As Stephen Schwartz wrote, “I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason.” What he didn’t say that when people leave our lives, the impact is greater. Before I became the bright, sunny individual that I am today, something happened that altered the way I look at reality. My family was falling apart at the seams because of my attitude, until we lost our youngest member. The death of Christopher severely changed the relationships between the members of our family; but with the new found tension I gained a better appreciation of life itself.
Before everything changed, I was a rebel. I didn’t listen to my parents, my grades were terrible, and I hardly had a single person that I could call my friend. In an attempt to bring our family closer, my parents would frequently take us on mini-vacations. Unbeknownst to them, Christopher and I abhorred these weekend trips. They took time out of our miniscule personal lives and prevented us from finding time away from the family. The only thing I enjoyed about the trips was the time my brother and I spent together. However twisted our family was Christopher was always special to me.
On one particular trip, this time to the beach, my mother and I had had a row one night and were on negative terms the next morning. Christopher and my father were lounging in the living room, watching the indigo waves roll across the shore as they discussed the possibility of playing soccer this coming sports season. My mother was attempting to prepare a “delicious” meal of bacon and eggs, but the stove was refusing to light. When I descended the stairs into the tiny kitchen, she glanced at me.
“Pery, go outside to check and see if the propane is hooked up. You know where it is,” she said, turning back to the decrepit stovetop. We had stayed in this beach house before, so I knew where just about everything was.
“I’m thinking no. I’m gonna run down to the beach,” I said as I stepped out the door grabbing a towel.
“Pery Alexander, get back in here, now!” She snapped at me, already fuming. I simply ignored her and strolled out the door without a glance back. I could hear her shouts as I walked down the wooden path to the sand but I tuned her out just as I heard the low tones of my father join hers. I was set, I didn’t pay them any attention, but I noticed the volume of their words grow louder as they stepped outside but I was too far down the path to understand their poison-tipped conversation.
Suddenly, everything changed.
Out of nowhere came a cacophony of sound with a force strong enough to knock me off my feet. Windows shattered around me and flaming pieces of wood flew in every direction. As soon as I could, I scrambled around and saw the most horrifying image of my entire life. Just past my parents who lay a few yards from the house, conscious but in a panic, bright gold and yellow flames, caused by the explosion of the malfunctioning stove, leapt up the sides of the house and a heavy, ebony smoke filled the sky. Just as I began to register the scene before me, a bone chilling scream rose over the roar of the flames.
Christopher was still in the house.
My mother cried out and attempted to run into the house but the heat and smoke held her back. Christopher’s sobs rang out in the air as the tenants of the neighboring houses stepped outside to aid the situation. Shouts joined the symphony of noise as people formulated plans to stop the fire; but, amidst all the hubbub, only my family and I noticed as Christopher’s wails died out.
He was gone.
Weeks later, we held a funeral for him. However, the casket was closed because the burns were terrible; no one would have recognized him. The service was full of tears and apologies, but not a single person understood that Christopher was the only reason I had to live. In the aftershock of it all, I began to distance myself even further from my parents. Then, one day, I finally looked my mother straight in the eye and I saw down to how she felt on the inside. This opened a new realm of emotion to me. She had been there when he came into this life and she had felt the bittersweet kiss of watching him leave it. I now realized there was someone who hurt more than I ever could. From that point on, I treated her with respect. I cleaned up my act, cutting out all the negativity I held inside and became a new man. Christopher would have wanted me to live on for him.
I would give anything to have my brother back; I would even walk one-thousand miles if that’s what it took. I cannot deny how much grief his death brought me but it changed my life. If it had not happened, I could have wound up at juvenile detention center, whittling away my lonely hours in silence. If he hadn’t gone, I never would have loved my family in this way. Now, after years of mourning and living in loss, I see that he came into my life for a reason.
I love you, Christopher Wallace Salyer.
Thank you.
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