9 weeks ago yesterday life was turned upside down – forever.
I thought I would try and write about the day it happened and the week that followed. This is going to be extremely hard for me to write about that day and that week, but I want it recorded down somewhere other than my mind. It feels like a lifetime since then, but at the same time, time has gone strangely fast and I sort of wish it would pause itself for a while.
Tuesday 10th December: My mum and I were sitting on the deck in the sunshine after a morning walk, catching some rays and talking about our unlucky family who have a lot of sickness in their family and how lucky our family was compared to them – the coincidence of this conversation before that horrible phonecall makes me sick.
About 11:30am the phone rang, and then stopped. My mum said “oh it’s probably just my boss who never seems to be able to get how to work her phone”. The phone rang again. I answered. At first I was unsure who it was, Nick sounded rushed on the end of the line asking to speak to mama. I handed the phone over. Being the nosey person I am I stood near her to see what it was about (thank fuck that I did). Next minute. “WHAT, what kind of accident” “Does he need stitches.. do I need to come to meet him at the hospital… where do I go?!” On the other end of the line Nick is saying “I don’t know, the ambulance people are working on him, he’s not conscious”. By now my mums screaming down the line and my heart is beating faster and faster feeling like it’s going to drop into my gut. My mum asks to be handed on to the orchard owner to find out what’s going on. He gives her the same response and she is panicking more and yelling and screaming into the phone. He says they’re working on him still and asks if she can drive out to the orchard. My mum says no she can’t she’s too shocked to drive. He tells her they’ll ring back when they can give a straight answer. By now my mum and I are screaming and jumping around, faces white with shock and our hearts hoping for the best and believing Ira was still with us. Little did we know then that they had not been able to save him and he had died of a head injury. God writing those words – it makes me physically sick and still doesn’t feel like I’m talking about MY brother when I say them. Anyway, back to that day. Time didn’t seem to be moving. The phone rung. On the end of the line the paramedic asks my mum whether she has someone with her, he tells her the words that have the power to send your heart plumetting into the ground and weaken your limbs “We’re so sorry, Ira has passed away”. I have no idea how the rest of the conversation went as by then my mum had fallen to her knees screaming. I, only being able to hear the conversation from secondary sources, was in a state of shock and confusion “WHAT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN, IRA CAN’T BE GONE”. Oh how I wish it had been some sort of sick joke. I called my grandma and papa telling them they had to come home, my words down the phone to them were so blunt now that I think about it- “Ira’s dead”. I didn’t know what the fuck else to say. How do you tell someone that? It’s not the sort of phone call you ever expect to receive or give. I haven’t been able to say those words since that day, I think at that stage my shock was numbing me from any sort of feeling and I was in complete denial. Those words were just a big fat nightmare to me. They still are really, except it has become reality. We sat around in silence for what felt like forever waiting for the policeman to give us an “official statement”. I sat numbly on the couch, unable to feel anything, my appetite was gone, my face white, my stomach and heart felt like they had dropped to my feet, my mouth ajar, and my body trembling. My mum was still yelling and screaming, and had downed a few brandy’s until she made her self sick. My dad had his head to his chest not saying a word but breathing loudly. Eventually a young, nervous, and shaken looking cop came into our lounge – “I’m so sorry, Ira has passed away”. He told us there would be an investigation and victim support would be coming over, someone would have to go to Hastings to identify him. We couldn’t have him home to us until Thursday morning as he had to be taken to Palmerston North for an autopsy. I sat there blinking, unable to cry or speak. Shock was clouding my mind from thinking or feeling anything. The rest of the afternoon is a bit of blur, I remember being unable to eat and feeling sick to the stomach. People rushed to us and held us silently, everyone just in absolute shock. I can’t remember who or how many people were around us that day, but it was a lot. That night I had to take my first ever sleeping pill to put me to sleep. The following morning we were attending a special powhiri the school had put on just for Ira and us. We were meant to be going to his prize giving that day to see him get an award. The school changed their plans after hearing of the tragedy and they had a special service before the prize giving just for him. I went up in front of the whole school and received the award of Iras behalf – looking back now I have absolutely no idea how I was able to do that. I think I just knew I had to do it for Ira, make him proud and show him how proud I was of him. Ira was the first to receive the award for diligence in commerce and hummanities, plus he was awarded a $500 scholarship that he didn’t know he was getting. It broke my heart but made me feel so so proud of him. When we got home there were already people at our house, taking over the kitchen and giving us support. The kitchen was full of food which had somehow just appeared out of nowhere. Every five minutes flowers were being dropped at our door and people were coming around. Iras good friends came around after their assembly was over, a lot of them I had never met before but had heard about them. At that stage I had no idea how important they were going to become in my life in the following weeks. We had so many people around us all day and night that we were just somehow carried through by their love. The following morning we got up early to set up the house for Iras arrival. I wanted to see him so badly but at the same time I was terrified of seeing my brother without a heartbeat or colour in his skin. When he arrived and the lid was taken off I dropped to my knees and sat holding him and bawling my eyes out for at least 4 hours. I didn’t get up to go to the toilet or have some water or anything, I was totally preoccupied with holding Ira and I never wanted to let him go. At first seeing him like that and not as the Ira I knew shocked me so much, but at the same time I am now so glad I was able to have the closure of seeing him looking beautiful and peaceful – hardly a wound to him. So many people passed through our house that day, Iras friends sat around him with me crying, laughing, and sharing memories. We put letters and things that were significant to Ira in with him, and wrote notes to him on the lid. We drank and ate with people at night and once again we were somehow carried into a new day. Ira stayed with us until Monday 16th, every day until then was full of people, crying, laughing, memories, food, alcohol, and so many flowers, cards, and hugs. I can’t totally recall the days as they all sort of blurred into one for me, but I don’t know what the fuck we would have done if it wasn’t for everyones love and support. And Ira’s friends, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank them enough or tell them how much they mean to me. On the Sunday night I slept next to Ira, knowing the next morning was the last morning I’d have with him. That Monday morning before the funeral was the hardest ever, we had to watch the lid be put back on and watch him be taken away from the house he grew up in, knowing we’d never be able to see that beautiful face again in real life. It makes me cry just remembering that morning. After having a major breakdown we had a couple of hours to get ourselves back together before the funeral. Walking into the boys high hall I looked down, not wanting to meet the eyes of the hundreds of people who had gathered there for Ira. Iras photo was up on the screen and ‘Under the bridge’ by the Red Hot Chili Peppers was playing. I started sobbing realising that I was sitting at my own brothers funeral, never would I have thought that day would come. I had prepared a speech for Ira, and at first I choked on my own tears and didn’t think I’d be able to speak as my heart was racing in my chest and I could hardly breath. 700ish people were looking at me standing up there. Something inside of me urged me to speak. And I did. I somehow was able to read out my speech clearly and calmly. I don’t know where my strength came from but it just did. After the service hundreds of faces came up and hugged me, I was so overwhelmed by the amount of people who hugged me that I almost forgot why we were there. Everyone drove in a line to Western Hills for the burial. We stood in the searing heat for what seemed like forever, watching Ira be covered with dirt. I had cried so much and was so dehydrated that I was unable to cry. My eyes may have been dry but my heart was breaking. I feel like a piece of me was buried with him that day too. After Ira was buried I felt totally empty inside, the reality hit that he would never physically be with me again. Luckily when we got home people basically came around straight away and didn’t leave until at least midnight. We all hit the alcohol pretty hard that night. The following week we had a lot of people coming around too. And it’s only been in the last couple of weeks that is has sort of stopped, and now is the time when it is hitting the hardest. A lot of the time I am alone and I am forced to feel the intensity of my grief and I am overwhelmed with how much I miss Ira. Every little thing reminds me of him in some way and I miss all the silly little things he did the most. I feel so blessed to have formed a strong relationship with Iras close friends, I hang out with them a lot now and I have gotten quite close to a few of them. It means the world to me to have these connections, they allow me to hold on to Ira and his memory. I haven’t ever felt such a strong connection to friends like this before. I’m not sure how I’d be going on without them. When I think about it I really don’t know how I have survived these 9 weeks, but somehow I just have, even though my heart is broken and I ache for Ira, I have a will to be strong and battle on through the days. Some days are very dark, and some days have a bit of light in them. For me the best things have been people, talking, crying, laughing, alcohol, food, and exercise. My recount of the first week is very brief compared to my actual experience of it, but it would take me days if I was to actually recall what went on and all the emotions that came along with it.