A Big Bubble

The Death of a Friend

Ten years ago tomorrow, I was driving my little client to a therapy appointment, where I would drop him off and then head home (his mom would pick him up). I noticed I had a voicemail from my mom. She had been planning to meet me for lunch that day, but her message said that she wasn’t going to. It started, “I’m not going to meet you for lunch. I’m going to Linda’s instead.” I was instantly annoyed. Well that’s rude, I thought. She continued, “because David shot himself today…and he’s dead.” I’m not sure why she left it as a voicemail. Probably because she knew she wouldn’t be available to talk once she was there, and didn’t want me to wonder where she was.

The amount of time between, “David shot himself,” and when she said he was dead felt like forever. During that time, my first thought was, How stupid, but very David-like. What, did he accidentally shoot himself in the foot?

David was Dennis the Menace. Exactly. He even had a “Mr. Wilson” who lived next door. I spent hours at David’s house as a kid. We were best friends for years, and our moms were close. I learned to tie my shoes first, so I would tie his for him. I’m sure it was adorable. We used to kiss when we were like 4. Which was embarrassing when we were about 12. One time one of my friends yelled to him, “You and Jessica used to kiss.” And she snickered. David replied, “No we didn’t! And you weren’t even born yet.” Lol. David had a blind dog named Wendy, which isn’t relevant whatsoever. His mom taught me piano, and sometimes I would hang out for a bit after the lesson.

My mom has great David stories, because she would often sit in the kitchen during my lessons. He would come in and out, always up to shenanigans. She also talks about how he would come to meeting dressed like an elegant southern gentleman. Then, during the opening prayer, he would pull a cap gun out of one pocket, role up the legs of his pants, find an eye patch, etc., and by the end of the prayer he was a different kid. His mother would do a double-take after the prayer, and quickly tidy him up again. David remained kind of a daredevil. Somehow he lost part of his finger. His parents were totally the opposite – very quiet, mild-mannered, not daredevil-y people. The contrast was always kind of funny.

Here’s a story that sums David up. When we were about ten, we were “down the hill” at Bible school. He was slinging a baseball bat around wildly. I remember saying, “Stop doing that! Someone’s going to get hurt!” Wham! The bat slammed into the back of my head. I don’t remember what happened after, probably because I was unconscious. (Not really, but I don’t remember.)

When we were older, we weren’t best friends anymore (which is generally the case as boys and girls get older) but were still in the same peer group. I remember one time at Bible school he somehow cut my hand pretty deeply with a glass bottle. It was totally his fault, but when I went to show my mom, his mom was there too. So I played it off as a complete accident, rather than him being careless. I probably needed stitches, but didn’t get them.

David was presumed to have committed suicide. But the details were not totally convincing. It may have been an accident. He may have been playing with the gun or cleaning it. He may have been playing Russian roulette. Nobody knows. I actually remember thinking I hoped it was suicide, because at least it was his choice. We just don’t know. In religious circles, suicide is thought to be the worst thing you can do. But since we don’t believe in hell, it doesn’t have quite the same repercussions. David never got baptized.

On that day ten years ago, I had to call my other friends to tell them. One of them was a girl who had always been kinda mean to me, but who had outgrown it and was friendly as an adult. (She died about five years later; the two people closest in age to me at NLR both died in their 20’s or 30’s.)

I was kind of stoic back then, but I started sobbing uncontrollably during a prayer at his funeral – so much that I was shaking and gulping for air. I’ve never experienced that kind of reaction to anything – before or since. Another friend and her mom both reached over and grabbed my hand, which at the time was uncomfortable. (I always resisted the holding hands during prayers thing in general; I was kinda “touchified,” as my mom said.) At the burial, all his friends took turns scooping dirt onto the grave. It was kind of weird, but is kind of a nice memory.

A few days later, I got a card from a friend who we’d gone to Bible school with as kids. She said as soon as she heard, she thought of me. That made me happy. It had been so long since we’d been close, and it was somehow comforting to know others remembered when we were best friends, running around Bible school together.

I used to talk about David a lot with my best friend at the time this happened. One day she asked, “Do you think he’s really dead?” And we started talking about how maybe it was all an illusion. We saw his body, but maybe it was a joke. Or maybe we were all going to wake up soon. It was a comforting thought. That friend doesn’t come around anymore. I think this had a lot to do with it.

I’d never seen this video that my friend found and posted on FB today. It tells the story of a huge welding project David worked on in Fayetteville (where he was living when he died). Interestingly, the other friend who died a few years after actually worked on it too. She’s in the video too. https://m.youtube.com/watch?feature=youtu.be&v=dgUQJc2Hjfg

I plan to send David’s parents a card this week. David was his mother’s only son.

http://www.rollermcnutt.com/services.asp?page=odetail&id

Easter and Christmas

Most good Christadelphian kids grow up with a healthy dose of skepticism when it comes to religious holidays. Whether you “celebrate” them or not, you at least have the supposed history of them (spoiler alert: pagan roots) drilled into your head.

In my family, we always did Christmas, but I was quick to point out to other Christadelphians that we didn’t do it, “As Jesus’ birthday.” In other words, we just did the pagan stuff. The tree, presents, etc. We didn’t do Santa, because my mom just thought it was weird to lie to your kids about that. I had enough weird dreams as a kid anyway (one recurring one was about an old guy from some tv show coming in my window).

For Easter, we would usually go to my mom’s mom’s house and hunt eggs. But even as a small child I remember feeling like I wasn’t sure if it was okay. Ah the cognitive dissonance of a Christadelphian kid.

Anyway, I’ve continued to waver as an adult. For Easter I just go with the flow. But Christmas I tend to vacillate on. I’ve totally skipped a few of the past 15 years, and kinda half-heartedly did some. It was hard the first few years after I was disfellowshipped, because Christmas also meant contact with people who triggered painful memories. Also, Christmas is a great time to travel. On my first trip to Africa I flew back on Christmas and saved a bunch of money. Last year I was actually a little more into it. I’ve definitely decided that if I do “celebrate” Christmas I want Jesus to be an integral part of it. But this year I’m going to Ireland or something…

One thing that bugs me is that I always kinda had the idea of, “Okay it has pagan roots but I’m not celebrating it that way,” but now I’m not sure all that paganism stuff is true. Every year at Easter and Christmas, people post arguments pro and con on the Christadelphian forums. For instance, this article (which I’ve read most of, but not all) that attempts to debunk the Easter is pagan argument. https://historyforatheists.com/2017/04/easter-ishtar-eostre-and-eggs/

Anyway, I don’t know where I’ll end up on this issue or if I’ll ever really pick a side. But tomorrow I’m gonna eat some chocolate.