I just got off the phone with my sister Julie, Otto and then my wife...talking about the death of Jay Chance, 16 or 17, last night. As I hung the phone up, I heard "Protection" playing and felt comfort. He has been battling a few forms of cancers over the past two years, surviving longer than anyone thought. I never knew Jay, but knew his parents and sister. They grew up in the same church I did, his father taught religion at the first college I attended. I remember hearing when he was first diagnosed and given about 6 months to live. I thought how unfortunate that his family will have to know that pain of losing a son and brother. A friend of the family, whose own husband died of brain cancer a few years ago, was there with them last night. When she left the hospital, she said they were all sleeping peacefully. The nurse woke them up around 5:30, told them to gather round and say their goodbyes. Typing this now is just as emotional as hearing it. I've known a lot of people who have died, but have never been bedside when it happened.
Julie and I talked a bit about our youngest sister, Janet. She was Jay's age and whereas I don't think she knew him well, I know that she must now face that big realization all teenagers unfortunately face. They are not invincible. They die in car accidents, they overdose, they commit suicide, and they get cancer. Some learn from it, others don't.
I still remember learning that my old friend, Nat Ash, had been killed in a car accident on his way back to college. Nat had moved to Liberty in second grade and we became instant friends. We created a comic strip, Quiggy, and spent countless hours drawing and talking about it. I still have every single one. As junior and senior high school came and went, we spent little time together, but never let it keep us from conversations when time provided. I remember standing by a tree at his funeral, smoking a cigarette and comforting a friend, someone Nat had once dated. She had never known anyone who had died.
I remember in Los Angeles, finding out that a friend/coworker, Fermin, had been killed by a drunk driver on his way home from work. Some drunk, newly licensed 16 year old ran into Fermin's side of the car, sparing his pregnant wife and toddler daughter from harm. Fermin died from his injuries shortly thereafter. I remember watching friends who had never dealt with that sudden loss come to terms with everything happening. I became a supporter of designated drivers right then and there.
Now my sister and her class will face the death of a classmate. They will deal with the initial shock and pain, forgetting most of it as the summer wears on, maybe remembering as they return to school in the fall. My only suggestion to them, talk about it. Get the feelings out there. Don't bottle them up. To those of you who read this, share your memories.
