He died on December 30, 2011 around 5 a.m. Just yesterday. He was nineteen years old. He was one of the sweetest boys I knew. Okay, maybe that's a lie. He wasn't sweet. He was caring, he had a heart as big as his body, he was smart, but made dumb choices. He had a gas problem. That's one thing I hope I never forget. How annoying it was when he would pass gas and then let the smell permeate the air. He would just laugh every time. His smile was so big. And he truly loved everyone he cared about.
But he had a dark side. He was plagued by demons, some of his own design. He got into fights. He let his anger overtake him and he would use it against someone he didn't like. He was, I assume, bi-polar. They placed him on medication a few months ago, and it helped his attitude immensely (at least at home with his mother). He also abused drugs, which, ultimately, was his downfall.
The story goes that he took a combination of drugs that night. He went to a friends house, and they stayed up half the night talking. And eventually, they went to sleep. His friend woke, around 5 a.m. on December 30, 2011, to what she thought was him snoring. She went back to sleep, and when she woke around 12:30 p.m., he was dead.
I didn't find out until about an hour later. I had just finished working out, and was in an incredibly good mood. I came home, showered, and sat down for some lunch. My roommate, Patti, was headed to work and I told her bye, and that I would take the rent deposit to the bank.
I was filling out job applications online, as my fervent desire was to leave Indiana and find a job elsewhere. I had just finished an application when my cell phone rang.
I jumped up to get it, because I had been hoping for a few weeks to hear back about some previous applications I had put in to various places. And I saw that it was from my mom's office.
I didn't think much about it, because she would frequently call me when she had something she wanted to talk to me about. "Heellooo?!" I asked, smiling, wondering what it was she wanted.
"Jess. Are you sitting down?" It wasn't my mother's voice. "I've got some bad news to tell you."
I knew then that something had either happened to my mother, my uncle Del, who has severe cancer, or my brother. I admit that my first fear was that something had happened to my mother. The last time someone other than my mother had called me about bad news, my mother had been in a near fatal car accident.
My head got light, as it does every time I know bad news is coming. My knees weak. "What?"
"Ryan is dead."
I don't remember the rest of the conversation, only that I was needed at home as soon as I could get there. I could hear my mother screaming on the other end of the line. It was a wail, and a sound I doubt I'll ever forget. I hung up the phone with an "Okay. Okay." Not even bothering to say goodbye. I was panicked. How the hell do you deal with something like this on your own?
I recall screaming, "No! Oh my god, no!" And almost immediately, I called my Dad.
"Hi, Baby Doll."
"Daddy. Daddy, I have bad news."
"Good news? What?!" He was hoping for the job applications as well.
"No, Daddy. Bad news. Bad, bad news. Gary, at mom's office just called me. He said Ryan is dead. Oh my god, Daddy? What do I do?"
"What? No! Is this true? No."
"I don't know! I don't know what to do!"
There is no sound more heartbreaking than a grown man sobbing for the life of his son. "Let me call and make sure. Let me call."
He hung up and promised to call me right back. At that point I started sobbing. I couldn't control it. I cried and shook, and I was alone. Almost immediately, I called my roommate to come back.
"Patti? I can't take the rent check to the bank. I'm so sorry. My brother is dead. I have to go home."
"What?" She asked. "Don't leave. I'm coming back right now."
I didn't leave. I sobbed against my bed until I curled up in a ball on the floor. That's where she found me when she came in a few minutes later. She let me sob against her, a pitiful child clinging to the last shred of hope that whatever this was, it was a sick cruel prank.
It wasn't until moments later, when I received another call from my father, "He's gone." Was all he had to say.
The thing no one tells you about death is that it's messy. Sometimes for the body of the deceased. But always for the lives of the living. My roommate, my best friend, Patti, helped me get out of the house and down to my mother. Nearly an hour later, my mother was still sobbing.
The weather was fitting. It was pouring as we made our way inside my mother's workplace, where she was being held in the arms of a co-worker; a woman who lost her step-son to drugs.
I came in and held my mother. Unable to be as strong as I wish I could have been. I cried. Though I had been crying the entire way down to my mother I cried more now. We had so many people to call, and so many people were calling us to ask us if it were true, if we knew what happened. We weren't even the first to know.
We called the appropriate people, and we made our way home, slowly. Our faces red and blotchy.
The second thing no one ever tells you about death is how much food you receive after a loved one's passing. Within half an hour of people finding out about Ryan's death, food was being prepared. By the time we made it home, there were cakes, cookies, dips, trays of food, and even entire crock-pots full of things. My cousin made an entire party meal, after cancelling a New Years Eve party that night. People came by in twos and threes. Eventually every spare seat was taken up.
I was exhausted. All of the hugging and crying took a toll on me, but I had to stay strong. If just for my mother.
Soon, everyone left. Soon, I was laying with my head in my mother's lap, trying not to cry much while she rubbed my back and we watched TV. That was probably the hardest part of my life, the night my brother taught me about death.
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