SHANON: SNAPSHOTS OF A FRIENDSHIP

Before any of you read this, I would like to say something to all of you who knew Shanon. My friendship with Shanon is sacred to me, as it is to you. She was my best friend, as she was yours. My relationship with her was very special, as was yours. She and I had something that I may never have again. I hope that none of you are saying that, because it is just to sad for me to hear that you have not had the chance to have that special something again. For me, it would take having her here to have that again. However, your special something with her may be different than mine. Your relationship with her was probably different from mine. Then again, maybe it was not so different. I sincerely hope that I will not offend any of you with this story because it is not my intention. Your recall of these events will be different than mine and we could dispute the facts. Just, please, bare in mind that this is my special something and it is probably different than yours. Some of you may bock and say that she did not feel about me the way I've described. That's fair, because you knew her differently than I did, and thank God for that. Thank God for Shanon. Thank God for you.

This is a work in progress. The few "snapshots" that follow skip around. This is becuase 1) I just do not have as much time these days, 2) It is very taxing and draining at times, especially the latter chapters, 3) I am lazy at times, 4) It hurts her too. More will be added latter becuase I feel that ol' "I need to write"person raising to the surface.
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CHAPTER I- STARTING A FRIENDSHIP
PART 1: We Meet
Just another day at work, stocking produce, maybe only brighter... clearer... warmer. Warmer than usual for an April afternoon in Wyoming. Just rotating the oranges, taking the old one's down, putting the new one's on the table, and putting the old one's back on top. Just me, the oranges, and my thoughts in this small ( but corporate ) grocery store in this small (but large for Wyoming) town.
Just my usual thoughts about beer or a movie or a song. Maybe about finding a new girl friend, one that won't drive me crazy, or about beer. My thoughts, though, did begin to focus on what I was going to eat on break. Break was what I'd be doing as soon as the oranges are done. What I was going to have probably was my usual of late, a Mountain Dew and a chocolate donut. A nice cold Dew in the bottle from the machine in the break room that often gives me two sodas for the price of one. That's only if I buy a Dew, though. It tastes so good chasing down that donut. Not just any donut, but a Wyoming donut. Three times the size of a normal donut and covered in chocolate.
I'm standing in the check-out line, now, waiting to pay for my donut. Oranges are done and I'll need a quarter for my Dew. Only a quarter. Half the price of a can, but the bottle is a little smaller. Say what you want, but there is no way you can convince me that anything taste better from a can than it does from a bottle, especially soda and, of course, beer.
"Oh, no!" a voice from the other side of the register says. It's John Harris, the high school aged courtesy clerk. Courtesy clerk is just a fancy name for shaker or bagger or carry-out. His a nice guy and a good person and a hard worker and usually quite.
"She's coming over again. I need to hide. Man, she drives me nuts."
"Oh, come on. She can't be that bad, John, " Donna, the checker ( but not the line I'm in) remarks.
"She follows me everywhere. I can't get rid of her."
"She just has a crush on you."
"I wish she'd just leave me alone. I'm going to the back to get some bags."
I usually don't pay much attention to the others conversations. It seldom involved the little known guy stuck in the far corner of the store. Besides, I was more concerned about wither or not I would get a two-fer from the soda machine. However, that last comment from John had my interest peaked.
"Well, John, if you don't want her, maybe I do," was my internal sentiments. So, I took my time leaving the front-end to see this mystery girl for myself.
"Hello," Lou the checker spoke, breaking my concentration. She was an older, very nice lady who had been with the company for a long time. I always liked going through her line for pleasant conversation.
"Can you ring me up for a Wyoming donut, please?" My eyes went from the parking lot to my hand that was producing my cash from my front pocket. Normally, I would already have the donut, but, you know, mystery girl.
"Sure," she answered in her usual nice person voice.
Taking my change and donut receipt, I slowly strolled to the front of the check stand. I stood looking causally out the window. Gradually and deliberately, I put my paper money back in my money clip, then into the front pocket of my black work slacks. Still standing at the register, watching the parking lot, I put all but a quarter of my coins into my other pant pocket.
"Uh," I expressed to myself. There was no one that I could see that may qualify as mystery-stop-bugging-me chick. I really did not want to stop looking for her, but I couldn't just stand here, waiting. Slowly, I took small steps to the end of the registers, toward the bakery. There was an entrance/exit next to the bakery, but still no mystery girl.
Emily, the afternoon/evening bakery clerk got my donut for me. I stood at the glass counter, carrying on a pleasant conversation with this very nice older Hispanic lady, watching the door. I got my donut and my usual pleasantries from Emily, but still no mystery girl. Slowly, I took small steps toward the break room, that was behind the bakery, to get my soda. I rounded the corner, at of sight of the door, still no mystery girl. In fact, there had not been a customer at all, girl, guy, mystery or same old at all come through that door.
"Alright," I thought and quickly darted down the stairs to get my Dew. There would be no two-fer for me today, but something much better happened.
Thinking I would give mystery girl another opportunity to see me, I ate my donut and drank my Dew in the break room. Usually, I would take them back to the produce backroom and consume them. There was radio back there. Mystery girl was a more promising form of entertainment at the moment. I slammed them down quickly and bolted out to the sales floor. Carefully surveying the area, I slowly sauntered toward the other side of the store, back to the produce department. There would be no mystery girl, still, on this trip, so I just went on about my work.
Pushing a produce cart full of 125 count Red Delicious apples, I went back out on the sales floor to do some more work. Parking the cart next to apple display, I headed toward the front of the store to where I could see the door and check stands. I wanted to give mystery girl one more chance. This time, my mission would not fail.
Mystery Girl was just walking away from the register toward the door. Her mission hadn't failed either. John was at the check stand next to her, bagging an order. He was polite, very pleasant to her, not at all short with her.
I stood there, completely engulfed in my own World, watching their conversation. My eyes, my concentration, every piece of my essence was focused on her. She was close to my height, not thin, but not heavy, just right. Her dark, blonde hair was full, flowing around her mid-back. Somehow, in a way I would latter recognize, there was a presence surrounding her. There was a warm, glowing, light around her. It was soft, beautiful, friendly, and strangely familiar. Everything around her was brighter, nicer, more soothing, and less important. There was nothing else in any of my six senses but her and that Light. There was no one else but her, yet everyone around was so much warmer, so much happier. Her Light illuminated joy to all who were fortunate enough to be near her, a feat associated with Angels.
Whatever she and John were talking about brought her great joy. Even from my great distance, I could see sparkles in her eyes. Her checks glowed with an innocent pleasure, an innate joy, an unadulterated glee that is usually only reserved for parents of a new born who are seeing their child for the first time. Her smile was Pure Angelic magic. Is there a more beautiful Angel? No. A more beautiful girl? Maybe, but only on the surface. Time and linear space no longer existed in her presence. Touched by an Angel is the fitting catch phrase to use here.
She softly flew, as any Angel with beautiful white wings would, out the door. Entranced, I experienced her journey across the parking lot. As I floated in her Light, she crossed the street and entered her home. I had just seen an Angel, in the form of an adolescent girl. A billion questions of who she was and is and will be never entered my mind. Somehow, I knew this person would be a part of my life, forever. She always had been, whatever that meant. Living just across the street, I knew she would return to the store. The apples had to be done, so I returned to my assigned duties.
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PART 4: Zeppelin
So, this was just any normal evening at work for me. No day any different from any other. Nothing special going on for me. Nothing special on my mind that day. Maybe thinking about my bills or beer or something related to work. Something, well actually someone, would make it a little more special for me.
Making my routine store check, I walked back to produce department. I was now back to being a night manager, no longer working in produce. Shanon had gotten herself a promotion as well, working in the produce department. She was not out front on the sales floor area, so I just went to the back room. Again, nothing special about it, just wanted to say hello. As I walked past the doors that led to the back room, I could hear Shanon and Mike Lee talking. Words were all I heard, not a conversation, but it just did not seem to be anything to important or significant. They did not stop when I rounded the corner and entered the produce back room. However, they did include me in their discussion.
"Who does that song "Kashmir?" Shanon asked as if I had been in the conversation all along.
"Led Zeppelin," I answered. Not at all an unusual question to be asked of me. Lots of people asked me rock music related questions. It's a very big interest of mine. Even if the person had never asked me before, I would just carry on as if we had talked about it millions of times before. How she or Mike knew to ask me never entered my mind. Nor did it that Mike was back here talking with Shanon instead of doing his work.
"See, I told ya," Mike proudly announced with a hint of victory in his voice.
"Which album is it on?" she asked me.
"Physical Graffiti."
"Oh. Well how come on the movie he said it's "side one of Led Zeppelin Four"?"
"I don't know. That is kind of dumb," I answered. She was referring to the movie "Fast Times At Ridgemont High" that was fairly new at this point in time. In it, one of the characters is giving advise on what to listen to to impress a girl on a date.
"I think maybe it's supposed to be satire."
"Yeah," Mike added. "It's like the guy told him what to play and he played the wrong thing. Makes him look like a squid. Everybody knows what's on side one of Led Zeppelin Four."
"What?" she asked, looking to me.
"Stairway to Heaven."
"Yeah," Mike added with greater enthusiasm.
"Rock and Roll," "Black Dog," I added with the same candor as before, not getting excited.
"Yeah, Black Dog," Shanon added with the same level of enthusiasm as Mike.
"Hey, hey, Momma, said the way you move, gonna make you sweat, gonna make you grove," she sang. Mike added the guitar ref that follows in the song.
"Courtesy service on five, please," the female voice announced over the intercom system. That was Mike's signal to return to work, which he did, leaving the produce area, returning to the check stands.
"Hey, what album is that song on that goes; Oh... oh, oh, oh... ah, oh?" Shanon asked.
"That's on "Houses of the Holy." The song is called "D'yer Mak'er."
"Die 'er Maker?"
"It's spelled kind of funny." I produced a pin from my manager vest pocket. Walking over to the stainless steel produce table, I grabbed a small scrap of paper.
"It's the second song on the second side of the album," I told her as I wrote down the name of the song. I also wrote on it the name of the album. She came over to me, looking down at the sheet of paper. I put my pin back in my pocket, then looked up to her. She picked up the scrap of paper to get a closer look.
"Houses of the Holy" came out right after "Led Zeppelin Four."
"Cool," she replied, speaking more about the sheet of paper than about my vast knowledge of Led Zeppelin.
"Do you have it?" An often asked question by many during these musical conversations.
"Yep. I can make a tape of it for you, if you'd like." My usual reply.
"Cool!"
"Just bring me a tape."
"If I bring you some tapes can you make me ones with all Led Zeppelin on them?"
"Yep, I sure can." And, I did. Except she only brought me one tape at first and it had to include Kashmir (her favorite Led Zeppelin song).
I walked back out to the rest of my rounds. It wasn't until months latter, after several other questions and tapes of other bands, that I noticed a bond. It did not seem to me that it had just formed, or formed during these conversations. It felt more like we were getting it back out from storage somewhere. Like it had been with us all along, over years and years and years. We talked more and more, getting closer and closer. We shared breaks and lunches, music and movies, laughs and jokes. We became very good friends.
As I look back, it's interesting to me that on some nonchalant activity at work, on some ordinary day no different from any other, that a very special friendship blossomed. We travel along on this journey we call life. Often times, we spend huge amounts of energy looking hard for what we want and need. Isn't it great that on a day we are just walking through life, not really thinking about it, that special something that we need (maybe not even knowing that we do need it) jumps up and introduces itself. Wow. And thank you Led Zeppelin.

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CHAPTER II - THE END OF THE BEGINNING
PART 3: The Phone Call
It was nearly three AM on February 7, 1990, when the sharp ringing of the telephone interrupted my sleep. Although I had gotten accustom to these usually unimportant calls, they were always an annoyance; especially when good sleep was so hard to find back then. I had been working at a large grocery store for close to ten years and been promoted to assistant manager about a year before this call. These calls usually involved some minor problem that to me did not seem to warrant disrupting my sleep. However, the store manager, Brain, was on vacation in Texas and I expected a few extra late night interruptions.
"Tim Adams?" an unfamiliar voice asked.
"Yes," I answered, mostly asleep. My phone was kept on the headboard so I wouldn't have to get out of bed in these situations. The closer the phone was; the less sleep I was going to lose.
"This is the Cheyenne Police Department. We are trying to reach Shanon Rodger’s parents. Could you tell us where we might be able to contact them?"
"No, I'm sorry. I don't." Before I could ask why, they hung up.
I sat up and dialed the number for the store instead of Shanon's without really thinking about why. She was a very close friend and I'd known her for about five years, but I knew very little about her mother, not even her name, and that her father lived in Michigan. She was not close to her mother and seemed embarrassed when talking about her. Her mother had been rumored to be a drug and alcohol abuser and never had a steady job or place of residence. I knew of a time when Shanon had her pay checks garnished because her mother had forged some of Shanon's personal checks. Her mother never seemed to be around and had several unsuccessful relationships with men. Shanon was proud of her younger brothers and sisters, even though they did not share the same fathers. I was starting to wonder why the police would have called me when someone at the store answered the phone.
"Hey, Troy. This is Tim. The police just called here asking about Shanon's parents."
"I've got some bad news," he said soberly, then, after a pause, "Shanon's dead."
For some reason I wasn't surprised; it was as if I already knew. "What happened?" I heard myself say into the phone. My mind and body were fully awake now. Sleep was the farthest thing from my mind.
"She was in a car wreck. She was with a bunch of people and she rolled her car."
"When did this happen? Who was with her?"
"I don't know, I guess it was about an hour ago. I'm not really sure what happened. The police called here looking for her parents and I gave them your number."
"OK. Thanks, Troy." He hung-up the phone before I could say anything else, but there wasn't really anything left to say.
I began dialing another number with the thought of who might have been with her. I waited for a close friend of hers, Brenda, to answer the phone hoping she was at home and not in the car with Shanon. Shanon had spent a lot of time with Brenda and her family, especially during the holidays. Brenda was a store employee, also, and we had been close at one time, but had a falling-out shortly before this. It was a tremendous relief when her sleepy voice spoke to me over the phone.
"Shanon has been in a car wreck. The police just called me looking for her parents. Do you know who she was with?" I was talking too fast and giving too much information to some one who had been awaken at three in the morning.
"I don't know who she was with. I didn't see her last night. Is she OK?"
"She's dead, Brenda." Boy, that was tactful; but I didn't really know how to say it. There was a seemingly endless silence.
"What happened?"
"I just talked to Troy and he said she rolled her car and there were others with her."
"I have to go," Brenda said, sharply.
"OK. I'll call you back when I find out anything else."
By this time, I had a million things going through my mind. My guess was that she was out drinking with some of her friends, but I didn't know who. I made some other calls and finally found some answers when I talked to another store employee, Doug, about a half hour after that first call from the police.
"Yes," he answered, "I've heard. Harvey called me trying to find her mom." Harvey was a retired police officer and a friend of Doug's. Harvey's daughter, Cathy, was a store
employee and a close friend of Shanon's. "He had to identify her. She was going seventy on Converse and rolled her car on the curve that goes around the airport."
"Who was with her?"
"Nobody. We still haven't gotten a hold of her mom yet and none of this information is supposed to be released until she's been notified."
"OK. Thanks, Doug. Can you cover her shift today?" I asked, but I suspect he was ready for that question. It seems odd that I would think of the store at that time instead of my friend. That was just a part of being a manager; putting your job a head of your personal feelings; a part I would soon learn to despise.
I was relieved to hear she was alone and that no one else had been hurt. My mind and body seemed disconnected, as though they were on opposite sides of the wall that was blocking my emotions. It puzzled me for a very long while why I wasn't crying or hysterical or feeling anything at all. I knew that there would be no more sleep for me that
night, so I slowly got ready for work and to face the day.
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PART 4 : The Day at Work
I arrived at work a few hours early on that cold February morning and lethargically began my mourning managerial duties. The thoughts of the phone call a few short hours ago informing me of my close friend and fellow employee, Shanon's death, still buzzed in my head. My mind and body was numb with regret of facing this day and from the shock and disbelieve of losing someone I love. It was going to be a long day with many obstacles and I had no time for being despondent.
There were so many unanswered questions about the details of how and why she died and if any one had talked to her mother yet. It seemed as though the facts had changed with each person I talked with, everyone having a different version of what had happened to her. This was Friday, the stores weekly payday. All of the employees that were not on duty had came in; some already with questions, others were just finding out. Every person who approached me asked about her and told me of what they had heard or wanted answers. Every phone call was related to her death and it seemed I told the story a million times. Within an hour of my arrival, I had grown weary of talking about it.
"This is Tim, can I help you?" I spoke into the phone. It was only about nine AM and I was already worn down and melancholy.
"Hey!" a rather cheerful voice said to me. It was Dave, a close friend of mine who had recently moved to San Francisco. We had meet here at the store and we had done a lot of drinking and spending time with Shanon. The majority of the store were friends and had spent numerous hours with each other drinking and sharing our lives. We all had seemed to remain friends through the good and the bad. I never realized until this day how many people loved her and called her friend, which made it harder to have to inform them of her death.
"Hey," I replied. It was obvious that he did know what had happened, he was just calling to say hello. He was feeling a little down and home sick and just wanted to talk to me for a little cheering-up. "It's a little ruff here right now. Shanon was out drinking last night and rolled her car."
"Oh, boy," he said with a little accusing sarcasm meant to be humorous. "She OK?"
"She's dead," I said flatly; realizing that I should have been a bit more considerate, but I was just too numb at this point.
"Oh, no!" His voice sounded as though he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "Wow, this isn't what I'd expected."
"She was at Sea Galley all night, and when she was driving home on Converse, she rolled her car on the curve that goes around the airport. I guess she was going about seventy and lost control." It was the same story that I had told everyone, but it wasn't the truth. Latter on during the day, I received the police reports of the accident and the details of what happened from Doug. She had been in Sea Galley drinking at the bar with a friend and fellow employee, Jody and her boy friend, Mike who was a waiter in the restaurant part. Mike was not aware of Shanon's age, which was just one week short of her twentieth birthday; and had told the bartender that she was old enough to drink. Jody and Mike left early while Shanon stayed and had more to drink. She was driving home alone when her left front tire went off the shoulder on the curve. She over corrected and the car entered the empty pasture on the other side of the road. As her car slide sidewise, it hit a small ditch that made it flip, throwing her from the car and rolling over her head. She was not wearing her seat belt and her window was rolled down. If either the window had been up or she had her seatbelt on or had not hit that small ditch, she would have survived the accident. She was only going thirty-two miles per hour, which was only two miles an hour over the speed limit. Her blood alcohol level was well above the legal limit, .25; however, the accident could have happened even if she had been sober. The car she was driving was very new to her. Her father had helped her buy it a few months prier to this. It was a small, blue sports car that had a much quicker response than the other vehicles she had owned, making it easy for her to over correct in any conditions. The entire accident seemed nothing more than coincidence or just plain bad luck.
"I'm sorry to bum you out. I've got to go, Man. I've got another call. I'll give you a call back in a couple of days. See ya."
The endless phone calls trudged on like an evil army, relentlessly stomping out all signs of life. If I wasn't receiving these unpleasant calls, I was making them. I had to make some painful calls to Jody, who at first did not believe me and only hung-up the phone after I told her, and to Brian, the store manager who was on vacation in Texas. Just when I had got started doing something to take my mind off it, someone else would call or come in with tears and grief in their eyes to see if the horrible rumors were true. Shanon's mother had finally been notified and she made several phone calls to me, sometimes so incoherent that I could not understand her, asking for help with the funeral arrangements and contacting Shanon's friends. The day slowly crept by with no relief in sight of the constant emotional poundings trying to beat down the walls that held my sanity.
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PART 5: Making Arrangements
A funeral is a very difficult matter to organize when you have no experience and it's for your close friend. The shock of knowing Shanon had died in a car accident was enough of a burden without the impersonal tasks of who is paying for what and the painful decisions of who is best qualified for taking care of this and that. The tremendous emotions normally felt after losing a loved one would have to wait for the challenges that marched over me.
It all started about ten AM with her mother asking me over the phone if we at the store were aware of Shanon's death. Most of the store, all of those associated, and I knew about it many hours before this call. She was crying and very distraught making it hard for me to understand her. When Marge called back about an hour latter, she had a better control of her emotions and asked if I would take care of some finical matters that involved Shanon personally. There was a savings account with the company that owned the store and some life insurance through the store's credit union that required a store manager's assistance. The day ended with many more phone calls and more requests for help.
The next day became even more hectic with me speaking with many people during the day about plans and arrangements. I was busy at work filling in for the store manager, Brian, who was now on his way back from Corpus Kristy, Texas. There were so many arrangements to make in such a short time and trying to get all of these things had become increasingly demanding of me. The day was blurred by a constant bombardment of painful emotions with endless tasks.
"This is Tim." I numbly said into the phone. The phone calls were growing more into funeral arrangements than business. I was glad to do all of this and never gave any thought of giving up or complaining, but I was becoming weary.
"Tim, this is Rodger Radomsky, again. I need you to help me with Marge. She is making demands that just are not possible." Rodger was the coroner that was handling Shanon's funeral. We started the day with calm conversations about what time for the funeral, what day, and those sort of arrangements, but they soon progressed into discussions on proper edict. "She is trying to change a lot of what we have already agreed to. Some of what she wants is just not appropriate and I can not get her to understand. We need to stay with the arrangements we made."
"OK, I'll speak with her to see what I can do." He did not really tell me exactly what Shanon's mother wanted to do, but I understood what he meant. Some people feel that contemporary music (like say, hard rock) should not be played at funerals for reasons that don't convince me. Marge was wanting certain songs played that to some seem inappropriate. I've never found Led Zeppelin to be inappropriate at anytime (what could be more appropriate than "Stair Way to Heaven"); besides, Shanon loved them. Marge wanted to provide some memorials to Shanon's life with many of her personal belongings being involved in the services. The time and day was changed, then changed back, and then settled for February 14. I felt it was really up to Marge, because it is her daughter and she has the legal right. She was just having a very difficult time dealing with all of this. She wanted to have everything just right in order to try and make up for the past because she was feeling quilt about not having been very close. Those sort of emotions can only compound the loss of a nineteen year old daughter.
I had no way of contacting Marge because she did not have a phone, so I went about my business. I was walking through the store with Shanon's mother on my mind, headed towards the backroom by the meat department, when Charlie approached me.
"Hey, Tim can I talk to you for a minute?" Charlie was one of the meat cutters. "It would be an honor for me to be one of the pallbearers for Shanon. She was a good friend to me when I needed one. I would like to be able to do something in return for her. She was a good lady."
"I think she would want that, Charlie. I appreciate your offer." The truth was I hadn't even thought about pallbearers, nor was I aware of their friendship. He was married and did not attend any of the usual parties we had at Shanon's. This was becoming typical of how I was being reminded of another arrangement I overlooked. "I'll make sure you are. Thanks."
"Thanks, Tim. Is there anything else I can do?"
"No, not really, but I will let you know if something comes up." As I left the area in front of the meat department and started down the dairy aisle, Colleen, another store employee and friend of Shanon's, approached me. She offered to help me with a clergyman for the eulogy and the gathering afterwards. I agreed to let her help me with this and left them up to her.
By Tuesday, the day before the funeral, everything had falling into place.
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PART 6 : The Wake
The day had started out with some pretty decant weather for February; but by that afternoon, it was snowing quite heavily. By the time I was leaving to attend the wake for Shannon's funeral, there was over a foot of wet, winter snow.
Certain cultures have vast difference in burial procedures. There are even differences in the same communities. Most of the funerals I've attended (including this one) had a viewing the day or the night before the actual services called a wake. Some people call the proceedings after the funeral the wake. Some people actually stand the corpse up in a corner of the room and have a big drinking party the entire day and night before the funeral to say good-bye. Whatever it's called and whatever the reason, 'wake' took on a whole new meaning for me.
The snow was fairly deep in the parking lot in front of the funeral parlor when I pulled up and parked my silver Subaru wagon on that Tuesday night. The viewing was supposed to be from about 7:00 PM until 9:00, but I arrived about fifteen minutes early. I was meeting Brenda so that we could attend together. Rodger Radomsky had told me that the viewing was supposed to be for family members only and I conveyed that message to as many people as I could. Marge, however, said that friends could attend if they wanted to(much to Rodger's dismay) and why not? "You guy's are her family, too," she proudly stated to me over the phone. Brenda was concerned about going and Rodger's wishes, but she really wanted to attend. I was going regardless of what anyone had to say about it. She wanted an escort because we were attending without our companions. Although we were not getting along very well at this time, I felt that we would need to lend support.
We found are way through the snow into the building, speaking few words. After signing in on the register book, we entered the chapel and slowly marched between the two rows of pews towards the coffin. There were some tall flower arrangements behind the pink and lavender coffin with a few flower arrangements that were lying on top. The casket was closed and I noticed Colleen sitting to my left in the second row and Shanon's family to the right in the front row. Her mother, Marge, had her head down as she cried
third row, Brenda moved ahead of me and went to her. As I stood back at the end of the pew watching her, I looked over to see some easels in front of the casket. Brenda stood in front of Marge, then reached out to put her hand on her shoulder. Marge stood up and they hugged exchanging words that I could not hear.
"Tim," Marge said excitedly and opened her arms as she took a step towards me. She had been crying heavily for a long time. Her eyes were swollen and red; her face pale. This was our first face-to-face contact since the accident. As we hugged I noticed that she was wearing Shanon's favorite coat: a blue sports team jacket with large yellow lettering across the front that proudly announced her favorite college: Michigan. With all that had gone on lately it was hard to remember every fact, every detail about the arrangements; but I remember her saying that she had dressed Shanon in her favorite pair of sweat pants and a Mickey Mouse(Shanon's hero) sweat shirt. The jacket was to be included along with a eighteen inch stuffed Mickey Mouse doll.
Marge thanked me for being here and I offered my condolences. She sat down as I turned to see that there were three framed photo collages that had been put on the easels. They were from Shanon's apartment and contained several photographs that she had taken. She was always taking pictures; especial at the parties at her place and of all her friends. She took great pleasure and pride in those pictures and no one thought it was doing any harm.
"What are these doing here?" Brenda whispered to me from my right. I had not noticed that she had joined me in front of Shanon's casket.
"Her mother wants them to be here as a memento for Shanon," Colleen answered from my left. I hadn't noticed her standing by me, either. "She wanted to do something because we can't have an open casket."
"The damage to her head was to sever. Rodger said he couldn't do anything about it," I added, as I stared into those photographs.
Slowly I began to notice a very distinct theme to these pictures. In seemingly everyone, myself or someone else was drinking, drunk, or getting drunk. My heart began to beat faster and my breathing became heavy and rapid. Suddenly, I wanted to take those pictures down. Anxiety crept up and overtook me, like a fast moving fall fog.
"Look at these pictures! There's not one were someone's not drinking." I'm not sure how loudly I was taking, nor did I care. Embarrassment came up and gave me a good swift humiliating kick in the crouch. The pain from the blow weakened my knees and made my stomach retch. "I can't let anyone see these!" Panic was closing in fast.
"What's wrong with them, Tim?" Colleen asked in a soft voice. She was now standing very close to my left side.
"In every one of these pictures of me, I'm drunk or drinking! I don't want everyone to think of me as some drunk!"
"You just thought you were having fun." Her soft words sunk into me, like flood water in dry soil, drowning my anxiety, leaving nothing but the embarrassment.
"I'm so embarrassed," I told her in weak low voice. She put her arm around my right shoulder, as I stood there looking at the photos.
Previous to this, in December, I had made a visit to the doctor for some sever heartburn that I was experiencing. After having tubes run down my throat for photos, the doctor told me that I had three ulcers. His recommendation was a very strict, very bland diet for two months with some very expensive medication. The diet was to exclude spices and the sort, but especially alcohol. I was giving this a try since drinking caused vomiting which included blood after only a few beers. Hardly worth it, I figured and had not drank since New Years Eve, but not after midnight(I wanted to start 1990 off without drinking).
Many things that I have read or heard have suggested that a chemically dependent person has some spiritual experience that teaches them humility during the early stages of their recovery. I had not even considered for a second before this that I had a problem with drinking, let alone the possibility of being an alcoholic. The hand of fate, or God, or Karma (whichever you prefer) reached out and stuffed my pride with these pictures down my throat, then pulled my short comings out of my ears and stuck 'em on my forehead for all the world to see. To this day, I have not drank alcohol.
Who's wake was this, anyway?