing! After college, I moved to New York and had to fly back here [Chicago] for his funeral.”
Our conversation got cut off when we had to get out of our seats to let the man in the window seat into the row. He did not take notice of my crying and went about small talk and asked me to hold his Starbucks for him while he got stuff out of his bags and situated himself. After his continuous attempts to make small talk with me without looking at me, I politely let him know that I was having a bad day and I was not interested in talking. The woman beside me heard me say that, and she did not initiate conversation again.
I wanted to talk to her again once I calmed down and stopped crying, but that didn’t happen the entire flight. I noticed every time I cried; she wiped away her own tears.
With a half hour left on the flight, I finally took a deep breath and decided to talk to her. She had a mask on and was reading a book. I leaned over and said, “Can I ask you something?”
She nodded. I asked, “How old were you when your brother died?”
She quickly put down her book and took off her mask; “I was 24.”
What a coincidence. The woman continued, “My brother was riding his bike to California to visit my sister.”
What the f*ck. How could I be sitting next to her on my flight home to Chase’s funeral? She said, “I am so glad you asked me that. I don’t know if you believe in fate, but I think there is a reason I am sitting next to you today.”
We both cried. I asked, “When does it get easier?”
“A few years. The pain will always be there, and you will sometimes think about all the what-ifs, but you will adjust to what life looks like without him. This happened to me over 40 years ago. Your family will never be the same, and you have a lot to go through from here, but like all things, we adapt.” She seemed to be so healed, accepting of it. She had lived with this for over 40 years; it had been less than 48 hours for me. It gave me hope that I can be and will be okay.
“What’s your brother’s name?”
“Chase.”
“I’m Martha.”
“I’m Corinne.”
We chatted for the rest of the flight, and she told me about her family. Martha was meeting her sister in Philadelphia for a connection to the Netherlands, where their mother is from. She is one of nine children, 12 months apart in age from her brother, that passed. Megan and Chase are 14 months apart in age. Two of her brothers were on motorcycles that day. One was riding to Virginia, where Martha would be meeting him to visit family, and the other was on his way to California to visit another sister. The year before Martha’s brother passed, he got married in a rose garden in Virginia, and one year later, his funeral service was held in that garden in the same month. She talked about how her parents coped and how grief ebbs and flows throughout your life. It was such a relief to talk to someone that understands. I didn’t feel alone, I felt seen and understood, and I could breathe for the first time that day.
Martha walked me off the flight, my arm linked in hers, asked if she could hug me tight before we parted ways, and told me that my family and I were in her prayers. We didn’t exchange contact information; I didn’t feel it was necessary. That interaction was all it needed to be, and it felt like a scene from a movie.
First Night Home
My dad picked me up from the airport, and we quickly hugged cried, and I told him about Martha when we pulled away. On the way to my mom’s house, we stopped to pick up my grandmom in Mayfair, Philadelphia, where she lived with my grandfather before he passed away in January of this year. Chase was named after him, and my dad is too. My dad is the only one left now in a matter of 4 months, and I can’t imagine what that is like for him.
I had a nauseous feeling in my stomach pulling up to the house I grew up in with Megan and Chase. I haven’t lived there in 7 years after going away to college and then living with my dad in Philly before moving to LA last year. Every time I’m there, it’s like nothing has changed.
He lived in this house his entire life. It’s where we ate meals together daily, learned how to swim and ride bikes, woke up on Christmas morning, played video games, fought over the shower, sat in Megan’s room laughing hysterically, and gave him buzz cuts over the bathroom sink. I know everything about him; we were together throughout the most developmental years of our lives. We are who we are because of each other, and as far as I can remember, it was never just me; it was always the three of us, and I can’t wrap my head around the fact that he doesn’t exist anymore.
It was around dinner time when I got to the house, and I was expecting a massive crowd of people, but it was empty and quiet. I rolled my suitcase up the driveway and stared back at the somber faces of my neighbors peering out windows or standing at the end of their driveways like they were watching a car on fire. I found my mom lying in Chase’s bed, so I crawled in and held her. It felt so good to see her but so painful at the same time. I know that what she is going through is much worse than I am experiencing, and I couldn’t bear to think of this being any worse. Megan came in shortly after and lay with us. We held each other for a long time, silent, in his bed that he slept in every night and would never return home to again.
It wasn’t long before a crowd appeared. Cars started lining the street for the third night in a row, and the house began overflowing with neighbors, friends, parents, family members, old teammates, and their family members, literally everyone and their mom. Each person was armed with flower bouquets, hoagie trays, pretzel trays, foil tins of lasagna, penne vodka, chicken parm, you name it- it was everywhere. Chase’s friends had pictures out making poster boards for his funeral. My mom, dad, and sister were all into different group conversations. I felt like I was spinning.
Admittedly, I was unbelievably overwhelmed. The outpouring of love and support was so helpful, and I appreciate it so much, but I don’t see my family often because I live so far away. I desperately needed time to be with them and mourn as an immediate family unit. Chase was loved by so many, and it was incredible to see his impact on people’s lives, but when it comes down to it, it was us. Shannon, Chaz, Corinne, Megan, and Chase. I had desperately rushed home to be with my family, but I still felt so distant.
Viewing | Wednesday, May 18th, 2022
Chase’s body was in no shape for a formal viewing, and we were informed of that early on. This morning the funeral home called and let my dad know they had prepared him for us to view privately, as a family, before his cremation.
My mom, dad, Megan, and I stood in the kitchen and stared at each other in terrified silence, then debated whether we should see him this way or let our last memories of him be when he was alive.
There were a lot of unanswered questions about his accident and the state of his body, and we decided as a family that we would see him that day. My dad was in the bathroom about to be sick before we reluctantly piled into one car and drove to the funeral home, slowly and silently.
The funeral director explained that his body had suffered severe trauma, he would be covered up to his neck, and we were not allowed to touch him. Only the left side of his face would be visible to us, and a veil would hide the right side. I had no clue what we were about to see.
As soon as the doors opened to the room Chase was in, my mom sprinted to him, kissing him, lying in a red velvet casket surrounded by greenery and lit candles. Serene music played in the background like you would hear at a spa. The peaceful set-up honestly made the experience much easier to digest. I was picturing a dark, sterile room with his body on a metal table, and they would lift a white sheet to reveal him as you see on TV.
As soon as I looked at him, my anxiety melted away. It was enough despite only being able to see the left side of his face. It was him, and it felt so good to look at him. His big nose, reddish mustache, and a buzz cut. His body looked contorted under the blanket, and the veil on the right side of his face slightly revealed his bruised flesh and collapsed skull. A gash was visible on the back of his head, poorly held together with zip ties. I remember the way he felt. Cold and refrigerated. Defrosting the longer, we sat there, makeup running off his bruises and blood pooling in his ears because he hadn’t been embalmed.
It sounds grim, but we never wanted to leave. What I thought would be an excruciating experience was a peaceful and comforting one. We sat in the room with him for almost two hours. We cried, laughed, told stories about him, and sat in silence. A surreal experience to look back on, but at the moment, we left with a feeling of closure and peace that he was close to us again.
We were given a bag of his belongings at the end, like a swag bag at an event. His wallet, phone, the keys to his ’93 Ford Ranger, and anything he had on his bike. My dad, of course, said, “Is that his wallet? That mother f*cker owes me twenty bucks.” *eye roll* but we laughed.
I didn’t cry for ten days after seeing his body.
Letters | Thursday, May 19th, 2022
The dork at the funeral home suggested we write handwritten letters to Chase to burn with his body, and he swore the messages would be sent to his soul. We had to drop them off by 11 am the next day, so I told him how much I loved him, how much fun it was being his sister, and how much I would miss him. I told him I was proud of him for landing a job he had worked hard for. I wrote about times we spent together that I will never forget and let him know I am not angry at him. I am so lucky to have known him, and I hope to meet him again someday.
Obituary
Charles “Chase” Nicholas Garuffe
June 11th, 2002- May 15th, 2022
The funeral director gave my parents an obituary they had drafted, which was not good, so they handed it over to me. I started from scratch, and I wrote my younger brother’s obituary. I love to write, and I never thought I would do something like this.
Words cannot convey what it felt like to be in the physical presence of someone, what it sounded like when he chuckled, or the voices he used when he made a joke. The way he rolled his eyes and shook his head and whistled at things. He always greeted me and said goodbye with a hug. He said, “I love you,” every time we spoke.
I will miss how he took his Halloween costumes so seriously and talked about his job as a diesel mechanic non-stop, and screamed Motley Crue during car rides. He was a really fun guy, and I will miss him endlessly.
Crash Site | Friday, May 20th, 2022
My grandmom drove me, Megan, and my mom to the accident scene for the first time. He landed on the property of a teacher at the high school we went to. She and her husband have been supportive and friendly, especially to Chase’s friends who were there with him.
It was unsettling to see the remains of his bike and think about what the accident looked like. This was the most challenging part for my mom. She explained that she was there for Chase’s entrance into the world, and it was harrowing to go to the place where he took his last breath, and she wasn’t there with him.
Chase’s friends placed a small wooden cross where his body lay in his last moments. Pieces of the taillight lay shattered on the grass under broken branches and above the skid marks leading up to the scene. My mom approached the cross, analyzing each step and looking for some answer to what had happened, but that didn’t matter at this point.
A car pulled over while we were there, and a man approached us, which seemed like terrible timing until we realized who it was. Our neighbor Jim, the dad of one of Chase’s best friends growing up, saw us as he drove by and stopped to talk. He broke the tension by telling funny stories about Chase from when he was a kid. I was grateful he came to lighten the mood because my mom had difficulty being there. We’ve been lucky with people showing up for us during challenging moments.
Candle Lighting Vigil
A candle-lighting vigil was held at my dad’s best friend and Chase’s old boss’s house. There had to be over a hundred people there, my friends included. I had to muster up the energy to hug everyone, smile, and nod while they said, “I’m so sorry.” We mingled until the sun went down and wrote messages to him in Sharpie on paper lanterns.
“Legends never die.”
“I love you forever, Chuck.”
“Rest in Peace, CG44”
When it was dark enough, we gathered, holding candles, lit the lanterns, and let them float into the sky above the massive crowd. Friends told stories and sang songs that Chase loved to sing. My dad sang the song we used to sing to him on the bowl-shaped water slide at The Great Wolf Lodge when we were kids.
“Chase is a little piece of poop, going down the toilet bowl 🎵”
It was a beautiful tribute to his life, and I left with a fleeting feeling of comfort.
Funeral | Wednesday, May 25th, 2022
Four months ago, I stood with Chase at our grandfather’s funeral greeting family and friends at the front of the church. It was one of the last times I saw him.
I did it again today, standing in front of a church next to Chase’s ashes in a bag displayed under his senior portrait.
Megan and I woke up early and got ready together. We went back and forth for days on outfits to wear, pausing every so often to address the fact that it was for our brother’s funeral. I wore a pink jumpsuit; she wore a black one. I debated it for a long time but decided I didn’t need to wear black. It was hard to believe that we had to do this, and the car ride to the church was so eerie.
Poster boards of photos we spent days gluing together lined the church aisles. Chase’s friends were so helpful with setting it all up. There are a ridiculous amount of pictures and videos of him to choose from. We are lucky to have that, at least. I guess.
Megan and I didn’t cry one time. We smiled and briefly caught up with friends we hadn’t seen in a while. We joked about seeming like psychopaths, but we were just numb—zombies going through the motions. There’s no way this is real. We stood in line greeting people for 3 hours before mass.
Father Joe is a long-time family friend. He baptized the 3 of us, led the mass for my grandfather’s funeral, and is with us again today for Chase’s funeral mass. Father Joe is a fun guy that would hang out at the bar after dinner with my family in Northeast Philadelphia. He would ride to games at Lincoln Financial Field on my grandfather’s Eagle’s bus with Chase since he was a little kid. He knew Chase his entire life, setting the tone for personal and memorable service.
At the end of mass, Jason and Austin carried Chase’s ashes and photo down the aisle, leading the exit of the church. They explained that Austin had the ashes this time because Jason held Chase’s body in his last moments. The Eagles Bus filled with friends of ours, and we rode to the luncheon held at the same restaurant as my grandfather’s funeral luncheon. I lost both of my grandfathers in my twenties, and those memorial events had a much different vibe. A celebration of life and remembrance of all their accomplishments. It wasn’t tragic; it was a day of remembering a life full of love, hard work, and family.
Today was much darker- we were gathered to mourn the life of a child lost suddenly and far too soon.
3 Years | May 30th, 2022
February 10th, 2003 - May 30th, 2019
Phillip’s family lives in the house behind my mom’s in Bucks County, PA. He was less than a year younger than Chase, and we shared a backyard divided by a fence with a gate installed so the boys could go back and forth as they pleased. On May 30th, 2019, two weeks after I graduated college and moved back home, I was woken up by my phone vibrating, missed call after call from my mom at 5 am. Phillip had been in a kayaking accident, and he didn’t survive. He was 16 years old, a sophomore in high school.
Chase was crushed- they were best friends. The closest thing to a brother either of them had. I pulled an all-nighter doing Chase’s final projects because it was the last week of his junior year of high school. I drove him to school in the morning, and he cried the whole way, but he wanted to be with his friends. Megan said every time she saw Chase in the hallway that week, he was crying. The school wore Phil’s Landscaping t-shirts that he made for his landscaping business and cowboy boots as a tribute.
Chase carried his casket at the burial. He bought cowboy boots to wear even though it wasn’t his thing. He also wore the American flag bow tie he and Phil would share for school dances, picture days, and middle-school graduation. Chase is wearing it in the senior portrait we used at his funeral.
Megan and my mom were standing in the same spots in the living room when the news was broken to them about Phil and Chase. Almost three years apart, exactly. There was a rainbow in the yard the day after Phil died, and there was a double rainbow in our yard the day after Chase died.
Today marks three years since Phil’s passing. Megan and I went to his house for a barbecue and painted rocks with his family. It has been so great to bond with them since they’ve gone through the same thing, but it also adds another level of pain to the entire situation. How unbelievable that neither of them made it to the age of 20.
His mom showed me a picture of Phil and Chase on Phil’s 16th birthday. It was his last birthday, and none of his friends were around to hang out; his dad and sister weren’t home for dinner, so just Chase and his mom sang him “Happy Birthday.”
On Chase’s last birthday, my mom got a cake for just them 2. She made him a cheeseburger and sang to him by herself. She has a picture of him sitting at the kitchen table with his cake. When we pulled out baby pictures, we realized his 19th birthday cake was nearly identical to his 1st birthday cake, and so was the picture of him smiling with it.
20th Birthday | Saturday, June 11th, 2022
I’m sure his birthday will be difficult for the rest of our lives. His 20th birthday fell less than a month after his death. My mom agreed to host people at her house for a party, but she was afraid it would be awkward, or she wouldn’t have the energy to entertain people for an extended period of time. Megan and I knew it would be fine, and no one could blame my mom if she needed to step away from the party. This will probably be one of the least challenging birthdays for us to celebrate for him. Everyone was still super attentive and surrounded us with support; in a few weeks or months, that would fade. Life goes on, back to normal for everyone else. The most challenging days are yet to come.
The pool was open, and we set up drinking games and corn hole, played music, and barbecued to mimic normalcy. The mood was low but comfortable. A ton of people showed up, and we spent the day mingling, playing games, and enjoying the company of everyone that loved him.
There were extra lanterns from the vigil, so we lit one and gathered together to sing happy birthday as it floated into the distance. When the song was over, we stood in group hugs, in complete stillness and silence, until the light was no longer visible in the sky. His friends started a bonfire shortly after this and sang their favorite songs that Chase would sing at the top of his lungs. I cried hard during this, singing along and hugging my dad and sister.
I got his name tattooed on my arm in small, neat letters yesterday. I never wanted a tattoo because I always had trouble thinking of something that I would want on me forever. This was a no-brainer. Megan is getting a matching one, and her friend Gabby has a tattoo gun, so she did it at the kitchen table in about 3 minutes. I love it and want a reminder of his existence on my body for the rest of my life. He is a part of us.
Father’s Day | Sunday, June 19th, 2022
I can’t imagine how my dad felt that day. It was my last day home, and the entire experience was a blur. Being home feels so natural, and it’s hard to believe I was returning to a completely different life in Los Angeles the next day.
Megan and I wrapped gifts for our dad [an all-black Dodgers hat and Hey Dude shoes] and met him at a family friend’s house for a barbecue. We ate cheesesteaks, soft pretzels, and crab fries. I felt indifferent about leaving, but I wasn’t sure what it would be like to grieve alone, away from my family.
Chase’s Ford Ranger was parked in the driveway of this house because he left on his motorcycle there the day he passed. I felt sick when I saw it, thinking of him pulling in that morning and never coming back to get it. His bike was covered in a tarp in the garage with his leather riding jacket my dad bought him last year in Daytona, Florida, at Biketoberfest. It was cute how excited he was when he got it, and he made me try it on in his room and extend my arms to feel how heavy it was and show me the extra flap that allowed my arms more range of motion. I put the jacket on again, thinking about standing in his room with him that day. I can see his face and hear his voice clearly in my head. He still feels so real.
Togetherness
Death is nothing at all;
I have only slipped away into the next room
Whatever we were to each other, we are still
Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me
Let my name be the household word that it always was
Let it be spoken without effort
Life means all that it ever meant
It is the same as it ever was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity
Why should I be out of your mind because I am out of your sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval
Somewhere very near, just around the corner
All is well; nothing is past; nothing is lost
One brief moment and all will be as it was before
Only better
Infinitely happier
And forever