It is one of those perfect late August evenings. The sun was just setting in the horizon, giving the sky that pretty orange glow you'd want a special date to see. Friday night meant high school football in Galloway, Ohio, a suburb of Columbus ten minutes away from downtown. This place has a small town vibe to it however. The whole community is centered around these football games. and the worst part about it is to say the team is bad would be giving them too much credit. This is the west side of Columbus though, and there isn't much else to donate your pride to. We don't have a lot of big fancy buildings. There isn't any major crime, but you wouldn't guess it by the way the local kids carry themselves and the horribly drawn graffiti that inhabits the corners. Losing your virginity at 13 here isn't that big of a deal. Also, sense the team was bad, it only made the game more of a social event, because a majority of the people outside of the parent community didn't pay attention to the game. This wasn't the case for me though. I was a Westland Cougar all throughout little league, went to Westland High School all four years, and now back for the first game as a Westland Alumni. This game of football was more than a social gathering to me. I live 3 minutes away from the stadium, and could hear the announcer every home game as I walked up the street towards the stadium in middle school. Now I'm 2 weeks away from going to college, and pull up in my Cadillac Catera to an overly crowded parking lot, my 16 year old brother Garrett occupying the passenger seat. Back then we used to walk through the practice field and hop over the back fence, because this was a west side school, and the stadium reflected that, unlike the gigantic brick walls surrounding the neighboring rival Hilliard Schools stadiums. Now we walk through the front and pay our 3 dollars to get in like everybody else. There is a line as long as the Great Wall of China to get in. I take me and my brother to the front however. I used to run this school I think to myself, and I'll be damned if I have to wait in line like everybody else.
All the kids know me from the school, and all the parents know me from being on the football team last year, and everybody shows the love. My brother splits off and goes to hang with his current high school friends. We grew up in a dysfunctional family, and it showed at school. Numerous people didn't even know we were brothers. The source of the problem was we were just complete opposites. There wouldn't be 10 minutes that went between us that we didn't argue about something ridiculous. Major fights too, not the make up over dinner type. It must have been my fault. He was the most caring and friendly 6 '3 250 pound individual in the tenth grade anyone could ever meet(he was the only one this big). Too friendly for his own good a lot of times. He turned anything into a laughing matter, even a disaster. I was the total opposite. He looked at me with a sense of pride throughout the 48 minutes of the football game though, glad to be my brother. He didn't know it, but I took a lot of pride the fact he looked up to me.
As I walk by all the turning heads, I find a nice spot on the fence to lean on with the rest of the Westland High school alumni. Memories of the past are running through my head as I witness the younger groups of kids with the green and white school colors on, trying to show all the school spirit they had. How cute I think. What they don't know is this will probably form the foundation for the rest of their lives. High school will probably be one of the greatest times of their lives. Everything is so perfect here. The problems and troubles of the world seem like they can't penetrate you. Your flying under the radar here. They need to soak up these bright lights while they still can, because they will miss it when its gone. Most of the parents graduated from this place themselves. This stadium is Mecca to this west side religion, and all of us were prophets while we resided here. I closed the chapter to this holy book on my graduation day, but I will always be a Westland Cougar. After the game all of us will find a party to go to and continue the great times we started in 6th grade. This is my paradise, and this community will never show me the ugly side of it I never knew before. Nothing can go wrong here. If only I knew how wrong I was at the time, as I turned to the field after a roar from the crowd to see those green uniforms run out onto the the middle of the field.
"The Moment That Changed a Lifetime"
A week later, August 30th, 2008, and of coarse I was planning on going to a party, or chilling with a couple of people. Didn't end up finding anything to do, so I stayed at my friend's house. It's about 1:30 am, and I call Garrett to see what he was doing. Me and him weren't doing very good lately, so I thought maybe I could go to wherever he was to chill, or at least make sure he was home. Considering the fact it was 1:30, he should have been home, because my mom makes him come home at 12. She is a very overprotective mother, but only because she cares about her children so much. She would do anything for us. Raised us almost singlehandedly because my father wasn't around much, and besides my grandmother currently dying in a hostile, we were all she had. I call. There's a dial tone, but no answer. That was strange to me, because he always answers, or at least calls back. So about an hour or two goes by, and I decide to go on home. That night it seemed more quiet than usual. It was that ill type of quiet that gives you the impression your not the only one around. There was also a fog as dense as a rainforest that hovered over the ground. Somethings wrong with tonight, but I don't know what. As I drive down deserted Broad Street to the red light, I'm debating on turning left and going to one of the usual hang out spots we all knew. He's probably there playing xbox. I make the right though, get home, go upstairs. and open his door. He's not there. It's 3:30 am.
"He must be spending the night with wayne", I thought. My mothers already asleep. So I get all comfy in my bed, turn the lights off and start to dose off. Nobody ever knows the exact time they fall asleep. So I drift off for who knows how long, and I hear this voice in the distance. Sounded blurry, so I thought it was apart of my dream, even though I wasn't having one. I hear it again. It's saying my name. I wake up and realize it's a distressed call from my mom downstairs. She said the cops are here and to come down, you might want to hear this. So I grab my pillow for reasons I still don't know, but I think it was my unconscience mind telling me to get something you'll be able to embrace. I walk downstairs, and there are two policeman standing at the door, and one in a suit, kind of heavy set, with a thick mustache and glasses. "Is Garrett in some type of trouble, did he get caught for curfew, you'd have to call his dad about all this because he's a police officer and I don't know how to deal with any of this", my mom is rambling. "Describe your son Ma'am" She describes him, and their heads dropped to the ground with a quickness, like the floor had an answer to get out of the situation at hand. "Ma'am, do you have any pictures of Garrett" he then replies. "Well sure, right here, but what does that have to do with anything, tell me what the hells going on with my son". Those words lit a short fuse to an atom bomb ready to explode and destroy any normalness we once knew. What came next was like the secret password to open a door in hell full of demons whose purpose was to come make my mind the terrible place it is today. "Ma'am, Garrett's been murdered"
"Home Going"
I open the giant wooden church doors for my mother and the rest of my family. The red carpet below us led down a slight incline. At the end lay a beautiful blue coffin in cased by flowers all around. We are not ready to take this walk yet. This would be the hardest day of my life. I take two deep breaths, and my father leads the way. We walk down that carpet, out into the opening of the stadium like church, tears streaming, cries escalating, surrounded by the 3,000 people that came here with the same mission as us. We are here to make sure we send Garrett Phillip Burton home right.
The Good Die Young - 2Pac
"The Perfect Family"
As if the loss of my brother wasn't enough, there is another family member issue that I am forced to struggle with. As I sit across from my 93 year old grandmother, it feels as though time has just stopped. "Where's Garrett?", she asked every time me and my mom go to visit her in the nursing home. Every time it gets harder to lie and avoid eye contact so she doesn't see the glassiness that inhabits our eyes. My grandmother had a tumor removed May 13th, 2008, and has been immobile ever sense. This was also my brother's birthday, which is weird because they were like best friends. I was more of the rebel of the family. When I say family it applies to me, my brother, my grandmother and my mom. We all lived in the same house together. I have a Dad I don't see that much, and more family that I don't even know the names of, so in reality when I think of family I used to just think of the four of us. Now we are down to three, and one is laying in her doctor predicted death bed. After the surgery she only had 6 months to live. It's the beginning of December now, and she's continuing to prove the doctors wrong. She also unknowingly intensifies the grinding of me and my mothers insides every time we go visit. It's hard lying about something big to a loved one, especially a loss. My mom couldn't tell her yet though, because we were worried that this news would be the only motivation she needed to finally leave this world after fighting for so long. Another funeral was something my mother and me could not deal with.
My mother was the strongest person I've ever known. She has an amazing personality, and her smile brightens up any room that is blessed by it. She worked as hard as she could to provide everything my family needed. Me and my brother had the best brands of any item you could think of. She took in my grandmother when she couldn't pay her bills. She took care of all our business that needed to be done, like school issues and tax reforms. All the things she did was motivated solely for the love she had for us. I was more independent than my brother was, and she recognized that and gave me my space. My brother however, was her baby boy, and he definitely played that part. And one of the worst things you could ever do to a mother is take away her baby boy. "If you find yourself at the end of the rope, tie a knot and hold on"-unknown. I've adapted the role of the knot in what's left of our family, and there isn't a day that goes buy that I don't play it. I was there holding her hand when she finally found the courage to tell my grandmother about Garrett. The phone call I give her every night from college is the only thing that picks her up from the floor from crying. I keep her going everyday, and she's the only motivation I have to keep going myself. A relationship is probably the strongest it can possibly be when survival is based on it. I guess I have the perfect family.
"Welcome to my Nightmare"
I'm back at home now, in my beloved home in Galloway, and all starts with the curling of my toes and the rubbing of my feet against each other, the anxiety in my body having no other way of expressing itself. This action never stops at night, but what will determine if I have a bad night is if that's where the anxiety stays. It doesn't though. The green lights on the cable box read 2 30 in the morning. As I lay on the cool leather of the couch, I look around my brightly lit living room to the other couch, and its emptyness. Visions from the past play in my mind of all the fun nights me and my brother had in this very room, staying up all night watching t.v. Now it is just me, in this empty, quiet room. It's starting to happen. The anxiety creeps up my legs and I have to sit up. It goes from the wiggle of my toes to a full blown leg jitter. Tears start to stream down my face and cries of sorrow escape my mouth as a rock back and forth. All the memories of a past life ripping through my brain and wrecking my present state like a tsunami. My mom is upstairs sleeping. I don't explain to her this nightly routine that I know all to well. She has enough on her plate, and to add to the constant worry about me would be selfish on my part. So each night this fear induced insomnia takes its heavy toll on me uninterrupted. Fear induced because the hour of chaos is coming up. 3 o clock is when I lost my other half. 3 o clock is the anti-hour if your religious, which is when the demons like to play. 3 o clock exactly is when I woke up screaming from the all too real nightmare three weeks before this night. I haven't slept right since. 3 o clock is when my panic attack hits its climax. When I feel tingles in my face from crying so much and the anxiety and stress is to the point that I dig my fingers into my head, wishing it would stop. I'd give anything to calm down right now, but i know this is a wish that only a genie could grant me, and there is no magic lamp in sight. Thirty minutes later this madness hits a calm. However, sadly, this is the calm before the storm.
Post traumatic stress disorder and insomnia is not the bulk of my problems. "Major depressive disorder (depression) is not just a temporary mood, and it's not a sign of personal weakness. Depression is a serious medical condition with a variety of symptoms. Emotional symptoms can include sadness, loss of interest in things you once enjoyed, feelings of guilt or worthlessness, restlessness, and trouble concentrating or making decisions. Physical symptoms can include fatigue, vague aches and pains, headaches, and changes in weight or sleep patterns. For some, depression can include thoughts of death or suicide", is the technical definition of clinical depresion. It is the script to my life at the moment, however. I go upstairs and lay in my moms bed, quietly so I don't wake her. If you want to know what clinical depression is like, imagine putting your head into a tourniquet, a turning it until it gives just enough pressure to make your brain numb. This numbness causing silent, heavy tears. Not the dramatic cry like earlier in the night. This cry starts with a knot the size of a golf ball in your throat, but this knot doesn't go away. It's a constant pressure, like a hand with skinny, long fingers gripping your neck just loosely enough so that you can breath, but uncomfortably so.
I stare at the snow flake patterns in the white ceiling above me, listening to my mom breath heavily. "Lord help me", is the only thought that passes through my battlefield of a mind. That, and what will end this pain. "The mind is a terrible thing to waste". The founder of this famous quote is unknown and unimportant to me at this time. At this time, my own revised version of the quote is all that matters. "The mind is a terrible thing, especially when it wants to waste you".
As I lay there, numb, staring at that white ceiling, I start to experience what seems like the closest thing to schizophrenia without actually having it. My mind and I become two separate people, and it starts to talk to me, telling me the best way to deal with these circumstances is to end my life. "Is there really a heaven or hell, Georden?", and "What if we do all go to the same place when we die? And it doesn't matter how we get there? Don't you want to end this madness and see Garrett again?" I'm overcome with what feels like paralysis and feel like I can't move. I can only lay there and take what my brain is doing to me, because any positive thoughts I had to prevent this have burnt up in oblivion.I would give anything just to fall asleep and not wake up again. I'm actually praying to Jesus himself through my heavy tears that this is what happens. If my mind doesn't want me to see the light of day again, then so be it, I give up. I turn to my mom on the left of me. She looks so peaceful there sleeping, even though I know this not to be true due to the spontaneous jumps she has here and there from the anxiety she's having herself. Her long brown hair is like that of an angels. Here I am, wanting to end it all, lying next to the very person that brought me in and raised me in this world. How ironic, and that's it. This epiphany is the thing that saves my life on this round, though there will be more to come. My mother needs me. I'm all she has, and she's all I got. Making a decision like this without consulting her about it first would be violating our partnership of the uttermost importance. As I look past her, through my vision blurred pupils, I see the rays of the sun start to crack through the blinds. "The sun will come out, tomorrow," I think. It is followed by another night though, sadly. For now I decide I'm going to see another day, as I drift back into the abyss of my mind, unconscious to everything.
"But that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will
and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to those we know not of? Thus conscience does make us
cowards"-Shakespeare
"Reflection"I lay in my not so comfortable dorm room bed, I ponder what somebody would say about me if asked to describe me. Would they be accurate? Is it even possible to be accurate? Maybe before I lost my brother. Now though, I don't even know myself. Reflecting on all the events of the past, and the current moods that overwhelm me, some staying briefly like a drizzle of rain, and some staying to torment like a rainstorm. I question how much have a permanent effect on me, and which are just there for the moment. In a way I'm like two different people now. If you we're to meet me at a social event, you may assume this is a very extroverted, outgoing, fun to be around person. If you made a video tape of one of my nights alone though, you would think I was crazy. So I question myself. Which one of these extremes dictates who the real Georden Burton is? Can I be an even mix of the two? Am I that outgoing guy that gets taken over sometimes by the madness. Or am I the madness, and the fun times I do have are when I try to run away from it, and the longer it doesn't catch up to me, the longer I can resemble my past self, before all this started. The possibility of me never knowing isn't impossible. The only thing that is certain to me is life isn't fair, and you have no choice but to play the cards given to you. I imagine the dealer of these cards being a beautiful woman I once knew, that took her mask off and showed me the hideous thing I was unknowingly dealing with. Time stops for no man though. This is my circumstance. Next time you meet somebody, before you judge them, be sure to question what cards their life has dealt them.
