difficult memories

Jim and Diane on their wedding day. They were killed

in a car accident just over a year later, in 1993.


Ten years ago this coming week, my brother Jim and his wife Diane died in a car accident. So strange to think it's been that long. In reality, ten years isn't so different from nine years, but I've still found these recent days much more difficult than I had expected.

I still clearly remember getting the phone call at 1:30 a.m. Jeff answered, both of us woken by the ring. Even as he passed the receiver to me, saying that my father wanted to speak with me, I knew something was terribly wrong. Dad's voice was very calm, almost flat, when he told me that Jim and Diane were dead. As he started describing how it had happened, I remember saying "oh no" over and over again. I don't remember feeling grief, just a numbing sense of shock, profound disbelief, as if part of my brain was flatly refusing to believe what I was hearing.

But I guess another part of my brain believed, because I started screaming. Jeff took the phone away from me and told my father we would call him back; Ruth was also calling him on the other line (he had just told her) to say that she was coming over. The screaming was weird; I felt as if everything was happening to somebody else, but also knew it was me. My head filled with a rushing sound like a waterfall, there was too much to hold in, too much to absorb.





Our friend Scott (the same one visiting us right now) was living with us that summer. I began throwing clothes and toiletries randomly into a bag while Jeff went downstairs to tell him what had happened. Then Jeff and I drove to my father's house.

It took police about 9 hours from the time of the accident happened to investigate next of kin and then track down my father. They also contacted Diane's parents are around the same time. Before knocking on my father's front door, they checked house lights on his street to see which neighbors were still awake, knocked on their door first. I will always be grateful for this, since it meant that my father was not with complete strangers when he heard the news. After the police left, the neighbors called other neighbors. By the time Ruth and I arrived with Kaarel and Jeff, there was a pot of hot coffee in a silver urn in the living room, and other neighbors had already come by to comfort my father.

The next few days went by like scenes in a movie. I felt as if I was watching someone else's life, one of those tragic news stories you see on tv and get teary-eyed over in sympathy but deep down are desperately glad that it didn't happen to you. It would be weeks before the reality of what had happened actually started to sink in.





We found out that the accident had occurred when Jim and Diane were on their way to a camping trip with friends. Witnesses say that the car drifted left onto the median shoulder of the highway, veered right and seemed to be fine for a moment, then veered left again, across the grass median, into the path of an 18 wheel truck. We've been told that my brother and his wife were killed instantly; no one else was hurt. The police located the campsite where their friends were waiting to tell them what had happened.

Focusing on practical tasks helped me get through those first few weeks. I remember Ruth and I going through old family photo albums, looking for a picture of Jim in a leg cast we remembered from his childhood hockey days, so we could help the coroner identify his body since they were having trouble locating dental records. I remember how hard I worked on the obituary for the newspapers, trying to lose myself in the task of writing the best piece that I could, the best for my brother. The last line became the engraved message on their gravestone: "You will be missed more than you can possibly imagine."

I don't know how Ruth and I could have gotten through it all without the support of Jeff and Kaarel. Jim and Diane left no will; Kaarel became the executor, for example, and it took many months for him to sort out the necessary paperwork to close their affairs. Jeff, accompanied by Scott, collected Jim's personal effects from the police, and also saw the car after the crash. I remember him coming home, shaken and not wanting to talk about what he had seen.

Going through Jim's personal effects was another surreal experience. Most difficult item to go through: personal photos he kept in his wallet. Most disturbing item: a key bent at a 90 degree angle in the middle.

One of the items that survived the accident was a grey and rust cloth bag that my mother had made, that Jim and Diane were using to store some camping gear. I currently use this bag to hold my percussion items for Urban Tapestry performances.




Jim and Ruth playing checkers at a rented cottage one summer.


The funeral was a blur of tears for me, but I remember how touched I was that so many of our friends came in support. During the service, our friend Michelle Sagara read aloud a letter that Ruth and I had written:

---



A LETTER TO JIM AND DIANE
from Jim's sisters

Somehow this all doesn't seem real yet...we still keep hoping that we'll wake up from the nightmare. As Ruth said a few days ago, it's as if we're just going through the motions...talking with the police and Diane's family, planning the funeral service...and that the two of you are going to walk through the front door any minute, saying, "Hey, what's going on?"

That's part of the reason it's so hard to believe you're gone. You were both so vibrant, active, with a wonderful sense of life that touched everyone around you.

Diane, we remember your love of the outdoors, camping with friends, playing squash, your students at R.H. King Academy. We remember how you tried to teach Korean cooking to Ruth, and how you tried not to laugh when she told you how her first attempts actually turned out. We remember your positive attitude about life, your passion for living. We remember how utterly beautiful you looked in your wedding dress, and how you and Jim cried during the vows.
You meant the world to him.

Jim, we remember when you were so small Debbie could pick you and Ruth up at the same time and swing you around by the arms.
We remember the time you tried to cut your own hair when you were four years old and Mom wasn't looking, and how the resulting bald spot in the back of your head took weeks to fill in again.
Even when you grew taller, you were always our "baby brother", someone we had played and fought with, fiercely protected and fiercely loved.
We would have given our lives for you.

So it seems that you aren't really gone after all. As long as you live on in our hearts and memories, remembered with laughter and sometimes tears, you'll always be with us.

Jim and Diane, you will be missed more than you can possibly imagine. We love you very much.




Ruth, me and Jim.


Going through Jim's and Diane's house the first time after the accident was pretty difficult. The beds were unmade, some laundry laying out to dry; everything looked as if Jim and Diane would be walking in the front door at any second. Deciding what to keep and what to throw out was agony.

Things I learned from the experience (I'll likely be adding to this over the next bit):

- That everyone grieves in their own way. Some people may cry all the time, others may not seem to be affected at all. There is no one right way to grieve.

- NEVER EVER tell someone that they should be REJOICING that their loved ones are dead because praise the lord, they're in HEAVEN.

- I found that the most difficult time was not the first few days (when I was pretty much numb from shock) but in the months after the accident, when everything was supposed to get back to "normal" but deep down I felt that it never could.

- To get through really tough times, focus on little increments of time at first ("I just need to get through the next minute, just sixty seconds, focus on getting through that small amount of time), then gradually build up.

- When wanting to help someone who is grieving, don't ignore the possibility of doing this by providing support indirectly. I will always be grateful to those who helped by keeping Jeff company, for example, and making sure that he took care of his own needs as well instead of focussing completely on mine.

- Never assume that you'll have limitless time with someone you care about.

- Embrace life fully, never take anything for granted.

Also see my Song For Jim.

August/2003 comments: Read | Post | LJ