We All Grieve Differently

I was half drunk and half asleep after a night out on campus when the ringing phone in my dorm room caused me to quickly focus. I didn’t have any idea who would be calling me at nearly 4 AM on a Wednesday but at that age I was still far too young to really know that calls at that hour are never a good thing.

As I rolled over to grab the phone on the table between our beds, I took note that my roommate’s bed was once again empty.

“How the fuck does he do it?” I wondered aloud to myself as I lifted the receiver. We’d been on campus for three months of our freshman year and I had managed to kiss a few girls, but he was on to his sixth or seventh that he was fucking. I don’t know if I was more jealous or impressed

I was still shaking my head when I squeaked out a feeble “hello?” into the receiver.

“Andrew, it’s Mom…” and my heart sank. I was too tired to have put it all together in my conscious mind right away, but my subconscious and my nervous system raced each other to deliver warning signs to me as I all at once felt panic and a physical tensing of every muscle in my body.

“What’s wrong mom?”

“You need to get your things together and call a taxi. You have to catch a train home, there’s one that leaves at 6:55. Pack a bag with clothes and anything you’ll need to be home for a while.” she said very calmly, almost unnervingly calmly in retrospect.

“What? Why? What’s going on mama?” I surprised myself calling her that. I had stopped calling her mama at least eight or nine years before but it was like this middle-of-the-night call had reverted me to a childlike state.

“It’s Brian. He… There was an accident and… Andrew… he…” she took a deep breath to continue and my mind spun thinking about my older brother. My mother’s voice wavered for a moment as she finally was able to continue after what may have been a second or a full minute, I really didn’t know. “He’s gone honey. He’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone mom?” was all I could manage to reply.

“There was an accident. Sarah called and… and by the time Dad and I made it to the hospital he was gone.”

I couldn’t even make myself reply. I had so many questions. I was so lost. I was angry, but most of all I was profoundly sad. I laid back on my bed trying to figure out what to say to my mother when she brought me back into the present.

“Listen honey. Right now, you need to focus on getting to the train station and getting the 6:55 train home. I’m sorry you had to find out like this, but right now the most important thing is being safe and getting home to us. I have to go. I love you”

I laid there for a few moments with the phone still to my face before it started making a noise that snapped me out of my trance. I hung it up and began to gather my clothes. I hadn’t gotten around to doing laundry for a few days, so I just ended up filling my dirty clothes bag and knotting it at the top. I shoved my toothbrush, deodorant and a few other things in the pencil pocket of my Jansport back pack and pulled on jeans and a hoodie.

Stepping out into the hallway I realized I didn’t even know how to get to Union Station at this hour. I took the Amtrak home and back to school at Thanksgiving just the week before but that was during the middle of the day and I took the Metro from Campus to Union Station.

Then I remembered that my mom had told me to get a taxi, but I didn’t know where to do that at 4:30 AM, even in a city as big as DC. I felt like such a child. As I was standing there with my back against my dorm room door with my laundry bag in my hand and my backpack slung over one shoulder, I was surprised to see the R.A. walking toward me.

“What’s going on Drew?” He asked, concerned.

“Huh?” was all I could muster in response.

“You’re standing crying in the hall at five in the morning.”

“Oh, sorry Seth. My mom just called me. I.. I have to go home. My brother…” and then I started to really cry.

“Oh, God. Sorry Drew. What do you need?” Seth offered as if grasping the situation immediately even though I hadn’t actually said that my brother had died. He seemed so much more mature than me, although he was probably only 20.

“I have to get to Union Station so I can get the Amtrak back to New Jersey. My mom said to get a taxi, but I was just realizing that I don’t know if they run this time of night by campus.”

“I’ve got a car, I’ll drive you over there. I think that would be best. Stay here while I get dressed and get my keys.”

The drive over to the station and Seth dropping me off went by in a haze. So too did buying the ticket and getting on the train. At some point I fell asleep only to be awoken by the conductor telling me we were leaving Trenton, and that my stop was next.

I got off at Princeton Junction thinking I had an hour walk home ahead of me, but I was met there with another of my brothers, Ted. He hugged me and took my bags and put me in his car to drive me home but we barely spoke.

It was late November of 1994. I was 18 years old, the youngest of five but really, I was kind of like an only child. My oldest sister Heather was 24 years my senior. I went to High School with her daughter, my niece, but I was actually a grade behind her. Ted, who drove me home, lived down the street from my folks and was also out of the house by the time I was born, being 22 years older than me. William, who was 15 years older than me lived on the West Coast.

I thought of those three more like an Aunt and Uncles than my siblings, but Brian was different. Brian was “only” 8 years older than I was and we actually had a very strong bond. I looked up to him in just about every way. I was 16 years old when he asked me to be his best man, much to my adult brother’s chagrin.

When it came time to pick a college, I passed up on a few better schools to go to Catholic University simply because Brian had gone there.

He was my hero.

The rest of that day was a blur. We were all waiting on William to arrive and we were just kind of sitting around. My mom and dad, now in their mid-60’s and mourning the loss of a child, seemed to take comfort by being surrounded by the big family they had made. The only person other than William noticeable in their absence was Brian’s wife Sarah.

At only 25 Sarah was now a widow. She and Brian had met in college and they settled in New Jersey after graduation to be enveloped by my big, loving family. She was from Georgia, but she never seemed out of place with our family and I had grown very fond of her.

It was the next day when I finally saw Sarah and just the look of pain on her face brought tears to my eyes. I hugged her and she began sobbing into the crook of my neck. In much the same way that Brian was the only one of my siblings that I could relate to, Sarah was always most comfortable around me as opposed to her other brothers & sister-in-law.

After we broke our hug, we sat in the rarely used den together making that kind of very odd small talk that only people trying to find their way through sudden and all-encompassing grief have experienced. She asked me about classes and what professors I had, remarking on the ones she or Brian had also had. It was already difficult and more than a bit strange when she just stopped talking and stared at me.

“What is it?” I finally asked

“Sorry Drew. You just look so much like him.” She explained before breaking down in tears again.

I felt awful for her, and just generally awful that my face looking like my brother’s was causing her pain. But when I suggested that maybe I should make myself scarce she grabbed my hand in protest.

“No, I’m sorry. Its not your fault. Please don’t leave. You’re the only one I can talk to right now. The rest of them are all so grown up and my folks won’t be here until tomorrow.”

So, I sat with Sarah in the den talking about things on campus and what types of parties I had been to. We both even laughed a bit at one point when I was telling her a story about my roommate sneaking a girl into our all-male dorm.

At the wake Sarah asked me to stand with her, almost like a fill in for Brian. I also stood with her during the funeral mass and at the cemetery. Her father thanked me for being so supportive, and my mom praised me for “being there for Sarah” the whole week.

Before I knew it, I was on my way back to DC to take my finals. To no one’s surprise I didn’t do very well since I was still finding it so hard to focus on just about anything, let alone school work. In what seemed like a flash I was once again on the Amtrak heading for home.

For the first few days of Winter Break I barely came out of my room. My mom and dad were worried about me and they weren’t subtle about it. Christmas came and went and I was still just kind of frozen. I had never known someone as young as Brian who had died. I was also really mad how well everyone else appeared to be dealing with it, although the benefit of hindsight allows me to understand that everyone grieves in different ways.

The one person who seemed to feel the same way as me was Sarah. She returned from spending Christmas with her family in Georgia and went back to work teaching at my old high school but she was also sleepwalking through it all. Then, just a few days before I was due to return to school my mother knocked on my door.

“Hey Andrew, it’s Sarah” my mother said while holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the cordless phone. “She said she needed some help at the house and asked if you could come over.”

“Hey” I said into the phone as my mom disappeared into the hall.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I know you probably have stuff to do before you head back to school. But would you mind coming over for a bit?”

“I don’t have anything going on. I’d be happy to help. Give me a few minutes to get ready and I’ll be there before you know it.”

“Thanks Drew, I appreciate it.” she responded before hanging up.

It didn’t even take a half an hour to get ready and to their house. When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the door swing open as if Sarah had been watching and waiting. I walked up to the front door and was instantly awash in memories of Brian. I had just helped them paint the house the summer before and everything about the place reminded me of him, obviously.