Blessings

Reflect on your present blessings, of which every man has many; not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.
Charles Dickens (1812 - 1870)

My husband, daughter, and I went out to visit with Cody's parents last night. My mother decided that it would be good for me. My husband thought that would be good for me. So, instead of letting me decide what would be good for me, they basically put me in the car and drove me out to Cody's parents house.

I didn't have a panic attack or anything (although that took some special concentration to avoid), so I guess I did okay. I feel selfish worrying about how I would react when so many people were grieving. Maybe I am.

I know that no one is good with these situations. But, I honestly don't know what to say. When the grandmother of a close friend died, I called her (at my husband's urging), and he was sitting across the table from me literally writing me notes on what I should say (easy things like, "Please let me know if there is anything that we can do for you," I don't think of). I mean, the listening part, I'm good at. I can close my mouth and just listen. I can hug people. I just always feel like I somehow say something that makes it worse or just something insensitive. I couldn't give you an example because I probably never actually have. I just feel that way.

So, last night, after I got home from work, my husband and I decided to go out to my parents' house. No problem. I can handle that. It's good for them to see me, and as my husband assured me, it would be good for me to be around people who were grieving to the same degree that I am. He didn't know Cody as well, so his grief is on a different level. I agreed to go to my parents' house. Once there, of course, my mother instantly starts talking about how we need to go out to Cody's parents' house and that it will be good for me. Thanks, Mom. Glad you have decided that since it is good for you, it will be good for me too. I hate that. What she has failed to consider is that maybe I grieve in a different way, but, that's too bad.

So, after being assured that we wouldn't stay very long (yeah, right, I know how that goes), I moved the car seat into my parents' car, and we set off. As soon as we got there, I felt like I couldn't breathe. I just wanted to leave, but this was good for me, right? So, I couldn't leave. We spent 20 minutes there, and I can honestly say that I wanted to leave the entire time. I did give both of Cody's parents a hug, and I didn't say a word. Better nothing than the wrong thing I always say. Cody's dad looks awful. I've never seen him look so bad. His mom seems to be holding up as well as can be expected.

Before we went to Cody's parents' house, my husband and I went to the store to get something for dinner, and when we returned, Michael's dad was at my parents house. We spoke with him for a few minutes, and then he headed off to see Cody's parents.

Michael was yet another person who died too young. He was also like another little brother to me. When my parents moved into their current house, I was 10, 11, somewhere in there. My brother and I were used to it being just the two of us, so we always played outside together. Michael lived next door. After a few days of seeing him playing basketball in his driveway by himself while we played one-on-one in our driveway, we invited him over. Michael was a little younger than my brother, and a little older than Cody (I think). Michael was in Cody's grade. During his senior year (or was it his junior?), Michael left football practice one day and was driving home (they had moved by this point, but he still attended the same high school. I don't remember what exactly happened (I guess I chose to forget), but he was thrown from the vehicle. He didn't survive.

I was in college, living in the dorm, and my mom called me to let me know what had happened. I went for a walk. In the dark. Through the dark, deserted parts of campus because I didn't want to run into anyone. Not exactly the smartest thing to do looking at it in hindsight, but nothing bad happened. I didn't go to the funeral. I just couldn't. I didn't even go out to see my parents or my brother or anything because my parents' house and Cody's parents' house became the places that everyone gathered to remember Michael.

I regret to this day that I didn't go to Michael's funeral. I've never even been to his grave, so in many ways, I never truly said goodbye to Michael. Maybe that's why Cody's death is so hard.

I know that Cody will be buried in the same cemetery, and I'm guessing that he will be buried very near Michael (in a small town, the cemetery doesn't grow very fast, so there's room near Michael). I'm not sure how to handle that. Like I said, I've never even been to Michael's grave.

My memories of Michael seem to fade, and I'm afraid that I will forget memories of Cody as well. But, memory is a strange thing. I remember little pieces of information, you know?

I remember Michael liked to eat tortillas with peanut butter on them. We always made fun of him because the thought of tortillas with peanut butter on them makes me want to vomit. But he loved them. He would often come over to our house after school, so my parents always kept tortillas and peanut butter on hand for him.

I remember every summer (or at least the last couple of summers of his life) he would grow a goatee. It looked ridiculous, and I would tease him about it, but he always took everything in stride. That's just who he was.

I remember Michael and my brother doing bicycle tricks in our driveway (well, maybe you couldn't really call them tricks).

I remember Michael and my brother playing baseball in the lot next to my house (before there was a house on that lot) , and Michael hit the baseball right into the windshield of my parents' car. He even came to the door to tell my dad.

Everyone was devastated when Michael died, and I remember my mother calling me and telling me that my brother and Cody were asked to be pallbearers and she and Cody's mom hadn't even thought of that possibility. I had. I should have said something to her.

My parents had to get my brother a new suit, and Cody's parents had to get him a new suit as well. Now, they're going to bury him in that suit.

When my mother first called me about Cody, one of my first questions was whether or not anyone had told Michael's dad. She told me that no one had, and they weren't ready to do that yet. I told her that someone should before he heard it on the news. My mother called him the day that they removed Cody from life support, and he hadn't heard yet. I can't imagine what he felt. My mother said that was the hardest call to make, but she was glad that she had done it.

As anyone could see, Cody's death and Michael's death are somehow intertwined at the moment. My regrets and fears from Michael's death impact how I've dealt with Cody's.

It's hard to see the things in the paper about it. It's hard to even think about a lot of times. His friends have made statements to the media, and they have done a great job. One of them even mentioned the song written about Cody. My brother wrote the song. It is so funny, and based on real life. Only Cody knows how much. It was his story. My brother only put it into song.

I have so many memories of Cody, and they go back so far. I knew him his entire life. My husband has pointed out to me how blessed I was to know him that long. He is right. I'm very blessed.