When I arrived at Bonnie's apartment building, there was a fire truck on the street perpendicular to hers. A police car and an ambulance blocked off the small street where the entrance to her building is located. I called her a couple of time from the foyer since I couldn't remember her apartment number, but got no answer. As I tried again, a man and woman walked past me and out the front door.
"He dropped dead right in front of..." was the snippet of their conversation I heard as they passed by. Oh, the ambulances are for some old dude who had a heart attack or something, I thought.
I walked up to the doorman's desk and asked which apartment Bonnie was in. The doorman was standing behind the desk; in the seat sat a small boy, who couldn't have been more than four, with dirty blond hair and big shining eyes. The kid focused on some toys he was playing with; the doorman stared blankly at me and said he didn't know who that was. Annoyed, I retreated to the side of the desk to call Bon again. The man and woman who had passed me earlier had returned.
"Heeey," the guy spoke in a loud, obnoxiously soothing voice to the kid. "Do you like cookies? Here are some cookies. Do you like them?" The kid continued moving his toys across the desk as they forced the cookies on him.
Finally, he turned to the man and said "I like playing with my dad." The way he said dad was a question thrown into that statement, and then it fell into place. Oh, the ambulances are for some guy who died right in front of his child.
Bhavu finally got me the apartment number, which I told to the shellshocked doorman. I received a blank stare paired with a nod, and fled to the elevator. So terrible, I thought. I hope his mom gets here soon, he doesn't even know his dad is dead.
The doors opened on Bonnie's floor and a couple of feet away from me a young woman lay crumpled on the floor. Two paramedics stood over her, watchi as she sobbed. "I don't know what to do," she moaned. Then she screamed. "I can't breathe! I can't breathe! What am I supposed to do!"
She looked so young. She couldn't have been more than 30.
Her cries echoed in the hallway as I made my way to Bonnie's apartment. When I got inside, I couldn't shake the horrible feeling that had come over me. Grief and death have been on my mind a lot since the earthquake in Haiti; you can't hide from the images of bodies pulled from rubble and wailing mothers. It hit home to me in a way that other disasters hadn't, and the fact that it had directly affected close friends of mine made it even more real. But evena fter all teh videos and pictures and news stories--seeing that woman's unrestrained grief so closely was terrifying. Not only becasue she was so far gone, so deeply in pain that she couldn't even take care of her child, but because that's the kind of grief that hits close to home. Everyone fears dying, but parallel to that and perhaps more frightening, everyone fears their loved ones dying. Especially the unexpected death, not of grandpa or great aunt Julie, but your friend, your lover, your child. Looking at that woman on the floor I wondered how she would go on. She wasn't on the ground anymore when we left, but I could still picture her there.
Dinner was great. The restaurant was really nice, and the food was delicious. We hadn't all been together for a while, so it was good catching up, and I'm looking forward to doing it on a more regular basis. When I made my way home though, I was still haunted by tthe young woman on the floor.
This morning I came into work and to discover via the internet that a little girl with leukemia, who's story I know through a friend and who's ups and down I had also followed in the media had died. Being the person that passed that news on to my friend was terrible; I knew that any sadness I felt was multiplied by a million for her since she actually knew this sweet little girl. Although it is a terible loss for her mother, at least she got to do so many things before she passed. Here is a pic her mom sent around of her meeting Obama:
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