When Death Happens

I think the first time I recall being faced with death, I couldn't have been any older than 6. His name was Bill Smith and he was a church friend of my grandmother's. He and his wife, Mildred, lived in the neighborhood across the street from the church I attended as a child. The only thing I really remember about Bill was he loved owls. His collection displayed throughout their home. I remember going over there several times with my grandma. Bill had gone into the hospital for some type of heart surgery and I remember going to visit him once...in my Cheer Bear Halloween costume, which my grandma had cut from a pattern and sewn stitch by stitch...it was the last time I saw Bill. He never came home. He died on the operating table. After his passing, his wife gave me Bill's wooden Russian nesting dolls, which I played with during visits to their home. I still have those dolls to this day. Being so young, I understood that Bill wasn't going to be around anymore and that he was in Heaven.

Another death that hit me (rather hard) was that of my dear friend, Bryson Kcraget. I had known Bryson all throughout high school, having had several classes together. Bryson was a handsome, sweet, country boy who drove a Ford Ranger pickup truck. He was popular and on the wrestling team. I don't recall anyone ever saying anything bad about him. I remember during our sophomore year, passing notes in health class ... I couldn't believe it - here I was a girl who was not a part of the 'in crowd' who liked a boy, who liked her back. We had made plans to go on a date, which would have been my first, over Christmas Break. Bryson was already 16 and had his driver's license. Unfortunately, he got in trouble and was grounded over break and so the date had to be canceled...somehow, we didn't get around to rescheduling that date.

During our junior year of high school, Bryson had been out drinking and got his first underage DUI. I could have been dealing with Bryson's death a lot sooner than I did as this DUI included a serious wreck, where he was thrown from the cab of the truck. It was a good thing he didn't have his seat belt on as the engine came through the truck landing on the benchseat. But with this accident, Bryson had the misfortune of doing enough damage to his arm that he had to have steel pins put in. (There went his scholarship to VMI. He had wanted to be a police officer like his older brother.) He lost his license. That summer, he was homebound and on several occasions, I would go over to visit him. I remember one time I was irritated with some of our fellow class members as I had gone to visit and they were all having a ball in his pool - not even paying any mind to Bryson. Maybe he didn't mind. I didn't ask, but it bothered me. The main thing I remember about his house was the family room. The entire perimeter of the wall nearest to the ceiling was nothing but dear heads.

We remained friends through the end of high school. He signing my last yearbook with:

Sarah,
Not much to say. You are a true friend.

I know you will always do well in life.

I hope to see you in the future.
Your pal,
Bryson Kcraget

Bryson ended up attending Radford, but only for a short time. Spring Break '96 had arrived. I knew I would be seeing Bryson while I was home. On my first full day home, calling Bryson was on my list of things to do, however, before I could I got a call from my friend and down-the-street neighbor, Dina. She asked if I had talked to Bryson lately. My response was something like "No, but I'm calling him today [to let him know I was home]." And her extremely blunt response was "You can't. He's dead. He killed himself last night." Dina went on to tell the events as they happened...he and his girlfriend, Melissa, had gone out the night before. He was driving intoxicated again and happened upon his second DUI. He was sure his parents would be disappointed in him. Once he was home, he called Melissa, leaving her a message that he loved her and would see her in Heaven. He then went into his back yard, which was nothing but woods, and took a 12 gauge to his head. That was it. James Bryson Kcraget was gone. I can't imagine being unable to locate my child and then find him dead...and in such a gruesome way. I know without a doubt in my heart that Bryson's parents wouldn't have wished this upon their child. For a time after you couldn't help but wonder why this happened...

I attended the visitation night at the funeral home in Colonial Heights. There were a lot of familiar faces. As I stood in line waiting to speak with his family, I practiced what I wanted to say over and over. With having lost my grandmother a few months prior and having had gone through what his family was now going through, I knew I didn't want to say "I'm sorry." I was sorry, but after having heard it so many times myself, it had lost it's meaning. When I arrived to his mother I simply said "Mrs. Kcraget, I can't believe he's gone." Mrs. Kcraget just gathered me in an embrace. Nothing more was said.

I had never been to a funeral before and I knew I didn't want Bryson's to be my first. When everyone was gathering at the cemetery, I instead went to Friendly's for ice cream with my friend, Erica. We talked about Bryson over some vanilla ice cream. A few days later, I cut some daffodils from my grandmother's garden and went to the burial site. I knew roughly where Bryson had been laid to rest as Dina had attended his funeral and told me where he 'was'. I spent some time alone with him, just talking. I had laid the daffodils among the mound of various flowers left for him. I guess other than memories, I wanted something to remember Bryson by, so before I left I took a single perfect long stem red rose. It was dried out and I cut the bud from the stem. It too was perfect. I still have that bud to this day.

I visited Bryson a few times after his burial. But I haven't been to visit in over 10 years. It's not that I don't care about Bryson, but it didn't make any sense to me to go to the cemetery to 'talk to the ground'. It just so happens the cemetery is next to the YMCA where my nephew plays soccer. Sometimes when I drive past it I'll say hello...