9 Months of Solitary....

On this day, it was a Sunday even, nine months ago on October 11, 2009, one of my close cousins was officially declared brain dead. That was a very rough time in my life. I've lost people I've care about, deeply, before, but no one as close to me as he. Like a brother, really. And at nine months, I've never stopped thinking about him, never stopped thinking of that Friday before when I was told he'd gotten into a car accident.

It was just him, just a mile from home......the belief is that he swerved to avoid hitting a dog, which was later found dead(we still don't know if he actually hit it), hit a ditch, over corrected, hit the ditch on the other side, spun(at a very odd angle) back to the other side, and on his side hit a chain-link fence and a bricked up mail box. His side, the drivers side, was the only side damaged, but it was bad enough that the car was totaled. Blunt force trauma throughout his torso, mainly.

I didn't go with my grandparents that Friday, they were the ones who told me. Grandma asked me to stay and watch her dogs, since she didn't know when they would be back. So I did, even called off work. She called every 3-4 hours to let me know what was going on. They came back later that night, and she asked if I wanted to go see him the next day. I did.

Mom came with us since she didn't have to work. We left at either 10:30 or 11am, I can't remember which. When we got there at the hospital, we had to go too UK (University of Kentucky), and went to his room......he was sleeping, was my first reaction, with a breathing tube down his throat, blood tubes through the side of his chest, and through his head. Paula, his mother, just stared at him. I hide myself over to the side against the wall. That placed me in front of a screen, that had about 7-8 different lines measuring different frequencies of something.......it was a neuro-scanner(that's what I called, I actually don't know what it's called), I realized. The lines weren't hardly there at all. I looked back and forth between the scanner and him about 4 or 5 times before I stopped. The breathing machine that he was on, he couldn't breathe on his own. I sighed and looked away. I realized that he wasn't there anymore. I heard one of the nurses say that he had no blood flowing to his brain; repeating what a doctor had told them all previously. Apparently his blood pressure rose rapidly and then just dropped dramatically, after my grandparents had left, and that's the reason for the lack of blood flow.

When we got back to the waiting room, I looked at all the faces come to see him; friends and family. And knew that none of them would believe him truly gone until they officially announced it. I sat there watching it, because I couldn't say anything, and let them have their false hope. Mom left around eight-ish with my uncle who'd come down also. Awhile later, I noticed everyone had left Paula alone in the sitting room, so I went in with her.

And my heart broke. She looked like she lost her soul, just a shell sitting at the table with her chin on her arms staring at nothing. Her face looked like it would slide off at any moment. I went and sat next to her and laid my head on her shoulder, the only thing that told me she noticed was that she laid her head on mine. I didn't say anything, she didn't either. We just sat there, staring at nothing. At one point, someone came in and turned the light off. I didn't pay attention enough to see who it was... I only sat with her for a few minutes before my grandma and great aunt came in and encouraged Paula to take a walk or eat something. She took a walk. Two others and myself followed after her to go outside where she walked a ways to sit on a curb in front of a street light. I think we all sat out there in silence for about fifteen minutes before getting up and going back inside. When we got back, the room's lights had been turned off to give the occupants encouragement to sleep for awhile. Paula had gone back with her husband to sleep beside Allen one last time. I think they too knew that he wasn't going to wake up. I located my laptop and made my way to an empty little room they for extra seating for their cafeteria that was across the hall. My Facebook posts were never and have never since been more depressing than they were that night. I stayed in that room, listening to music and posting my ridiculously depressing poems that spewed from my brain all night. My grandma came in at one point and stayed for an little while. The only bit of conversation we had was her stating that she was going to miss him. To which I replied, "I already do." She nodded and left after, going back to the waiting room to lie down. I already knew that Allen was gone, what with the facts I had been given, and the simple fact that when I walked in that room I couldn't feel him there. I didn't sleep that night. When morning rolled around I saw people start to flitter around in the hall. So I packed up everything and headed back to the waiting room. I probably got an hour of sleep, barely permitted by the obnoxiously hard 'cushioned' chairs we'd been given. Nobody had the chance to tell everyone the bad news. We heard enough from Allen's girlfriend, in the little room I had been in with Paula that night, to come too that horrible conclusion. Nobody need say a word. And even though I already knew, had been preparing myself since I found out about his accident, nothing I had done could stop that horrible pressure that was crushing me from the inside. It hurt. Like no pain I had ever felt before and I was suffocating, drowning in a wave of despair that I couldn't fight. And everyone settled into Allen's room, a giant horse-shoe around his bed. And for a minute I was outwardly fine. Only trails left on my face from the waiting room. Then one of Allen's friends, a priest, whose name I cannot remember, from a that Allen went to, came in and said a prayer for him. And when the prayer over, everyone hand-in-hand, he sang Sweet Chariot. He had a beautiful voice, but that melodious voice caused an onslaught of quiet tears. My face was carefully blank. Allen's little brother, Joey, and I made eye contact and just stared at each other for a moment. A mutual understanding that only we understood. Allen was our friend, our brother...and he was gone. He was a good man. And he died way to young. (The following is the script that was in the Viewing pamphlet.) Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not here...I do sleep, I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow, I am sunlight on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn's rain. When you awake in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight, I am the soft star that shines at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not here...I did not die. In Memory Of Allen Scott Terry Date of Birth February 20, 1988 Oakland Co., Michigan Date of Death October 11, 2009 Lexington, Kentucky I miss you Allen. I wish you were still here. #Edit! - I started to write this that Friday a little over three years ago and then got distracted and then eventually forgot I even had it on here. But it's here now, I apologize for the use of any tissues you may or may not have used reading this.

I'm Back, Bitches!!!

Dear Lord I've been away forever. I apologize to anyone whoever bothered with this blog for my extended period of absence. No more, I say!! I've got a lot of movies to update on and some other news that I may or may not elaborate on in the near future. Well see....