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Nov. 8, 2004 It was probably about three years ago. I had a house on Bogue Street with three of my best friends in the world. I remember always feeling so happy in that house and feeling like no maladies could ever penetrate the impregnable walls of our shelter. I was under the impression that my friends and I had built a fortress that would keep us safe from a lot of the things that afflicted other people. I felt so safe and protected that it was so easy for me to exhibit what psychologists have named the carefree orientation. In my heart of hearts I knew that this feeling of invincibility was just a romantic ideal I had setup for myself, but alas I clung to it like it was the last remaining morsel of food on a barren planet. I did not believe that anything could shake me from my fantasy, nothing at all. There was one particular day in that house that I remember getting a phone call from my mother. It was a Sunday night on Bogue Street and it seemed to me that my mother was just calling to catch up on a week that had come and gone. I was not extremely interested in talking to her because Sunday was the day of the week that we all had set aside as our movie night. It seemed to me that my mother had some type of hidden camera installed in our house, because she had the most impeccable timing of calling when I was right in the midst of something. Perhaps it was always merely a coincidence but it seemed more like a cruel joke to me. I remember hearing my phone ring and promptly running into my bedroom, which was on the first floor; I had no intentions of having my roommates stop the movie on my account. The moment I answered the phone I knew that something was not right. I knew that something was in fact different from the normal Sunday conversations that I traditionally had with my mother. She did not have the usually excitement in her voice that was oh so common during these exchanges we would have. I remember her saying, “Jason, I have something to tell you.” At that point I had a multitude of different thoughts running through my mind. Her pause seemed like an eternity to me, and I remember feeling like a free falling rock waiting to hit the ground and shatter into a million pieces. I could no longer endure that torture and exclaimed, “What, what is the matter mommy.” It seemed like it took everything she had in her being to muster the strength to speak again. “Jason, I have some very bad news, we lost Junior today.” Junior was our family pet that I basically grew up with. He led a full and wonderful life and as far as felines go he was top notch. I had known for about three years that he was on his last legs, but like an intrepid soldier he marched along. I had been warned of his eminent departure time and time again. Three years prior to the call he was given about 4 months to live, Junior exceeded all expectations about his health and lived to be an old kitty. People often say that cats don’t have personalities but I thought Junior did, he was as close to human as any animal I had ever encountered. Without a shadow of a doubt, I loved that cat; to me he was a part of my family. I remember feeling like the oxygen was being sucked out of my room as I spoke to my mother that night. I felt like I was struggling for air and all the saliva that had been in my throat had suddenly evaporated. It felt as if someone had lit a fire in my heart and the flames tried to escape through my eyelids. The only way I was able to diminish the pain I felt was to let my eyes begin to produce the salty liquid that they give off. I remember telling my mother I had to go as my eyes swelled up and subsequently overflowed. I tried to reason with myself that he was just a cat and that I was being silly for engaging in such a display over mere animal. My inner discourse with myself was in vain because the more I tried to make it seem like it was not a big deal, the bigger a deal it became. I stood in the center of my room trying to extinguish the fire in my eyes as tear after tear rolled down my face in an uncontrollable down pour. I stayed in my room for what seemed forever. I waited until I had a grip on my emotions and had regained my composure. I truly was not in the mood to explain to my roommates that I had been bawling my eyes out over a cat. Maybe they would have understood, maybe not, but I was not going to risk it. I think I have a tendency to hold on to information like that. I think I do so even when it seems like it would be more therapeutic to discuss those things with the people around me. I soon got over the loss of Junior, but even to this day I still think about him, and he was just a cat. This past Thursday while I was at work I received a voice mail message from my mother. I dismissed it until after work because she has the tendency to leave messages that do not deserve my most urgent attention. When I got home I had wished I had listened to the message earlier. The message was different than the traditional message she leaves me. In an almost haunting voice that was as clear as could be she said, “Jason, this is your mother and I need to talk to you as soon as possible, this is really important.” At that point in time I had absolutely no clue of what to think. Honestly my mind was flooded with a million and one possible scenarios that played out in about a minute’s time. I had already prepared myself for the worst when I convinced my hand to begin to dial the numbers of my mother’s phone. There was no event in my life that had prepared me for what was to happen next. I struggled to decipher the words that were coming out of my mother’s mouth that were almost rendered inaudible by the detectable distress in her voice. We threw out all the initial formalities of a phone call before she got to the point of what was causing her all the anguish. I remember hearing her say, “Jason, Marcel was……….” Her voice broke down for long enough for me to place who she was talking about. It was my cousin that lived in San Francisco. I though back fondly to the only time I had met him which was about twelve years ago give or take. I was extremely young and he was even younger. I remembered sitting around my aunt’s home listening to music with him. Over the years I had heard about the events that were going on in his life, and I had always had a great picture of him in my head. He was younger and for what it was worth I had always believed he would grow into a really good man, and a better person. After I had put the pieces together of who she was talking about her words knifed through my ears and will remain forever etched in my mind. My mother finally mustered enough strength to tell me what truly happened. She said, “Jason, Marcel was murdered.” I felt displaced, like I no longer occupied space within the world. The feeling was totally surreal and shocking. My heart sunk directly into my stomach and my ears rang as her words resonated within them. My forehead developed a cold sweat and every muscle in my body tightened with perfect unison. I tried to formulate words back to reply to my mother but my body was not capable of it at all. I wondered if there had been some mistake, or if I had misheard what she had said. I finally mustered the words that had eluded me for so long, “Mommy, are you sure?” The silence that I heard on the other end of the phone told me more than any of her words could have ever. My mother finally composed herself enough to begin to tell me the events that had transpired. My cousin had gone out to a neighborhood basketball court to practice his game a little. He had been visiting cousins, but they did not want to play when he wanted to, but they assured him they would make it to the court soon. The rest of her story was based on supposition, as no one was there to actually witness what happened exactly. Apparently there was a vehicle that drove by the court and from that vehicle someone began to unload shell after shell from their gun. Everyone at the court took off in terror and somewhere in the pandemonium Marcel was struck, and killed. I could not help but to replay the events in mind constantly. I could not fathom how anyone could be so malevolent to knowingly go out with the intention to do wrong, and cause sorrow. It made me sick to my stomach to contemplate someone’s mind being capable of seeing life and then justifying in their own mind pulling a trigger to end it. In a single solitary moment someone took my cousin’s life and unleashed a seismic ripple that would affect everyone that was even mildly associated with Marcel. The paltry force it took to depress the trigger of the gun weighed heavily on the hearts of a great many people. In the time it took for the act to be completed, lives will be changed forever. The killer assumed a power that people are not entitled to, and have never been privy to at all. The killer took something that can never be given back. Events were written on that day that can never be erased. One indelible fact remains, and that is a good person was taken for no rhyme or reason. The news of the tragedy made me feel a pain that I was not accustomed to at all. The entire time I thought about what happened I could not shake the thought of Marcel not being around anymore, and I could not conceptualize the ramifications of him being gone. I don’t recall a time where I have felt more helpless than when my mother was telling me what had happened. I felt microscopic, about the size of dust. There was absolutely nothing in the world that I could have done to have made the situation better, I was powerless, and could offer no help at all. I got off the phone with my mother feeling empty and feeling dejected because there was nothing in the world I could say or do to make anything better. After I spoke with my mother I put on a song by Dave Matthews. There was a verse in the song that I have heard many times before. The verse went as follows, “Muriel Stonewall 1903-1954 lost both of her babies in the second Great War. Now you should never have to watch as your only children are lowered into the ground, you should never have to bury your own babies.” The verse struck me and ignited some thought within me. I had been so busy worrying about myself that I not even really began to think about the one person in the world that was hurting the most. I had not thought about Lorie. I felt embarrassed and ashamed to be so egocentric at a time like that. After I took my mind off the way I felt was when I really started to feel an ache that attacked my heart initially then moved inward to the very center of my soul. As bad as I was feeling was infinitesimally miniscule compared to how the mother must have felt. Though I still have no words that could even begin to let Lorie know how truly and deeply sorry I am for her loss, I want her to know that my heart goes out to her. I want her to hold on to the good memories that she shared with her son, but to become stronger with every passing day that goes by. I want her to know that she has a family that loves her and every member would be more than willing to do anything in their power to be strong for her. I want her to know that she does not have to shoulder this situation alone. Though no one could possibly understand what she is going through and the pain she is enduring, we all will be here for her in whatever capacity she desires. I also would like for people to stop using the adage “everything happens for a reason.” That is not true as I have explained before, but everything does in fact happen because of a reason and they are not always good. Try sitting down and thinking through that ridiculous phrase. If you still believe it in your heart that “everything happens for a reason” then explain it to Lorie. Things happen sometimes for no particular rhyme or reason. As sad a truth as it is, it remains just that, a truth. ------------ About the author: Jason Trace is a graduate of Michigan State University. Email Jason Trace: tracejas@msu.edu Tell a friend about this site! ------------ |
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