Numb All Over

SHERNICE’S WRITING PROMPT: "We all have moments in our life that change us forever whether we realize it or not. Certainly, your brain injury would have been one of those. BUT there are many others! This week, write a story about a moment in your life that changed you forever.”

It started out just like another usual day at the office… the aroma of fresh coffee wafting out of multiple cubicles.  A few colleagues gathered around the desk closest to the printer, where a sound of buzzing papers spit out of the machine.  A constantly ringing phone spilled out from the nearby reception desk where our secretary Linda did her best to pass along callers to their intended recipients.

One of those callers was passed to me.

I was still breathing in the freshness of a new day, fantasying about the possible article or interview I would score for my client with one of their most coveted news outlets.  But that dream was suddenly interrupted by a call from my mom.

“Angela,” I heard Linda’s voice over the phone’s speaker, “It’s your mom.”

Strange.  My Mom never calls the office while I am at work. After briefly debating whether to send her to voicemail, I responded “Okay, thanks.”  I had no idea that my life was about to be changed forever. 

Halfway through the first ring, I picked up.  “Hey Mom, what’s up?”

Her voice was small, and very quiet.  No need to beat around the bush.  “Dayna was in a car accident last night.  She didn’t make it.  Dayna passed away.”

Wait a second.  Hold the phone.  I suddenly felt immediately hot.  My throat tightened, and I began choking on my words.  “What?!”  I was finally able to shout.  All of my office etiquette went out the window, and I began full-blown shouting into the receiver.  “What do you mean she passed away?!”

Dayna was my little sister, five years younger who still lived at home with Mom.  Although she was my younger sibling, she always behaved like a tough, protective big sister.  Her courage often seemed to surpass my own.

My uproar initially elicited some shushes from nearby colleagues who then began to stand and pop their heads over cubicle walls.  The office suddenly got unusually quiet despite my screams.

I needed to call my boyfriend.  I was gasping between so much snot and tears that I could hardly speak when he finally answered his cell phone. 

“Baby?  Ah, baby?”  I was searching for the words that were still stuck in my throat.  “It’s Dayna.  She is no longer with us.”  Could I be any more confusing?  I tried again…  “She was killed in a car accident last night.” 

My boyfriend had never had actually met Dayna in person before, although I spoke of her often and we talked on the phone many nights.  They were both haunted by their respective pasts.  They deeply respected each other for this reason, so, they carried a unique bond.  When they spoke on the phone, I’d sometimes overhear my boyfriend offer sage advice to this teenage girl in Florida.

The rest of this memory settled into a deep blur.  I do not recall making travel arrangements, someone must have made them for me.  It was quickly determined that my two closest colleagues Melissa and Gigi would fly to Florida a few days later.  I had previously travelled several work trips with both of them before, but never for a personal trip like this.  Here is an excerpt from my journal that I wrote the next day, when I was 20 years old:

I feel myself moving through the airport – drifting rather – as if on an escalator.  The airport’s marble floors are especially cold and shiny.  People move in slow motion around me.  It is quiet.  I am in a quiet fog.

I imagine Dayna is as confused as I am right now.  Knees pulled up to her chest, looking down at the chaos of our current lives, trying to understand what is happening.  We share this state of limbo.

A group of high schoolers high-five as they board a flight to Houston, a woman examines skin on her chin and decides it requires some coverup.  An expecting mother nods off to sleep beside me.

I want to scream at them all.  Any of these strangers would do to take her place.

My heart is forever broken.  I lost my little sister only a few hours ago.  I rehearse this aloud, but the words feel foreign in my mouth.  Like gnawing on cotton. 

The coffee in this paper cup is a hot escape and for a few seconds, things feel normal between each sip.  I look at the world with a new pair of eyes.  Children appear more beautiful and more fragile.  Cars look like caskets.  Bright colors offend.

I am four hours away from a desperately needed hug.  So, the smile from the flight attendant is received as a precious gift.

I wonder how long it will take before I start talking aloud to her, in an effort to reach her now intangible energy?  Through the static.

I long for her fearlessness now.

I imagine Dayna in the arms of our Granddaddy, this is a comforting image to hold on to.

An elderly woman leans over her tray table with her half glass of orange juice.  Tells me she only asked for a little bit and the rest is a waste.  Her last word - waste - rattles around in my head.  Then the pilot’s word “turbulence” lingers in a cloud around me.

There is a pressure building in my head that has a life of its own.

I suspect many people will blame themselves.  Should’ve been better parents.  Should’ve been driving her.  Should’ve hugged her more.  Should’ve forgiven her more.  I do not know how many should've I will be able to take.

A strange sense of relief washes over me.  It is over.  I am angry at something deep inside me that is grateful.  The worry has ended.  No more wondering where she is at night, who she may be with.  No more 3 AM phone calls.  She is no longer in harm’s way. 

 After Mom’s call, everything about me changed that day.  Not sure if it was for the better or worse, I just hurt.  Hurt all over.  Where was that optimism that people knew as my signature personality trait?  I could not find a single silver lining, no matter how hard I looked.  I was just numb.  Numb all over.  Suddenly the limitless potential of my life encountered its first expiration date.  Days later I wrote this:

I do not understand yet how I have changed, but something does feel different.  I observe strangers going about their lives and somehow, they no longer seem separate from me.  They are an old version of me.  Before I was rearranged and abandoned.

My boyfriend decided he would fly home to Florida the next day, and he met his future mother-in-law for the first time at my little sister’s funeral.