What the eyes can't see.

I think a portion of our brain shuts down when we hear something so terrible it cannot process the information it is being presented with. On May 5, 2005, my brain went into a sort of shock. Until this day, I am unable to comprehend the words that were coming out of my mother’s mouth and through the receiving end of my phone.  It had only been 2 months since the death of my father. My daily focus was to get up, get a shower, and take care of my baby. I was so sad I was basically unable to deal with anything else, or so I thought. I was living in an apartment in the northern end of Canton with Jake and our 7 month old baby. It was a weekday so Jake had gone to work. Quietly sneaking out so he wouldn’t wake baby Ethan and I at about 7:00 a.m. I was awakened by the phone ringing. I was so tired. It had been a long night with Ethan and I seriously thought about letting it ring. We had all been taking dad’s death hard, especially my mom so I thought it might be her and I needed to just get up and answer the phone. I stumbled my way to the phone as quickly as possible before the ringing woke up Ethan. When I answered the phone someone on the other end, who I am positive was my mom, said something like “She’s dead” or “she’s dying”. What was I hearing? What was she saying? I don’t understand. What? Who? I say. Then I hear her say something like “Michelle is dead” or maybe “Michelle is dying”. I honestly do not know what she said. I just thought, no! There is no way I just heard her say that. This is a dream. I really think I thought it was a dream. Somehow I managed to get myself and baby Ethan out the door, into the car, and on the road to the south side of Canton to my mom’s house. I think I may have called some people from home or on my way. Mark was at work, in a haze I see myself call him and say, “Mom says Michelle is dying or already dead, I don’t know, just come home now!” I’m pretty sure I called Jake and said the same thing. Looking back on that day is much like looking at life through a really foggy camera lens. I could kind of see what was going on and what I was doing but I had no control over it at all. I was just going through motions. How I made it to mom’s without having a car accident, God only knows. I pull into mom’s driveway. There is a strange car. “Whose car is that? That’s Helen’s car! Why is Helen’s car here”? Helen was my sister Michelle’s partner’s mom and although she and her husband had been acquaintances of my mom and dad she wouldn’t come for a visit this early in the morning. I’m still not processing the connection. I walk in to my mom’s house. Helen is washing my mom’s dishes. Why the hell is Helen washing my mom’s dishes? I’m looking at Helen, I’m looking at mom. Still not processing. Oh shit! I left the baby in the car. But I can’t go get him because I’m looking at Helen and then at mom. Helen is washing dishes, crying. Mom’s is just sitting in her chair crying. Why is she crying? This is not real! She said Michelle was sick, right? Trying to convince myself. I sit down beside mom and ask what is going on?  Instead of answering she says, “Where’s the baby? Where’s Ethan?” He’s in the car mom. What’s wrong with Michelle? Then I hear it. I really hear it. “She’s dead Melanie! She’s dead!” It was like the world stopped. I tried to reject what I was hearing. I have to go get the baby out of the car now. He needs his bottle. He needs his diaper changed. I have to call Jake. Is this a dream? Please be a dream! People started coming in at mom’s house. Time passes. My brothers who took off work are coming in one by one, Mark, Michael, and last Mitchell. My Aunt Jeanette and uncle J.T. walk in and just sit down and start crying. My sister June comes in, sits down, and starts crying. No one is talking, just sitting and crying. Everyone is there. In my mind I’m waiting on “her” to come in. If “she” comes in then I will know this is not a dream because something this horrible has to be a dream.   Jake comes in and takes the baby from me. I’m not crying because I don’t believe it. He looks at me and says are you okay? Then I hear it again. Mom is on the phone, saying “She’s dead! Michelle’s dead!”  I get up and go out onto the porch. There are cars in the driveway. Lots of cars. There are people in the house crying. I hear it again, she’s  dead, Michelle’s dead! I jump off the porch and I run to the road and I look for something, maybe her. I run to my sister Junes and I come back to the center of the yard. Jake meets me there with baby Ethan. Stop! He says to me, just stop! You have to stop! I drop to my knees, I lay down in the grass and I cry. I cry like a baby lying in the grass where I used to play with my sister Michelle. I just scream and cry and the pain in my heart was like a hole. I realize she’s not coming.

My Protector

When I started elementary school, it went all the way to the 8th grade. There were no middle schools or Junior Highs. At that time me, my brother Mark, and my sister Michelle rode the school bus to and from Holly Springs Elementary School. I remember being in the first grade and thinking that the big kids were so big. My sister Michelle was one of the big kids and not someone to be messed with. People didn't pick on her because she would "kick their ass".  I remember two girls who were a grade below my sister making me sit between them on the bus. They would pick on me, say mean things to me and try to not let me get out of my seat at my bus stop. My sister would drag me out from between them and threaten them with one of her famous "ass kickings". I guess they were itching to prove she could do it because the first time Michelle missed school, they wouldn't let me get off the bus at my stop. They told me to keep quiet, which I did until the two girls arrived at their stop. At that point I made my way to the bus driver, crying of course, and told her what had happened. By the time she got back around to my house to drop me off everyone was worried. I told my parents, my brothers, and of course my sister Michelle what had happened. She said, "That's it! I'm kicking their ass tommorrow!" And that is just what she did. I remember some hair grabbing and some arms flying. Most of all I remember those two "big" girls crying like I had the day before when they wouldn't let me off the bus. Of course Michelle got suspended from the bus, but that was okay cause dad took us to school for a few days. I loved my sister so much that day. She was always my protector. Neither those girls, nor anyone else for that matter, ever messed with me after that day.

I don't want to die, if that's what you're asking me!

On an early February morning in 2005 my mom called me to tell me they were taking my dad to the emergency room. My oldest son was 5 months old and was just getting over pneumonia. Jake, had left for work and I was preparing a baby bottle when the phone rang. Although my dad had been in and out of the hospital for years for seizures, mini strokes,  and high blood pressure somehow I knew that morning that things were different. I called Jake to come back home and take care of the baby. I got ready and went to the hospital. When I got there he was alert but he had a fear in his eyes. His blood pressure was crazy high like 200 over 110. The nurses and doctors didn't seem to be very concerned. They were slow to get an i.v. started. Mom was nagging him about something from the previous day. But to me something was just different. At one point a nurse come in and said "Mr. Whitfield, do you have a living will?". He said he didn't know what that was. So she explained, "Mr. Whitfield, do you have a document stating that if you should die, do you want us to try to revive you?". He swallowed hard and started to cry. He said "I don't want to die if that's what you're asking me!". It was good that I heard him say that. I called my brothers and sisters and told them where we were and how concerned I was about the blood pressure. Everyone got off work and came to the hospital, which usually they didn't do because this type of thing had happened so many times and he was usually released in a few hours. But that day was different to them too. By lunch, approximately 4 hours after arriving, the doctors had still not started a treatment plan but decided to place him in a room. Jake picked me up to have lunch. I told dad I was going to leave but I would be back in a little bit. I told him I loved him. His very last words to me, ever, was "I love you too. Take care of that baby!". During lunch Jake and I talked about my uneasiness and decided I should hurry and get back. At the emergency desk the lady told me he had been moved to his own room, which was a short relief. When I got upstairs to the hall where my dad's room was I could see everyone of my brothers and sisters and my mom standing outside his door. The door was shut. I will never forget the look of terror in all their faces and I knew it was bad.

Overfilled Shoes.

Last night I dreamed about my sister Michelle. We were on the back porch of our old house. She had borrowed my shoes, but because her feet were so much bigger than mine, she overfilled them. Her feet were literally hanging out over the toes of the shoes. In my dream I knew she had already gone, but I begged her, "Please come back. Please just come back". I told her, "You need to go to the doctor". She hung her head low and said "I can't". Tears filled her eyes. She told me, "It's too late". "No!" I said, but then I woke up. Again, she's gone.
It's been almost 7 years. She was so much bigger in life than I will ever be. Her life and her death is still a puzzle which I try to piece together in my sleep. Hoping that if I can just get it right, maybe, just maybe, it will all be a dream.

Up and Ready in 10 Minutes Flat

My daddy loved to go out for breakfast. I think it's a habit he got into while working the night shift. It gave him a chance to wind down before going to bed. He was a breakfast regular at McDonald's and Burger King. The same group of old men would always be there. My dad would have eaten out every day if he could. When I was in school he would come in from work and wake me up earlier than usual and say "If you can get ready fast enough, we will go to breakfast. Then I'll take you to school." Of course I was up and ready in 10 minutes flat. And there we would go in his little red Ford pick-up that he loved to drive so much. He was content with a cup of coffee and a buttered biscuit. Occasionally he would splurge on the "Hot Cakes" at McDonald's but he was very frugal so that was rare. I remember when he first introduced me to Burger Kings "French Toast Sticks" on one of those pre-school breakfast outings. Years later after an on going seizure disorder and several mini-strokes, the doctor stripped him of his driving privileges and he was forced to retire. I loved those early morning breakfast trips so much it became my turn to take him out. "Daddy? If you can get ready fast enough we will go to breakfast before I have to go to work?" and he was up and ready in 10 minutes flat.

Where was I when you needed me?

I think until I lost someone really close to me I had no idea what life was about. I thought it was all fun and games. I always feared the death of my parents but never of losing a sister. Her's was the second early morning phone call. My sister Michelle was always larger than life. Looking back we were all lucky to have her on earth as long as we did. She worked hard, loved hard, and lived even harder. As the first holidays without my sister past I realized with each one that she was never coming back. When the new year came and it was time to update my address and date book, I continued for years to write her in. Refusing to accept I could no longer call her or send her a birthday card. Thinking about Christmas I can remember every little thing she ever gave me but I don't remember anything I give to her. Any gift would seem too small now. Once she bought me a pair of gold topaz earrings but I never wore them. I didn't immediately put them on and when I did go for them later on, they were gone. I wondered if she took them back thinking I wasn't appreciative enough. She always said I was spoiled. That was always the thing about my relationship with her. She was the "Big" sister. She was my "Protector". It was her job to be there for me. In the end, in my trying to deal with her death, I have often wondered: "Who was there for her?"

I can do more with my pinky finger than you can do with your whole body.

My dad was the most amazing man. A father of 3 girls and 3 boys. He worked most of his life during the night shift at the local chicken processing plant. The live room, actually. His job was to take the chickens from the cages and hang them by their necks on the machine that then shocked them before cutting their heads off. By all accounts of his co-workers he was the hardest working man in the plant. He was a supervisor who would step in for those who were out sick rather than lean on the other workers to pick up the slack. I visited him once at work and he showed me what happened in the processing of chicken. It created in me a profound appreciation for the chicken and those who had the dirty job of getting them ready for my plate. Anyway, the chicken plant wasn't what made my dad so amazing. It's what he did when he came home from work that keeps me in awe. He would get a fire going in our fireplace before getting us kids up for school. He would have biscuits hot and ready for breakfast. He slept while we were at school but was up by the time we came in. When we arrived home from school he was working on the car or in the garden, or on the house. If we had baseball, basketball, or softball he would take us all to practice or our games. My dad was to me "Super Man". How he did all the things he did is purely a result of what he never did. Watch t.v. and spend hours on the computer. He could do more with his pinky than most people could do with their whole body. He worked his body. He used it. He was so tired. His was the first early morning phone call.