I had slept on the couch in my apartment. I must have fallen asleep watching TV. My boyfriend at that time was already at work. I had been in essence "shaking up" with him - after all I believed him to be that ONE person for my life.
The problem is: I was raised in a traditional Catholic family and we did not "shake up." We made vows, commitments in front of God. Then we lived together and created families.
I was awakened by that loud annoying ring on an old rotary phone. My thoughts: Who in the hell would be calling me at this hour? It's freaking 2:20 in the morning. Which of my friends was of mind to think they'd drag me out at this hour to party? It was the most likely call.
Then a thought: it's going to be a prankster. Damn! I'm annoyed
Lo and behold I answer with my perturbed, "Hello?"
Mother's shaky voice answers, "Are you alone right now?"
Thoughts: Is she checking up on me? Dang!
"Of course I am. Why are you calling me?"
"Dean shot himself." It wasn't excited. It wasn't exactly ordinary. It was like what she had said was a fact to be bluntly.
"Oh, God," I respond with a roll of my eyes. "Where is he?" I truly remember that what she said got put into this context: He was messing around, shot himself in the foot, and is now in the hospital.
"He's at Twits!"
Immediately the bile made it's way up my throat. He was at the funeral home???
A bit of the following becomes a blur. I hung up, threw up, grabbed my suitcase, threw in my piggy bank, returned to the bathroom to throw up again and experience the worse kind of diarrhea. What was I to do? It couldn't be right. He by no means could be dead unless I said he was dead. They were lying to me.
I abandoned everything and jumped into my car. I raced to campus (I was a college student at Iowa State University) to find my boyfriend and demand his help. He was working campus security.
His boss gave me resistance. That asshole! I told him "I need to see Keith. They say my brother has shot himself."
At last the boss calls Keith to come back to the office. Keith takes his sweet time. When at last he's there, I throw my arms around him and whispered, "Dean killed himself."
Keith takes off his belt and quits on the spot. With urgency it is decided to go to my hometown 65 miles away so I can see for myself if indeed it was true. I need to get there. I need to know.
I let my boyfriend drive. He is incompetent. He's barely driving the limit and threatening to fall asleep. How can he? I don't care that he's been up 18 hours. Given the circumstances, this is an emergency that should awaken every fiber in the body. I demand him to pull over and stop wasting my time.
Assuming control over the situation, I speed at a rate of 90+ mph to get home. I finally pull up the driveway at about 5 in the morning. I step from my car and the front door to my house opens and out walks my younger brother, Dave. He looks shell-shocked. My mother follows shortly thereafter. She's wearing an apron and there is blood on it - I think it's blood. I don't know. Others are there. I don't know who. It's all so surreal. I'm walking in a nightmare.
It's only Saturday morning. Suddenly there's so much to do and though I've asked repeatedly if I can see Dean (still need to 'sign his death certificate') I'm told I have to wait. I return to Ames to get that bag I had left behind (need nice clothes.) I leave my incompetent boyfriend behind this time. And then we're shopping for coffins. His had to be the best, coolest, finest! Why does this matter?
I wait and wait and wait!
At last it's Sunday afternoon and visitation at the funeral home is about to begin. Family is ushered in. From across the room I spy the coffin and MY BROTHER! I demand - GET HIM OUT OF THERE! I can't stand, can't swallow, can't breathe. Then I'm waking up in a chair with my sibling all around me. My oldest brother, Mike, is saying, "Amy, Dean is gone."
I had known for years that Dean was hurting. He spoke of it and though I tried I did not know how to help him. He made a choice in the end that has ripped me and my family to shreds. I'm so angry to this day!
I have lost loved ones to illness and old age. Twice more I have lost a friend to suicide.
When my mother of 87 years old died, I accepted it and in my memory have a last time just weeks before when we had talked, shared an expression of love, and smiled.
But this is all I see when I think back on Dean:
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