Embracing You, Embracing Me (23 page)

We did go to Darren’s house that evening.
As we entered the home, Darren immediately wrapped me in his strong arms. We
broke down, holding each other up for support.

I pulled back. “How, Darren? How could this
have happened? He was professionally trained in firearms. He knew how to handle
a gun properly.” I had been asking myself those tormenting questions all week
and relished the opportunity to ask Darren, who had been the last person to see
him.

Darren hung his head and shook it slowly.
“I have been asking myself the same question. I don’t know how it happened,
except for what the police reported. I keep going through it in my mind, and
just can’t fathom what the hell he was thinking, handling his weapon that way.”

I reached out, placing my hand on his
shoulder. “Darren? Are they sure that it was an accident? Do think that he…”

Darren’s head snapped up and met my gaze,
his hazel eyes fierce. “No, I don’t think that. I know that Gabriel would never
take his own life. The bullet’s trajectory came up at an odd angle and hit his
collarbone first. No one would have taken such a shot if they had meant
themselves intentional harm, especially Gabriel. He had too much to live for
and was too full of life to do such a thing,” his voice softened, “besides he
would never do that to his family, to us. He always put his family and friends
before himself.” His eyes bore further into mine, imploring me to understand.
“It was an accident!”

He was so adamant and I knew as he spoke
that it wasn’t just because he couldn’t stand the thought of Gabriel taking his
own life, but also because he knew him so well, as a brother would know their
own flesh and blood. His words echoed the truth and I relaxed with relief as
that nagging question of doubt was finally settled.

Only a handful of loved ones attended the
wake that evening. Emotions fluctuated between grief and nostalgic laughter as
everyone spoke of Gabriel, sharing their enlightening stories about him. It was
obvious that he’d touched so many people with his genuine and loving nature.

Later on, back at Amber’s house, I curled
into a fetal position on the bed that we had lain in on our last night together,
exhausted and spent. My face felt chapped and sore from all the crying.

As I’d crawled into bed, I feared that I
would be overcome with emotions as the day’s events raced through my mind. I
lay there and replayed the last conversation that we’d had in that very room.
My body tensed, prepared to experience another assaulting wave of grief.

Then suddenly, I recalled something that
Gabriel had said that night after he’d had his premonition, fearing we would
never see each other again. “We always make it back to each other. We always
have and we always will.” It echoed in my head, as clear as if he were lying
there with me.

Instantly, my body was filled with
over-whelming warmth, calming me. I felt cocooned in his love and relaxed with
the temporary relief, sinking into the brief sanctuary that was being offered.
I hugged myself tight and closed my eyes. I drifted off to the first peaceful
sleep that I’d had in days.

The next few months were spent in a haze.
My attempts to participate in life consisted of showing up to work, playing
with my daughter, and making ends meet. I walked around disengaged, as if my
nervous system had been severed. I functioned only in the most basic of human
needs.

It wasn’t uncommon to catch myself lost in
thought, in the past, staring off into space while life went on around me. I
wasn’t just wallowing in grief, I was drowning in it.

ROSIE:
It’s time for Roshell to make an attempt to socialize with our
friends and rejoin life. After a hellish morning of finals, I announced that we
were going to go to an old classmate’s party that night. He was having a
bonfire out in his field, just like old times and there was supposed to be a
huge turnout. I was determined to get her out of the house.

When Roshell declined, using the lack of a
babysitter excuse, I had it covered. I presumed she would respond that way and
had already called Graham, arranging to have him pick Marissa up for the
evening.

“Listen,” Rosie said, “you can’t just hole
up in this house forever and let life pass you by while you wallow.” She
paused, peering at me over the kitchen counter and into the small dining space
where I was zoning out on an old episode of Saved By The Bell. She was giving
her- ‘I’m not messing around’ face and her voice was uncharacteristically
stern. “You’re going if I have to drag you.”

There was no point in fighting her about
it. I conceded and packed Marissa’s overnight Blue’s Clue’s bag. After I gave
her a big kiss on both cheeks, I pulled away and was momentarily taken back
when I realized my baby was no longer looking like a baby anymore.

Her round face had matured with the loss of
baby fat, and her fine, curly, baby hair, was now longer, hanging to her
shoulders in perfect ringlets. She was definitely more toddler than baby and it
tugged at my heart to acknowledge that that precious part of my daughter’s life
had already passed.

Life just kept moving on, whether I wanted
it to or not, and I knew that I had better re-engage if I didn’t want to miss
it.

Once Marissa was picked up, I resigned to
the inevitable. I would attend the party with a smile on my face and a positive
attitude so that my friends would stop fussing over me.

Within five minutes of arriving, the host,
Roy, shoved a beer into both Rosie and my hands, welcoming us to his party.
With a shrug of my shoulders, I joined the rest of the party. “If you can’t
beat ’em, join ’em!” I announced and downed the entire bottle in one long pull.
After swigging the icy beer, relishing the yeasty, hops flavor, I wiped my
mouth and burped out a large air bubble. Beer was still unfavorable to my taste
but it would do.

Rosie and Roy had astonished looks on their
faces. I giggled, pleased with my accomplishment.

“Whoa, that was awesome!” Roy exclaimed.

I casually handed over the empty bottle.
“You got anything stronger?” I could already feel my body opening up, embracing
the alcohol as it coursed through my veins and immediately demanded more.

“Sure, you can use my flask. I always carry
it around in my back pocket for times such as these. I just filled it with
whiskey. You can have a few swigs, and then pass it back to me in a little
while.” Roy turned and rushed off to greet the newcomers who were just pulling
into the field.

Rosie watched me with wary concern as I
took an eye-watering swig. “Roshell, you better slow down or you’re gonna be on
your lips in no time,” she warned.

I capped the flask, my stomach burning,
warming me from the inside out. “I’m fine,” I stated flatly. “I was just
getting a jump start. I’ll chill now.”

But I didn’t. My mind basked in the sudden
false flux of joy that the alcohol introduced. It coursed through my dull
insides and made me feel empowered rather than beaten down. It filled me with a
bold strength and created an indifference to the sorrow. I dove into its
retreat.

ROSIE:
While flirting with Roy, he asked if I’d seen Roshell because he
wanted to confiscate his flask from her. I suddenly realized that it been a bit
since I had seen her and took a quick scan of the field. I had no idea where
she was. Shit!

Alarm bells rang in my head as I stomped
toward the other field where most of the cars were parked. I was desperate to
find her before she did something that she would later regret. I finally found
her, in the back seat of a Dodge Ram crew cab, making out with some guy that we
had met only that night. Freakin’ great! This idea of mine was back-firing. I
needed to take her butt home.

There was a brutal banging on the window
and I could hear Rosie hollering. My head was swimming. I rolled down the passenger
side window and peeked my head out with a drunken grin and a slur in my voice.
“What’s up girlfriend?”

She rolled her eyes. “Out! Come on, get
out! I’m taking your drunk ass home.”

I pushed my torso further out the window,
my right arm hanging limp. “What are you talking about? This was your idea and
now I’m having fun! You were right old friend. I definitely needed this!” I
raised my hand in the air and swung it back and forth as if waving a flag.
“Whoooo, hooo! Party on Garth!” I thought, I was hilarious quoting Wayne’s World, but Rosie didn’t seem to get my humor. “Geez, chill out, woman!”

Rosie continued to stand her ground, her
arms firmly crossed. “Very funny. Now open the door. We’re going home.”

I finally conceded with a drunken pout,
bidding my new friend goodbye.

By the time we pulled into our driveway,
the alcohol was doing a wicked number on me and I was mumbling incoherently.
Rosie helped me into the house and plopped me into bed, only removing my muddy
shoes before I passed out.

Over the course of the next six months my
drinking increased significantly. I found a place to party at every
opportunity. I made arrangements for Marissa, rationalizing that she wouldn’t
miss me because I was only gone while she slept.

I worked full time and made sure to spend
my days with Marissa, but spent most of my free nights inebriated to the point
of partial memory loss. I was constantly searching for the release from reality
that the alcohol brought. Meanwhile, my grief evolved into an all-consuming
rage that turned inward and led me down a path of an unconscious
self-destruction. I often blacked out during my binges, waking the next morning
with excruciating headaches and a relentless sour nausea.

My memory faded in and out as I tried to
piece together the previous evening, and I would often remember embarrassing
little tid-bits that I’d rather have not recalled. I sometimes found sore spots
or bruises from falling down or tripping. I repeatedly lost personal items and
had no recollection of how or exactly when they went missing, so I began to
leave valuables at home before going out. It was my new way of life.

But the most disturbing aspect of that new
life was how often my memory would trickle in and I would realize that I had
recklessly slept with someone the night before. I felt ashamed and embarrassed.
When they called later in the week, I would deal with them harshly, dismissing
them before there was an opportunity for a relationship to develop. I had no
sentimental feeling toward them. I hardened myself and was unreachable.

Life carried on around me and I didn’t seem
to notice or care.

One afternoon, Rosie caught me off guard
when she said that Grandma had called and would be visiting later that week.

I was a little shocked. Grandma had never
been to see me: I had always been the one to do the traveling so that she
wouldn’t have to make such an exhausting road trip. But a rare joy crept in and
I quickly perked up, eager for the upcoming visit.

That following Thursday, around six in the
evening, Grandma pulled up in her red Honda Accord. I had been waiting by the
front window and rushed out with Marissa in my arms. Grandma wrapped her loving
arms around both of us and held on. It was so great to have her there. I felt
suddenly childlike again, vulnerable, so I pulled back to regroup. Grandma
reached out to hold Marissa and I offered to help her with her things.

I had planned to cook dinner that evening
but Grandma would have none of it. She promptly rolled up her sleeves and
started digging through our larder, making herself at home. She thrived in the
kitchen and nothing gave her more pride and sense of nurturing than cooking for
her loved ones. It was her way of healing, her personal medicine.

Rosie and I sat in the dining room chatting
with Grandma as she threw ingredients together for chicken and noodles over
mashed potatoes, one of my favorite comfort foods.

After dinner, I put Marissa down in her crib
then veered toward the bathroom to fix my hair and makeup for the evening.
Grandma peered into the brightly lit room. “Where are you going all spiffed
up?”

“Oh, I just figured that I would go out for
a while, hang out with a few friends of mine, once you head to bed, Grandma.” I
opened my eyes wide, dabbing on my mascara.

Grandma hesitated. “Well actually, that is
something that I would like to talk to you about. If you don’t mind, maybe we
could sit down in the living room for a while.”

Hesitant, I lowered my hand and stared
blankly at her reflection in the mirror. “Sure.”

This wasn’t good at all. I had a bad
feeling about what was coming. I trudged down the hall, feeling like a
reprimanded child and sat on one end of the sofa. I waited with apprehension
until Grandma was seated before I spoke. “You’re not just here for a casual
visit, are you?” I enquired calmly.

Grandma’s strong wide hands nervously
rubbed her knees. “Not exactly, I did want to visit. I always want to see you
and Marissa, but the main reason I came at this time was because it has been
brought to my attention that your friends are becoming increasingly concerned
with some of your recent behavior and frankly… I am as well.”