May 17, 2004

[General] Character-defining moment

A couple of months ago, a question was asked on a message board that I frequent: Have you had a character-defining monent? How did you react?

I answered the question there, but the other day I reread what I had written and decided that it was worthy of posting here as well. It's an important story--it changed me forever and it changed the way that I see the world.

Eight years ago, I got a phone call in the middle of the night from my best friend--his boyfriend of a year had been shot in the head during an aborted mugging attempt and was not expected to survive the night. I was long asleep when the call came, and didn't react the way I should have. I made comforting noises, I asked if I should come over and when he assured me that there was nothing that I could do, I went back to bed.

120 seconds later, I realized the gravity of the situation, hopped in the shower, put on a hideous pair of burgundy sweats and a matching sweatshirt (I will never forget that outfit--I think I wore it for 48 hours) and headed over to the apartment that they had just recently moved into together.

My friend was there when I arrived. He had apparently freaked out and fled the hospital, unable to process that Troy was dying. After I got there, he said, "I have to go back, don't I?" I told him that he did. "I have to say goodbye, right?" Again, I told him that he should. Then it came. My character-defining moment.

"Will you come with me? Will you help me say goodbye?"

Jesus. No, I wanted to scream, I will not do this. This is too big, too painful. I can not watch my dear friend of--at that time, 15 years--say goodbye to his lover, I can't. I can't. I can't.

It was the longest cab ride of my life. I became a grown-up in that cab. I learned that there is value in discomfort, that my needs--in this case, my need to not be the witness to this horrble event--are sometimes not important in the grand scheme. It was a hard lesson, but it has served me well.

He didn't die that night, though, or the next. Or the one after that. I went with my friend to the hospital every day before work and sat with him every evening. We held Troy's hand, stroked his wrist around the tubes, told him that we loved him. Every morning, my first task was to call the hospital and see if he made it through the night. I did that because my friend couldn't, couldn't face the possibility that the news would be grim. It rarely was, though, and as the days passed, it got positively blinding (you know, the opposite of grim? )

There is more to the story, but I will save that for another day. I will spoil the ending, though--he made it. He's fine. Except for some minor short-term memory problems, he is just the same delightful boy that he always was.

It's the rest of us who will never be the same.

Posted by Lori at May 17, 2004 8:58 PM