August 2005

I was looking for it.....a breakthrough.

You know, that moment when everything in your life falls neatly into place?

I found it, in a place I would have never expected.

It was August of 2005 and I had just moved out of my three story “dream house” into a dingy but cute three bedroom apartment. I had changed jobs twice and was drinking almost every night.

I was also single handedly raising two teenagers, a fulfilling, but oftentimes, exhausting task. My days were what any working mom could describe: frantic, frenzied, stressful. There wasn’t one part of the day I had become friends with.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

My favorite part of the day had become my first shot chased by my first beer. When I could feel the alcohol hit my belly and numb my buzzing senses.

We would meet after work for our “quickie”- my best friend and I. “A shot and a beer???” I’d ask her, calling from my cell phone on the way home from work. “Yes-but it HAS to be QUICK!” she’d reply.Sometimes it was. Sometimes it wasn’t. Sometimes we drank so much so fast, we put the men in the bar to shame. Even they couldn’t keep up with us. We were in a race they didn’t know existed, running furiously from a demon that no one could see. We’d both been raised during tough times by one “good” parent. She had an absent mother and my father had long gone crazy.

Life had not been easy for us as kids. Little money and sparse resources often left us alone at the hands of lunatics playing dangerous family babysitters. Innocent girls we became lost women, victims to bad touches and unyielding blows. We hid our tears from the world and muffled our sobs with whiskey. We drank to escape. We drank to find ourselves and then to lose ourselves again, our path to self destruction growing more certain with each bottle we consumed. I guess we were each other’s safe harbor. When we were together, words were superfluous. We understood each other, without explanation and without apology.

We were caught in the typical abuse cycle that showed no end and enormous propulsion.

That was at least, until the day Derek died.

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My best friend Rachel and I worked not one job- but two. I suppose the idea was if we didn’t slow down, we couldn’t catch ourselves. Well, that and we got free meat.

“Working for Jesus” we were told.

The “meat store” was a different kind of store, like no place I had ever worked. It was an old school butcher shop run by the same man for over 30 years. He started there as a boy and worked his way up to the top, eventually owning the place. With his wife and daughter they processed meat like a well oiled machine. It had to be efficient for Lester or he’d have your ass. Literally. A man of few words, even less of them repeatable, he was the patriarch of the crazy meat family. We were a hodgepodge, a melting pot. We were all so different and yet so frighteningly the same.

Kim was Lester’s daughter and she was sweet as hell. She was always friendly, even if she didn’t like you very much. She was contagiously funny. You might think she was the most innocent of the bunch until she told a dirty joke and made herself blush.

Bonnie was Kim’s mother and probably the strongest woman I’ve ever known. She raised a gaggle of kids and was busy raising some of her grandkids as well. She was the only one capable of keeping Lester in line and she knew all the tricks. Her love for him was immense and you could see it in her eyes. On their 40th anniversary I asked her how she did it- what was the secret was to a long lasting marriage?

“You have to like being around them and you can’t forget to dance”.

Bonnie had the kind of soul that drew you in and made you love her. Her wisdom and her humor imparted a warmth all its own and you felt like a better person just being in her presence.

Then there was Cindy. When I first started working there I always thought she was mad. She’d have these episodes where she would flail around the store, arms flapping like a lame duck, cussing and swearing because “there was no backup bacon made!!” Apparently she “never had time for that shit”….or so we were told by her on several occasions. A tough lady- in a former life she worked on a fishing boat in the Bering Sea. She was one of those people that didn’t take you in just by being in her space. You had to earn her trust and respect. It took awhile but when you did, she was solid- friends for life.

John was Lester’s right hand man. He had worked for Lester for so long that Lester treated him like a son. John was someone who had fire in his eyes and anger in his heart. Exposed to a life of hardship had left a boy trapped in the body of a man with fire in his belly. He struck out when mad with fist or tongue and his words could split you in two. He loved to laugh if only he could find occasion to do it more. The trouble with John was that even when he laughing - he wasn’t. His heavy heart was unmistakable. It made you want to hold him. Hug him. Let him know that he was lovable.

Derek was young and frenetic. Battery charged. The kid was amazing. On my very first day of work I opened the door to the cooler to find Derek's upper body exposed. It was his favorite pastime- showing his abs to the eager young girls. He was famous for his T-shirts and I always stopped to read his latest addition. He and I would have these staring contests where we would “death stare” each other into submission. I lost every time, no match to his unwavering gaze. Even when I thought I might win he would get this little gleam in his eye that would launch me into fits of laughter. He was adorable in every way but had absolutely no idea just HOW adorable he really was. This of course pushed his cute meter far ahead of other boys his age.

Rachel and I had always promised him debauchery on his 21st birthday but when the day came around, we were unable to converge for cocktails. Tomorrow we promised.

The next day we received a phone call explaining that Derek had been the victim of a freak drowning accident.

15 minutes underwater. Coma. Possible brain damage. ICU.

Although we didn’t want to, we knew we had to do it. We had to go to the hospital and see our friend for what would likely be the last time.

Stepping through the hospital doors was like stepping into a nightmare. There were family members everywhere speaking in hushed tones and frantic whispers….

“…running some tests now………” “……she’s in there with him………” “………tragic accident…………” “……leg cramp……………”

My feet felt like lead weights. My movements were too loud and I felt as if every gesture was inappropriate. I watched his mom in silent awe. Grief stricken and strong she remained stoic amidst the possibilities that threatened to penetrate her perimeter. I wanted to say so many things to her that day-as a mother, as a friend of Derek’s…as a human being, but the words dissolved in my mouth. There was nothing worth uttering in those moments and instead I chose to leave her alone with her sadness.

We went entered his room in shifts of three, quiet and carefully. Derek lay, peaceful and sleeping - his arm wrapped protectively around his favorite childhood teddy bear. Pink Floyd played softly on the radio above us- a gift from his younger sister. It was HIS music and it swirled around us like magic “Derek smoke”, letting us know he was still right there among us.

We took turns hugging and holding him…

He looked positively gorgeous lying there and his tan skin contrasted perfectly against the white sheets. He would have been happy to know he could look so handsome in a hospital bed. I touched his forehead, his cheek. I held his hand and told him my secrets. I told him I was sorry for never buying him that beer I promised him on his 21st birthday.

Rachel leaned over and held him. She swore she would kiss him if he would just wake up. She held his hand and studied it for a long time before gently placing it back around his teddy bear.

John didn’t say anything - he just stood over Derek, expressionless. In one desperate moment he grabbed him- shockingly- and cried out to him to come back, tears spilling over Derek’s face and chest and then he gently released him and walked away.

We had said goodbye. It was time to let him go.

For days and weeks after Derek passed, we would toast him whenever we all went out for drinks. We could feel his presence around us and would see him in various places, always with that same loping, adorable walk.

In the face of Derek’s death something happened to me. and I began to wonder - if Derek had known what was going to happen to him, would he have done anything differently? Would he have lived his life another way? The answer that I kept coming back to was NO. He probably wouldn’t have. Derek didn’t just exist…HE LIVED.

He laughed hard he worked hard and he played hard.

He took life and wrung the shit out of it.

It may not have always been “traditional”, but it was undeniably Derek. His death made me realize that I was pissing it all away - getting drunk every night, not dealing with my shit, bellyaching over events that happened a lifetime ago. I didn’t want to wake up one day and discover my time was over and I had done absolutely nothing redeeming with it. I wanted to wring the shit out of it too!

Derek touched a lot of people- both in life and death. His friendly smile and affable nature made it easy for him to make friends, and he had many.
If I were his mother, I would have felt blessed to have had a son like Derek. He lived every day completely, imparting a magic spirit to everyone he met.

Today I don’t allow myself to go to bed angry. I tell my kids that I love them every day. I let people cut in front of me on the freeway and I try to make people smile often. Material things aren’t as important to me and I live for big belly laughs, good music, my family and my friends. I don’t drink to escape anymore. I am alive to celebrate and live -to feel the pulse of life and drink in the very nectar of my existence.

Every day that I see Derek’s picture pasted to my refrigerator I think of the tremendous gift he’s given to all of us and I smile and thank him.

As the days go on and his death moves farther away from me, I make sure and allow myself to feel inspired every day. By my friend, by our angel, and the boy who changed my life.