The last 3 weeks of summer

Time has been sooo jumbled, and most of the time I don’t know what happened which day, but I do know it’s been exactly 3 weeks since Paul died.  I only know that because of my 4-month-old cat lol.  In the chaos of everything I had forgotten that I made an appointment for her to get fixed (yeah, she loved me that day haha), and the night before the funeral I had remembered that the vet was expecting her at 7 AM the next morning.  I thought about changing the appointment, but then realized after my family pointed out that all I’d have to do was drop her off while we were running last minute errands and then pick her up the next day.  When I picked her up, the vet said, “Bring her back in 2 weeks to remove her stitches.”  Tsuki got her stitches out yesterday.  That’s how I know it’s been 3 weeks. 

                It’s amazing, I think, that it’s only been 3 weeks.  It seems like a lifetime ago that I was in my friend’s kitchen setting up decorations for her birthday.  She always has the worst birthday parties every year.  We had just gotten back from the zoo and decoration shopping and were about to watch the BBC version of Sherlock, second season when I heard my phone vibrating.  I looked down at it and simply read the name “Mommy”.   I thought, “This could be bad…”  My family is more of a texting family than a phone calling one.  But I always think that every time I get a phone call, and it’s usually something like, “Where’s the remote?” so I thought, “Breathe, Charissa… you always think it’s going to be a crisis and then are proved wrong…”  But when I answered and my mom was crying, I sat down immediately.  I thought, “Breathe, Charissa… okay, your niece is on the way to the hospital again… maybe it’s your grandparents… or maybe… oh no, not your brother who’s in prison…”  My mom choked out, “The paramedics are at Celeste’s house right now.”  I thought, “Didn’t see that coming… okay, so there was a fire?  Maybe someone got hurt somehow?  Maybe the dogs were playing and got too rough and when they tried to separate them someone got bit really bad?  I’ve never thought of that happening, but if the paramedics are there…” “Paul passed away sometime last night.”  It took a second to register what my mom was saying.  I could feel my brain rejecting that statement—kicking it out of my head due to how much I would not want that to be true.  It’s weird when you can feel your brain try to go into complete denial.  As if a reflex, I asked, “What?”  “Paul passed away sometime last night.”  I yelled louder, “WHAT??”  My mom responded, “Paul—our Paul—died sometime between last night and this morning.  We don’t know anything else.  We’re on our way to Celeste’s house.”  Sheer panic entered with the denial—each fighting to gain dominance over the rest of my brain.  “PAUL DIED?!?!”  “Yes, we’re going to Celeste’s right now.”  I don’t remember anything else.  I honestly don’t.  I remember bits and pieces.  I remember wanting to run; trying to run—and then falling on the ground.  I remember crying.  I remember my friends grabbing me and holding me.  I remember thinking, “Charissa, Celeste needs you—you have to leave.  You have to get up right now.”  And then trying and not being able to put enough strength on my legs.  I remember my friends crying. I remember the shock.  Not Paul.  That makes no sense.  My brain would pick their little tiny puppy Voodoo somehow turning into a vicious monster and causing injuries bad enough to call the paramedics before I would consider it was Paul.  Paul wasn’t sick.  Paul was fine.  We just had dinner with him 36 hours before that.  How could he die?  How could it have happened already?  Shouldn’t there be a space, even if it’s for only 30 seconds, where he’s ABOUT to die, and then we do everything possible to try to stop it, even if we don’t succeed?  How could he already be dead? 

                I don’t remember meeting Paul.  We were all friends even before he started dating my sister.  We just played “Settlers of Catan” at my house 3 weeks ago.  He was playing with my new kitten.  He asked Celeste if he could have one, even though he was extremely allergic.  Paul was 28.  He was fine.  What happened?  Paramedics… the paramedics are there… oh my gosh, was it a car accident?  His family was in town yesterday—was he taking them back to Chicago and there was a bad accident??  Was his family okay??”  My friends were equally as shocked.  They’ve known Paul forever, too.  “Maybe you heard wrong…” they said.  “Maybe your mom was talking too fast and when we get there he’ll be fine.”  But when we got there, I saw an ambulance outside with its lights on.  The feeling I got from that can’t adequately be described. A sense of finality mixed with sacredness and deep sorrow—like the entire world, for one minute, was mourning with me.  An hour ago I was petting a baby goat at the zoo.  Now I was standing outside the door of my sister’s apartment—the apartment they were both sooo excited to get into. The apartment that was lively with two dogs.  The apartment complex that had sentimental value to all of my family, having had lived there as teenagers ourselves.  The ambulance, though flashing red, was silent.  “Paul’s in that ambulance,” I thought.  I don’t remember much about what happened after we walked in the door.  I remember there being people there I didn’t know.  I remember learning that Paul was still in the other room.  I remember that no one had any idea what had happened.  I remember my mind still fighting to believe none of this was true.  Everyone has nightmares where their family dies.  Everyone in real life fights to keep their loved ones alive.  You go to work so they can eat.  You play board games, take vacations, and just be bored together for a majority of your time for the memories and to bond with each other, thinking somehow way, wayyy down the road when someone passes away you’ll have these memories to sustain you.  Paul was a month away from being 29—Paul was healthy!  Paul was in the Navy during high school and college-- how did this happen??  And could it really not be reversed??  How, my mind asked, can I go back in time 24 hours and stop this from happening??  It can’t be final.  This can’t be out of our control. 

But it was.  And these past 3 weeks have felt like 3 years. 

My sister’s bishop and my dad gave her a blessing.  In our church, we believe that revelation still exists, and people who have prepared their hearts to be worthy of the priesthood and who have the authority to, can give what we call a “blessing”, or having hands placed on your head by people who are inspired to say what the Savior wants that person to hear.  One thing he said stuck with me more than anything else—something along the lines of how Heavenly Father always knew that Paul was going to die young.  This is no surprise to Him.  This was written for Paul’s life since the beginning.  And even through the hard times ahead we would see how the Lord had been preparing Paul and Celeste for this moment all along.

Here ends the rant of the downward spiral that comes naturally along with any death of someone you love.  Not saying I’m not fighting that downward spiral still, because I am, but here stops the rant of it.  Because that’s not what I want to focus on.  That’s not what this blog is about.  Because while I have memories of screaming and crying and rejecting reality, at that exact moment I also have other memories:

When I first found out, my friends were there.  I was literally surrounded by them.  How amazing is that??  One of my friends was supposed to be out of town, but had some weird sickness that made it so she stayed home.  If it wasn’t for that, she wouldn’t have been there that day.  Another one of my friends graduated in May and moved away, but was there for Labor Day weekend and was at the birthday party.  Another friend of mine had plans that day but decided to stay for a while just to hang and watch Sherlock.  I honestly don’t know what I’d have done without any one of them being there that moment.  What a blessing it was for me to be around them the moment I found out.  I don’t know how I would have told them, who also knew and loved Paul, if they weren’t there, either.  We all got to find out together.  To me, that’s a miracle. 

Paul died on a futon, one which, understandably, my sister wanted gone as soon as possible.  My mom took my sister away first, and then rest of us got busy trying to erase the memory, to the extent that we could, of what happened in that room.  I have often thought since how amazing it was that my friends went in and helped me clean up after a dead person.  I knew they were amazing before, and I know they love Paul, but still the idea of cleaning up after someone who had died is really scary. 

I remember Celeste’s bishop arrived before I did.  I remember one of their neighbors came over and helped my dad move the futon.  I remember the coroner being sooo kind and sensitive.  I remember someone I didn’t recognize coming in and giving Celeste a huge hug and crying with her.  I remember them whisking her away while the medics moved Paul’s body.  I remember Paul’s work being sooo heartbroken that it came across in their voices when I overheard them talking to my mom on her phone.  I remember my boss being so apologetic that, because he was related to me through marriage, my leave wouldn’t be counted as bereavement, but that I could take as much time off either paid or not that I needed.  I remember going into work on Tuesday and everyone crying with me.  I remember wearing sweats for a week and no one caring.  I remember how scared I was for the viewing, because it was the first time we had seen him since he had died as well, and walking up and seeing how my work had sent a beautiful arrangement of flowers.  My mom’s work had sent flowers.  My sister’s work had sent flowers.  My aunt and cousins and numerous friends of ours—and even some people who I didn’t know sent flowers.  I remember hundreds of people coming to the viewing over the course of the 5 hours we were there, and they had to politely kick us out afterwards.  My sister’s work, even though she had been working at Happy Hollow elementary for only 2 weeks , made sure the entire 4^th grade had subs so all the teachers could go to the funeral.  I remember his work saying they were going to name something after him and put his picture up framed.  They were going to hire a grief counselor to come in because of how much he was loved. 

I remember my coworkers staying at the viewing for a while, just in case I wanted to break free from the line and sit down and talk.  I remember my aunt Pam and Uncle Mike and Aunt Patty came, and my grandparents drove across state lines for the funeral.  I remember my brother sending a card (which, in prison, is a whole lot of money).  I remember all the people who were too far to come who sent email messages.  I remember seeing people from my church congregation that didn’t know Paul.  I remember seeing old friends of ours from when he and Celeste were in the student ward.

I remember one of my friends, who never, ever takes a day off work, took it off for the funeral.  I remember another one of my friends, who was Paul’s groomsman, accepting the role of being a pallbearer (get it—Paul-bearer!  Haha—he would find the humor :-), and wearing the tie that Paul wore for his wedding.  I remember two of Celeste and Paul’s friends who are around our age going to the “care facility” where Paul’s body lay, to help my dad dress him.  I remember them crying, and when Celeste said, “Sorry to ask you to do this,” them saying through their tears, “Don’t be… we just love him.”  I remember my home teacher coming over and giving me a blessing.  I remember their ward congregation singing a beautiful song at Paul’s funeral.  I imagined them taking time out of their busy lives that week and, in the midst of their own grief, practicing that song and thinking, “this is the last thing we can do for Paul!” 

I remember one of my best friends who lives in Virginia, busy with her own life and school and raising two toddlers, staying up late just in case I wanted to talk, and texting me even when I couldn’t respond.

I remember the friends who aren’t in Lafayette calling and making sure I was okay, and reminiscing with me when I really, really needed it.

I remember my friends taking Celeste’s dog and hiding her because they’re renting and it’s against the rental agreement.  They can’t imagine how grateful I am to them.

I remember the friend who came up for Labor day weekend, and how she stayed because I’ve been having a hard time falling asleep at night, and how she even right now watches old episodes of “Due South” with me with my little stuffed Deifenbaker, because it reminds me of when Celeste, Paul, and I had a Due South marathon and it distracts me from thinking I’m going to die in my sleep.

I remember it raining after we found out and me thinking, “How appropriate…”  Then it rained harder, and harder, and I was scared that I was going to get into an accident while I was driving. But after it rained I remember looking up into the sky and seeing what I thought was one of the most dazzling sunsets ever, with a bunch of darkness from the storm on the bottom, and on top were two clouds brilliantly reflecting the sun in a way that’s almost noble.  I thought it might just look that way to me because after a day like I had anything would look beautiful, but when I got home and checked facebook everyone was saying the same things.  Even the news station was asking people for their pictures.  And I thought how Paul and Celeste were like those clouds right now, in the midst of the creepy storm, sharing a bond that’s noble and dazzling in spite of everything.  And I was right—the storm was totally appropriate.

I’m a sentimental person, and each one of these things, and the gazillion others that I don’t have time to mention, meant the world to me.    You don’t expect someone you love to die of a heart disease that, by its nature, shows no symptoms so you don’t even know you have it until you die in your sleep at 28.  You don’t think of your sister as becoming a widow by age 30 (especially when my great-grandma is alive still at 101).  You think that when it is finally your turn, a long, long way from now for your immediate family to be faced with death you’ll somehow cheat it.  I mean, they say our generation is going to live to be 150 due to health advances, right?  I’m sure they say that in every generation.  What about living until the 2^nd Coming so everyone will just be translated together haha… Probably not going to happen.  The truth is, at best, I’m likely to have already lived 1/3 of my life.  And these things are going to happen over and over again until the ones I love bury me.  It’s been a really hard reality to face.  I’ve lost loved ones before; I’ve watched babies die for my job— but this was, I think, the first time I’ve been old enough to really understand the impact of it all in a way I never did as a teenager, or even in my earlier 20s. 

“You will see how the Lord has been preparing you for this all along.”  Paul’s parents never, ever came up from Chicago.  Celeste and Paul would always visit them.  Then, the week that he died, his parents announced they were coming to visit for the entire week.  His little sister had just gotten back from Australia and was able to spend that week with him.  I had dinner with him.  My other sister was almost run over by him, so she got to see him, less than 24 hours before he died.  I remember when Paul decided he wanted to take a few years off of school to figure out what he wanted to do, which at the time was a hard decision to make.  But during that time he got a job that gave him life insurance that covered the funeral.  I can’t imagine how the finances for that would have been covered if he were still a student.  One thing that’s amazing is that Celeste and Paul don’t have to regret waiting to do fun, exciting things.  If I were to be married, I’d think, “I have to wait 5-10 years before we do anything or go anywhere and we’re established before we make memories!!!” But they had the right idea—they had been to Canada, Florida, Utah, New York City.  Though they lived in an apartment and Paul was allergic, Paul really wanted a dog his entire life, so they got two of them.  They always had the best birthday ideas and went on date nights and focused on each other.  Their anniversary in May they had a pool inside their hotel room.  Like, their own pool in their own room!  They are by no means rich, but it was important enough to them that they made it work.  Celeste started working as a teacher at Happy Hollow two weeks before Paul died.  She received her first paycheck the day of the viewing.  She’s been working years before that, but at a rate where you’d need 2 incomes to survive.   I can’t imagine how she would have supported herself financially before this job. 

It’s been a hard reality to face, but it forces me to focus on the entire purpose of life.  I know some people are like, “I hate when people bring up religion!”, but in order to explain my thoughts, I have to explain this part:  We believe that we lived as spirits with God before we were born.  Like, everyone did.  We had lives there and friends and loved ones.   And we were given the choice to come to Earth, where we’d be in an environment with so much good and bad that we’d grow in ways we couldn’t otherwise.  And that one of the purposes of life is to see what you’ll make of yourself and what you’ll become in such an environment, and what you’ll change for the better for those around you, and that you’ll learn lessons that you’ll need not just in this life, but the next-- and that there’s a huge work to do for others even after you die to help aid in their eternal maturity and progression as well as your own.  And, for those who strive to become the best that they can be, when there’s more good for you to do on this side of the veil you’ll be here—when there’s more good for you to do on the other side, you’ll be there.   And it’s sooo easy, being on earth and dealing with the “this” and “that’s” that come with earning your own survival , to forget about the reality of the eternal plan.  We’re only here for a few short years.  Even if Paul were to die at 90 it’ll still feel like we didn’t get enough time.  Because we didn’t.  It was never intended that this be even a huge portion of our existence.  But it stinks because not a lot of things in this life last long enough to realize what forever is, so we’re left to think that 10 or 90 years is a long time.  But this forces me to keep that in perspective, so I can make my best of whatever time I have left.

His sister said when he left on his mission it seemed like a long time. Two years later he returned and everyone was like, “Oh, the separation’s over!”  I imagine that somewhere in the eternities we’ll be like, “Remember that time you left us, Paul, and we all freaked out?!”  And he’ll be like, “Oh yeah!  The memories…” And then I’ll punch him because I think I’ll have the rights to for at least 10,000 more years lol, but in a way it’s really comforting to think about.  I mourn because his life as Paul Fernandez on this earth is over.  I know he’s still the same person on the other side of the veil and he’s near us and everything, but now I think of all the things he wanted to do that he won’t be able to; from serious things like he won’t have kids to the inconsequential,  “Paul would want to know how Melissa and Joey ends!!!”  I mourn because all those Christmases will go by without his OCD Christmas wrapping.  I mourn because we can’t see him.  I mourn just imagining all that my sister’s going through.  But, knowing the eternal plan, my emotions take turns shifting from mourning to accepting that his and our lives just took a shift in a way we didn’t expect, and that it’s now my job to support Paul in his new life and adventures as I know he’ll be supporting ours.  I still plan on slapping him the moment I see him, though.  I think that’s fair :-).

Even before this happened, it has been a really, really hard year for me.  I just wanted to say thank you to each and every person for all their kind thoughts and prayers and empathy.  Many of you knew Paul and were mourning yourselves—many of you only knew someone he loved.  But I really, honestly, and truly think you were all people doing the work of angels, but better than they could have done in some ways, since you are here with us, and we have the ability to see you constantly.  You guys make all the difference.  You guys made our world a better place.  You guys made a truly devastating situation that much more bearable.  And I will never, ever in my whole life forget that.  Until I have alzheimers :-).  But I’ll make myself a post it or something then.  But seriously—thank you!!!