January 6, 2009

• Erik

  Suffering attracts “fixers” like roadkill attracts vultures.    ~random quote for the day =)

  So yesterday, exactly a year ago,  we were all sitting around the living room, waiting for the boys to come home from their latest adventure. They’d gone hiking to one of the most beautiful waterfalls I’d ever seen…you’d stand at the bottom and crane your neck to look at the top…and it seemed to go on forever.

  They were late. Some of the people around me were starting to get worried. I had a pounding headache…I never get headaches. I sat in my chair in the flickering candelit room (electricity was out–AGAIN)…mostly surrounded by darkness, and tried to think of a worse-case scenario.

  What’s the worst thing that could’ve happened? I asked myself. I smiled. Almost smugly. They got stuck, I told myself. It was rainy season…people were constantly getting stuck on the slick, muddy roads. It was a logical conslusion. And one that satisfied me completely. They’d all still come home…dripping wet, laughing at their misfortune, making fun of us for worrying, and being their loud, normal selves.

  The phone rang. Someone answered…I’m not sure who…and then I saw the look on her face and snatched the phone from her. I recognized Papa’s voice. There was an accident. But they’d found the body…were bringing it home. I felt a scream starting somewhere deep inside me. Whose body? When? Where? NO. This was NOT happening. Couldn’t be happening.

  I don’t remember what I did with the phone…might’ve dropped it. Or handed it back to whoever I snatched it from. Then I sat down. And just tried to wrap my mind around this new tragedy.

  He’d only been there that morning. Strong. Healthy. Sweet. I remember him grabbing my hand (a habit of his with me), and squeezing it till I squeaked in pain…and then chuckling and letting go…I remember him saying, “Cuidese, Flaca…” to ME…when he was the one that was supposed to take care of himself.

  I compare his death to what we went through with Ronny, and in many ways, Ronny’s wasn’t quite so traumatic. With Ronny, we had time to get used to the idea of him being gone…we had some warning. With Erik, it was complete shock. Alive that morning, and then staring at the tarp that held his crumpled up body that very same night. I remember thinking, it’s too small. He was a tall kid, too big to fit into that little wrapped up tarp…but I guess breaking all the bones in your body makes you smaller.

  He climbed to the very top of that waterfall. And fell every foot of the way down. About 600 ft…it’s a long ways…I wasn’t there. But the guys say he didn’t even scream…but he wouldn’t. He wasn’t the type to show great emotion…maybe not even in the face of death.

  Erik was always phlegmatic. Closed in. Laid back. Easy going…smart. He could pretend not to notice things, but he somehow always knew EVERYTHING about almost everyone…cuz he’d pay attention. He’d see things the rest of us were too busy to notice.

  He could fix things. Anything got broke or simly refused to work for no reason, he was there to fix it. He’d take it apart and somehow put it back together so that it would run perfectly. =)

  Erik and I weren’t all that close…until just a few months before he died. I guess he finally decided I was trustworthy, so he slowly started opening up to me. He’d stand at the door, and do a little head nod to me, then I’d go outside. We’d sit on the porch and solve world problems. Or just our problems. Or just his. =)

  He told me about his plans for his future. His struggles with the present. His new found love for someone. His vow of loyalty. And if there’s one thing Erik was, it was loyal. Once he was your friend, you could trust him with anything…your life, practically, and he’d be good for it.

  One of my favorite memories of him was one night when he did his usual head jerk (telling me to come), and then we went outside and sat on our usual spot on the porch, and he reached into a backpack he’d brought along and drew out a knife and two apples. He preceeded to cut  the apples in halves and give me two halves. *insert*–apples are very rare down there…you savor them with great gratitude. And then as we munched away on his little treat, he talked. He talked even more then than he had other times.  I think it was the last time we talked. That night as he left, he said, “Flaca, pray for me, ok?” I looked at him. “Pray for yourself too, Erik?” He looked me straight in the eyes. “Always.” And that’s the last time I talked to him.

  Erik was my brother. I love him still. And I miss him terribly.

  

  When he was younger…sooo cute! =)

  

  

  He’s the one in the middle in front, with the red shirt. =)

  

  Looking at the moon with binoculars…

  

  admiring a new shirt he got for Christmas…

  

  Taken only weeks before he died…

  

  My favorite of him. Wrinkled shirt, free spirit, wiping his knife on his shirt, middle of green outdoors, happy grin…it captures him. =)

  

  Part of the waterfall…where he died.   

  Goodnight everyone…remember to love each other…while you can.

  me

  • 7:19 pm
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