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A Weekend for Goodbye| | I've never had to grieve for someone like I have this weekend. My boss, having dealt with a friend's suicide before, knew exactly what to say to me. I stayed all day at work, crying off and on, but mainly stayed to protect myself from thinking about my friend. The next morning, I quickly packed my bags early and made my way to the airport. I was numb and crying off and on all night. Certain thoughts would come to my head since I found out Thursday night, and water would just fill my eyes. How do you deal with losing someone you've known all your life?
For the first flight to Detroit I passed out. No ipod, nothing. The second flight to Dayton I stayed awake, and I cried the whole trip as I gazed out the window thinking of my oldest friend Richard and what I'd like to say in my eulogy to him.
When I landed I called my parents and they picked me up at the airport. They were sad, yet happy to see me home. I haven't been home since November, which I regret even more now that Richard is gone forever. They took me to Waffle House for brunch, and I sat there with my parents like many times before, but this time with water hovering behind my eyes.
As we drove home, I noticed a change in Ohio. Unlike New York which had rain every week, this summer Ohio was completely dry. It looked like a desert, every blade of grass dead, it's a shell of its former self. Being on the highways was hard. I couldn't help but picture all the times this place was lush and full and I was in a car with Richard sitting by my side, from kids through adults.
When I got home I searched for the few pictures I have with Richard. My mom sounded cheerful as she tried to help me. She sounded as if he was still alive and laughed, "Haha, here's Richard," as she found one of us right before the 3-legged race looking really cute. Richard was standing in front of me, both of us 3 feet tall with nearly knee-high socks from the 80s and headbands around our heads. I started crying hard, picturing the two of us together and happy as innocent children and knowing that he was now gone.
My parents then took me to their gym. Before we left, she showed me huge banners of them that the gym has used in their promotional posters. We first stopped to look at granite, but I couldn't really help them that much with thoughts of Richard in my head, so I spent most of the time waiting for them in the parking lot, looking at my old surroundings thinking of my past life.
The employees at the gym all greeted my parents eagerly. They were really happy there, and everyone knew who they were. My parents are really happy in their life here, and with Ryan being born, who they talk about every hour at least once. They wanted me to play tennis with them, and it was nice to get behind the racket again. But as my dad marveled at how hard and natural my stroke was after I haven't played for so long, I couldn't help but picture Richard on the other side of the net and feel really forlorn about it.
After about 20 minutes I told them I had enough, and they went about their business. I took a break in a quiet hallway thinking and responding to a text from Tanya, then I went to the weight room and did a routine there.
I took a nap when I got home, and then my parents took me out to eat steak at Houston's. I think during this difficult time, my parents were really happy to have me with them. They remember both of us growing up together, and they are probably grateful that they still have me here with them today. We waited 45 minutes for a table amongst a crowd of the oldest, whitest people you can imagine. We were seated next to a table of 4 elderly women. It was like Sex and the City, only it wasn't the city, and instead of sex they spent most of their dinner talking about their medical bills, prescription drugs and how their retirement homes weren't going to shovel their driveways this winter. It was as equally disheartening as it was heartwarming.
By the time I got home it was nearly 10 and I was too emotionally drained to write my eulogy. I saw all the pictures my mom found of Richard when I wasn't looking and placed them by my bed. I set my alarm for 5 am, and eventually woke up at 6 to write it. I, of course, cried throughout. There were so many things I wanted to get across, and so many feelings just kept on surfacing.
I heard my mom awaken around 8, and with swollen eyes I asked her if we had printer paper for my eulogy. I printed it out and began to get ready, showering as I noticed all the hairs falling out of my formerly full head. I put on my suit and found my old diary, I tore out a page from 1991 that I decided then and there to read before my eulogy, and then I moved downstairs where the 3 of us quietly ate oatmeal before we left.
The car ride over was hard because the funeral home was near where Richard's family lived. I remember countless times when I was here before New York I'd drive this way to hang out with my oldest friend to play pool and watch a movie with him in his basement. When we pulled up to the funeral home, I started to cry. And when I got out of the car with my parents, the reality of why we were there hit me and I shut my eyes really tight as tears started flowing nonstop.
My mom looked away as she started to cry too, and I stood among the parents who saw Richard and I grow up as I fought back tears. One by one, I'd see familiar faces of all the parents we'd laugh at and with throughout the years, but few of his friends. When we went inside, I hugged his brother Ben and as I waited to sign the guestbook, I burst into tears as I saw his name, the same name I'd seen him write as we drew as kids, above the guestbook next to a picture of him. I walked into the back of the room and sat by my mom and burst into tears again as I saw the back of his parents heads and his open casket, knowing my oldest friend was gone forever, knowing this was my last chance to say goodbye to him.
The first half of the funeral was much like this. My mom handed me more and more tissues as I cried uncontrollably, squeezing my eyes shut, holding in my deep breaths as I was sitting between my parents surrounded by all these familiar faces, few who knew Richard as well as I did. At one point my dad turned to me and started crying, saying how grandma would ask about Richard when I was little and comment how he would come back to see me. I’ve maybe seen my dad cry once before this.
One by one, his dad (who also read his mom’s eulogy, as she couldn’t speak), brother, and family friend spoke for Richard. They talked about his 7-year battle with depression, which no one told me about. They talked about his remission, which was during the time I was home too. I can’t help but wonder if I knew, or if I stayed longer, or if I came back more if it would have helped. His medication stopped working, and his depression returned this past year. Everyone talked about how he always smiled, from a cute little kid to the depressed adult, his smile always lit up the room. His note even thanked everyone who ever made him smile. He didn’t want anyone to be sad, but he didn’t think there was any cure for the deep depression he faced. They played two of his songs he wrote about his death, and I was the last one to speak, replacing my father who his dad asked to speak for me before they realized I was coming home to say goodbye myself.
Knowing I had a history of crying during speeches, I was afraid I couldn’t do it. But somehow I managed to get through it in one piece, although the tone of sadness was there. I faced his brother and parents but couldn’t look up at them. Richard was laying right next to me but I didn’t think of it that way, for it would make me lose control.
I told them I’d read a note that I found before I started as I held the tiny diary sheet in my shaking hand and took a deep breath:
***
Before I start, I'd like to read something I found before I came here today.
Thursday, August 15, 1991
Dear Diary,
This summer I had fun with Richard. As I was leaving Princeton waving bye to Richard, I can’t stop thinking of all the fun we had this summer. I couldn’t help crying as I realize I won’t see him until Christmas.
Friday, August 16, 1991
Dear Diary,
Yesterday wasn’t the last day I saw Richard. He went to Princeton again then we thought that was the last. But we ended up going to Friendly’s and had ice cream.
We have a lot in common.
(eulogy begins)
My friendship with Richard was important to me because growing up in Ohio he was the only Taiwanese friend I had. It was the only taste I had of what everyone else’s friendships were like, where your parents could also talk and be friends, where we both knew to take our shoes off in the house, where we both looked the same and just felt normal. And when I think of Richard, I think of my entire childhood.
Many of you remember all the Taiwanese events and parties we had throughout the year back when Richard and I were growing up. If something were planned, I would look forward to it as long as Richard was there.
I remember hunting for Easter eggs with Richard when I was 4 years old, in the picture of all of us Richard, who always had a sweet tooth, is looking through his bag candy while the rest of us looked at the camera. I remember being tied to Richard in a 3-legged race at GE Park. He was left handed, and I was right handed, so we did well together. I remember being at a party as his old house in West Chester, and we ran in circles outside of his house through mud and we couldn’t stop laughing.
On Saturday mornings, I’d see Richard at Princeton High School where all the parents played tennis. We learned how to play when we were really small. We’d hit the ball with our parents for a while before running down the hill and playing with rocks in the creek or playing hide and go seek through the parked cars.
I still remember clearly the day our friendship changed. I was 8 years old and there was a party at my house. We were eating bah-tzang on my fireplace and as usual we both couldn’t finish. When we gave them to our parents we moved to the living room. We sat on the orange couch and Richard told me he was moving to Japan, and I started to cry. Richard looked at me and told me not to cry, that it would be OK and that we’d still get to see each other.
He was right. We’d see each other every summer from then on, and I always looked forward to them as if he were the only friend I’d ever have. I’d always look forward to that first day pulling up to the tennis courts at Princeton and seeing Richard waiting in the back of their rental car where we would repeat this every night.
Through these summers we’d have sleepovers where we’d order pizza and play cards, staying up talking in bed all night. Or we’d go see movies together, or swim in his apartment’s pool. Some summers, we had season passes to Kings Island where we’d spend the whole day together before calling our parents to pick us up. In July we’d go to the Midwest conferences together and we’d be roommates. We’d take care of each other, pretending to be adults. We never bothered meeting any other friends because we always had each other.
As we got older, our interests in our summers together changed from digging up rocks, to toy cars, to game boys, to drawing, to computers, to movies. But one thing that never changed was tennis. We were always equal partners, and we never competed, not playing a single game against each other in 20 years. By the end of each summer, we’d get really good at out-smacking each other. We’d play until it got dark, drink sodas on the metal benches while waiting for our parents and talk about the year to come. Then at the end of each summer we’d get in our cars and from the back we’d wave to each other until one of us drove out of reach, waiting for the next summer to begin.
From college onward Richard and I mostly became movie buddies. He’d pull into my driveway and we’d go to a movie. Or I’d drive to his new house, and we’d shoot a round of pool before watching a movie in his basement. We watched the Lord of the Rings movies together, which he loved. And we made sure to see all the Oscar-worthy movies, going to small independent theaters we’ve never been to before.
Back in 2003, Richard and I started watching the US Open on TV and decided to play tennis again. The first day back on the court it was like we had never left it. Seeing Richard on the other side of the net was one of the most comfortable feelings in life. It was like we were both kids again, where everything else in the world went away and we were just happy. We out smacked each other until it became too dark to play, and we even started playing games against each other for the first time. We regretted not playing sooner, so we played every day for two weeks until winter set in and we couldn’t play anymore.
That February I moved to New York. Since then, I tried picking up tennis only once, but my new tennis buddy wasn’t Richard so after 2 times I stopped.
If Richard could hear me today, I would thank him for all of the memories we shared, and thank him for being a part of my life. We grew up together, and he will always be a part of me. I’ll always think of him on the other side of that tennis court looking back at me, whether he was 3 feet tall or 5 foot 10, where the feeling was always the same, where we were happy.
And if he was standing next to me right now, I’d like to imagine that he would say the same thing he told me 19 years ago on that orange couch in my living room. I picture him looking back at me and telling me not to cry, that everything is going to be OK and that we’d get to see each other again.
***
And with that I folded together my eulogy and my diary page and returned to the seat between my parents with my head facing the ground and the funeral ended. One by one, the rows exited by viewing the casket to say goodbye one more time, and to offer condolences to his family. As I got closer to his casket I started crying heavily again, holding my handkerchief tightly to my face as I held back from sobbing uncontrollably. My parents were ahead of me, crying too, saying their apologies to his parents.
I looked at my friend in his casket. He had a suit with a guitar embroidered on to his lapel, and his face was bloated. It didn’t look like my friend, but I said goodbye in my head, and that I’m sorry. Sorry for not being there for him, for not coming back more, for not being able to help, and for the pain he felt alone. I told his parents “I’m sorry” as they clasped my hands tightly. His mom strained to give me an envelope with Richard’s picture, his song lyrics, and a burned CD of his music on it. As I rushed outside, there were no more tears left for that hour. Some parents had kind words to say to me, and Mr. Hsu, who used to always exclaim, “Your buddy! Your buddy is back!” when he saw the two of us together, struggled to say something to me about Richard being a good friend to me as he fought back his own tears.
My parents were really sad and rushed out of there, and we drove off together silently. I came home, told my sister how it went as she cried back to me on the phone, and I passed out, not ready to truly face that my dear friend is forever gone.
After awakening I called my good friend Jenn so we could hang out. I’m not back often, and if there is anything to learn from all of this, it’s to treasure what time you do have with your friends before you regret not having that one last time to just be who you always were together. | | | Posted 9/30/2007 5:20 PM - 54 Views - 2 eProps - 1 Comment
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