Six years ago tonight Jeff and I went to bed on a Thursday evening. I don't really remember the specifics of the evening until after 10pm when Jeff's cell phone rang. Both of us were awake immediately. Being 22 and having the occasional drunk friend call for a ride or a chat was not uncommon, but this felt different. I tensed when I heard Jeff say, "I'm on my way."
"Brad's been in an accident. I have to go to the hospital," he said as he pulled on his clothes.
"I'm going, too," I said. I was surprised he waited considering the anxiety that pulsed from his body.
As we sped down the freeway we didn't talk much. I knew he didn't know much because all his dad said was, "You need to go to the hospital in Scottsdale, Brad's been hit."
We weren't sure what hospital in Scottsdale to go to, so we went to the one on Shea Blvd. Jeff dropped me off so he could park and I went in the ER. When I gave Brad's name the receptionist looked at me with confusion, but got on the phone. When Jeff came in breathlessly behind me, she put the phone down and said calmly, "You are at the wrong hospital, you need to go to Osborn."
It seemed like it took us ten years to find the hospital, park, and make it inside. When we entered the ER we told the receptionist the name and she called a nurse. The nurse approached and pleasantly directed us to a small room of the waiting room. That's when it hit. They don't give you a private waiting room unless it is serious.
Jeff refused to go in, so we waited outside for everyone else to arrive. Cousins, aunts, uncles, friends arrived and finally Jeff's parent's arrived with Brad's wife, Heidi. Still heavy around the middle from giving birth to their daughter a couple weeks before, she pulled herself calmly from the car. Everyone was there, so we crammed ourselves in to the small room.
We didn't wait long before a doctor entered, calmly explaining the events after Brad's accident which I remember in fragments: no pulse, no brain activity, pulse, unconscious, airlifted... Jeff's dad broke in and told him to just tell it straight: was Brad alive?
"I'm sorry, he didn't make it."
Pandemonium. Jeff's dad hitting the wall. Heidi rushing out of the room. Jeff pulling his arms over his head. Jeff's mom screaming. A guttural howl. That scream of grief. The whole thing was horrible. And I couldn't get to Jeff. He was enveloped in his family and then he was gone.
I waited outside, smoking my millionth cigarette of that night with cousins and friends. Jeff came through the sliding doors pale, numb, and limp. He had gone back to see his brother for the last time. He had been encouraged by some others to go back and say goodbye. I don't know how long we stood in the parking lot. I don't know how we got home. I don't know how we ate, slept, or functioned the next day or two.
About a week after the accident the local news came to interview Heidi. She told them how Brad had been coming home, was only blocks from their home, when a car pulled out in front of him and he didn't have enough time to lay his bike down. The emergency brake threw him off the bike and in to the car. The helmet and protective gear he wore couldn't protect him from something so sudden. He barely knew what happened to him, the police said. The newscaster pointed out that if it wasn't cruel enough that Brad lost his life days after the birth of his first child, about a week after his 27th birthday, and days from his and Heidi's anniversary, the person who caused the accident got back in the vehicle and drove away when he realized Brad's condition.
The whole family gathered at Jeff's parent's house to watch the news story. It was stuffy and silent in the room while we watched the news. When the story was over, people cried and commented, but I didn't catch much more before I followed Jeff outside.
"They did a good job, I think the police will definitely get some leads," I said hopefully. I caught the anger and sadness in his face as he lit his cigarette.
Before I could think of anything else to say, Jeff crumbled to the ground. Finally, his sadness was so heavy upon him, his legs could no longer bear the weight. "It doesn't matter if they find the person. He will still be gone. He is never coming back. I never get to see my brother again. What will I do?" he sobbed. The only thing worse than his mother's howl was this raw pain.
I kneeled down, wrapping my arms around him and said, "Someday we will have kids and we will name our son after him. His name will be Bradley Dilbeck. Bradley Takeo Dilbeck. And you will have to tell your son about his uncle and why he is worthy of that name. You will have to be strong enough to do this. And then he won't really be gone."
I couldn't see in the dark, but I felt him nodding his head. He barely whispered a yes and stood up. As he held me, I could still feel the weight upon him, but it had lessened a bit so he could be on his feet.
*********************
The person who caused the accident was never caught. Personally, I think the worst thing would be for that person to be found. It would rip open serious wounds and I worry about how Jeff would react and what he might do.
I am usually pretty realistic about death, but I struggled for a long time with how Brad's death was part of The plan. There was nothing fair about it. But it got a bit easier as time went on. Eventually Jeff was able to sleep through the night and he didn't get silent and pale everytime he saw a motorcycle like Brad's. I realize now we might not have gotten married as soon as we did, since Brad's death was a carpe diem moment for Jeff. This means our Bradley wouldn't be here. And Heidi would have never married her incredible husband Scott and their family wouldn't be the same.
I am so proud of my son for carrying his uncle's name. He is named for a warm man who was loved by so many and in turn loved many others. I'll never forget being a skittish junior high girl, calling Jeff, and Brad harassing me on the phone. Or his last summer as we swam for hours, like eight-year-olds, seeing who could jump the highest off the diving board. Or when he pushed me into the pool in front of Jeff's entire family at the first family event I attended.
I can't wait for the day that I get to tell B how much he is like his uncle and show him pictures--the dimples, charm, and playfulness. But there is so much more his father can share with him. I know that will be an important and powerful moment for both B and Jeff.
