Heady stuff lately on this blog - I hadn't quite intended for things to get this morose, but I guess there's no other way around it - so I'll push on, but I'm going to postpone the final part of this blog series - the one on hang gun laws - to a later time.
The woman who murdered my brother was named Eloise Evans. I don't know much about her, in fact I never even heard her name until after she killed Zach, but I'll do my best to pass on what I do know.
She was a 50 year old African-American woman who was a student at the local community college. She already possessed a college degree but was pursuing a specialized certificate program in conjunction with BWXT Pantex - America's lone nuclear weapon assembly and disassembly facility. She had ongoing problems with her classmates and instructors - you can read more about that here.
She claimed to have some Jewish ancestry and therefore was taking Adult Education classes at the Temple. It was there that my dad met her. As a board member of the Temple, Dad goes out of his way to try and meet and greet new people. In talking to her he discovered that she was an avid and accomplished runner and invited her to participate in a run sponsored by a local running club. It was on the way back from the run that she first displayed any sign of instability: My Dad mentioned my deceased stepmother's running prowess (she was invited to participate in the 1984 Olympic Trials for the women's marathon) and Evans flipped out - yelling at my Dad to never mention my stepmother's name again. Evans had fabricated a romantic relationship between her and my father where none existed.
From there things worsened. She stalked my dad: calling him repeatedly, repetitively e-mailing him; showing up at his office, and once showing up at his house. It was then that my Dad threatened her with police involvement and a restraining order. At that point, for all intents and purposes she disappeared from Dad's life. She called him one last time a month or so before she killed Zach seeking help with the aforementioned school problems - Dad said he would see what he could do, but never heard from her again.
Two weeks before killing my brother, Eloise Evans walked into this gun store and purchased a Taurus brand revolver. The gun store owner/clerk later told the investigating officer that despite the fact that Evans was behaving strangely, he only sold her the gun because he feared she would sue him for discrimination if he refused.
The day AFTER the shootings, the police discovered she had lied on her gun application in two areas: 1) Her physical address and 2) on the box that asks if you have ever been diagnosed with having a mental illness she checked "No."
We found out that Evans had been previously diagnosed with bipolar disorder (aka manic-depressive illness) but was not taking any medication. Because of the fact that it is extremely uncommon that a person with bipolar disorder commits acts of violence against other people its entirely possible that Evans had some other type of mental illness such as schizophrenia but that is pure speculation and with her having committed suicide there is no way to accurately confirm or dismiss that notion.
Additionally, investigators discovered that Evans had a family in Missouri that she had abandoned 4-5 years earlier. If I remember correctly she had a husband and two adult children. To my knowledge no one in my family has spoken with them.
There's a great deal more to be said about Eloise Evans, but these three blog posts have been difficult to get through and I'd like to write on a few subjects that afford me a modicum of levity. That said, I'll throw these final thoughts out there: I have not forgiven Eloise Evans; I do NOT believe the death penalty is an effective deterrent for crime and I DO believe it is a highly flawed system that violates the "the cruel and unusual" clause of the Eighth Amendment; and the gun laws in this country are seriously lacking in enforcement and effectiveness.
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Thursday, March 22, 2007
Jewish Mourning
Warning! - This post is long and heavy on the info.
Blogging about death seems so emo kid and trite - I hope to avoid that trope in this post. The experience of death of another is such an odd occurrence. No string of adjectives can adequately explain it - mostly because each person's encounter with death is intimate whether we want it to be or not. We all remember the first time we become aware that someone we know had died: For me is was the suicide of my mother's best friend when I was six. I saw my first body when I was sixteen while I was working at a television station - the body was previously a transient middle-aged male who a week earlier had been hit by a train and had since laid in the Texas heat for seven days before being discovered. They say you never forget the smell of a rotting corpse - unfortunately its true. Several years later I would see the dead bodies of my grandmother and grandfather. I held my stepmother's hand as she took her last breaths. Eleven months later I saw my brother's dead body - correction, I didn't just see Zach's body I I helped prepare him for burial according to Jewish custom...
I debated how I would approach this particular topic and decided I would explain the practices my family opted to incorporate into my stepmother's and brother's deaths as opposed to a "comprehensive" listing of Jewish mourning practices. Jewish burial practices vary depending on several factors: The level of religious observance by the deceased; how the person died (a person who commits suicide does not receive the same treatment as a "regular" death); the branch of Judaism the person belongs to; and lastly the personal wishes of the deceased and his/her family. At the end of the post I will include several links that will help explain certain aspects better than I can and will also include rituals my family does not observe. For this post I utilized several online sites, books I own on Jewish practices and customs, and my own limited knowledge.
For all intents and purposes my Jewish family identifies as belonging to the Reform branch of Judaism. In a nutshell Reform Jews are not required to practice the strictest laws of Torah as opposed to the Conservative and Orthodox branches. Therefore a Reform Jew has much more leeway when it comes to burial practices. That said, my stepmother opted for a mostly traditional burial, as a family we decided to bury Zach much the same way.
BEFORE THE BURIAL
One of the first issues is deciding when the funeral is to be held. Jewish custom is ASAP, but a delay of no more than 3 days is considered acceptable. There are several reasons for this time-frame; 1) It's tradition going back as far as anyone can locate Jewish records. But why? There are several possibilities. Judaism was in the Middle East for thousands of years and the Middle East gets hot. What happens to a body that lays exposed to the heat? I alluded to it above. 2) Jews don't allow embalming because we believe it is a desecration of the body - cremation and autopsies are also considered desecrations of the body.
The period of time between death and burial is called anninut and the bereaved is called an onen. The prime responsibility of the onen is to arrange the funeral. During this time, an onen is exempt from positive religious obligations. As such, prayer is not obligatory at this time. However, an onen who finds it helpful to express feelings through prayers may do so. Only relatives or very close friends should visit during this time, primarily to help make arrangements for the funeral and shivah. After the funeral, a mourner is known as an avel. One is a mourner by obligation for parents, children, siblings or spouse. However, anyone is allowed to observe the mourning rites.
Before the met (the deceased) is dressed for burial, we observe the ritual of tahara, ritual washing, done by the hevra kadisha, the Holy Society. Additionally we dress the body only in traditional burial shrouds, takhrikhin, which are simple white garments along with a yarmulke or kippuh on their heads and we spread some earth from Israel in the bottom of the casket. Lastly, a simple wooden casket is preferred -an ornate all-wood casket, though ritually acceptable, is not in the spirit of the law. Zach and his mother's caskets were simple all wood caskets with a Star of David on the top. These are not things the coroner does, these are things we did. My wife helped prepare my stepmother's body for burial and my middle brother and I helped prepare Zach's body.
A few minutes before the funeral begins, the first formal act of mourning, kriah, the tearing of one's garment or a ribbon, takes place. Kriah is a centuries old symbol of inner grief and mourning. Mourners stand as they perform it, showing we face grief directly and that we will survive, even without our beloved departed. Before the cut is made, mourners say the words of Job, "The Lord has given and the Lord has taken, blessed be the Name of the Lord," and recite a brakha which is a reaffirmation of faith. We all wore ribbons, and as it is customary to grieve an entire year for a parent, Zach was wearing his kriah ribbon when he was killed.
THE FUNERAL SERVICE
A funeral can be held at graveside or the Synagogue and both Zach and his mother's funerals were held at the grave site. A service held only at graveside includes the same elements as those begun at another location. It is shorter because certain elements are repeated when a service is held in two locations. A graveside funeral is no less dignified nor less giving of honor to the deceased than any other service. The funeral service is brief. Selections are read from Psalms and a eulogy, depicting the life of the deceased as a guide for the living, is presented. El maleh rahamim, which expresses our faith in the immortality of the soul, is recited on most days. Once at graveside, the service consists of recitation of tziduk ha-din, a prayer which expresses our acceptance of God's decisions, followed by the recitation of kaddish and el maleh.
After the casket is fully in the grave, the interment is begun by shoveling some earth into the grave. This mitzvah, is known as hesed shel emet - true loving-kindness. This mitzvah demonstrates our continuing concern for the deceased as we make sure the final journey of the met is completed.
SHIVA
The next phase is Shivah. Shivah lasts seven days and the day of the funeral is the first day and one hour of the seventh day counts as a full day. Shivah is suspended at 1:00 Friday afternoon and is resumed after Shabbat is over. The shivah period begins after the interment with a simple meal, the seudat havra'ah, the meal of consolation. There is a custom to rinse one's hands with water before entering the house for the meal. This meal, traditionally provided by family and friends for the mourners, is not meant to serve as a social following the funeral. Since it is a time to rest and contemplate the day's events, only family and closest of friends should attend. A party-like atmosphere should not be allowed to develop - which is more difficult than you might think.
Men aren't supposed to shave and should practice only minimal hygiene. Kaddish is recited daily, the mirrors in the house are all covered, and many more customs that I don't remember are implemented during these seven days.
SHLOSHIM
This next stage last for 30 days after the burial, or 23 days after finishing shiva. It allows for a gradual re-entry into everyday life. Again, there are many laws and customs - we continued to wear our khria ribbons, I didn't shave, and I continued to recite kaddish daily.
YARRZEIT
Yahrzeit is observed each year on the date of death according to the Hebrew calendar. Therefore, the timing of Yahrzeit on the secular calendar will vary from year to year. The name(s) of the deceased are read at the appropriate evening service and at the Friday evening service the week before the Yahrzeit, if those who observe Yahrzeit are present and request it.
LINKS FOR MORE INFORMATION
http://www.chabad.org/library/article.asp?AID=281541
http://www.jewfaq.org/death.htm
http://www.interfaithfamily.com/site/apps/nl/content2.asp?c=ekLSK5MLIrG&b=297374&ct=323822
Blogging about death seems so emo kid and trite - I hope to avoid that trope in this post. The experience of death of another is such an odd occurrence. No string of adjectives can adequately explain it - mostly because each person's encounter with death is intimate whether we want it to be or not. We all remember the first time we become aware that someone we know had died: For me is was the suicide of my mother's best friend when I was six. I saw my first body when I was sixteen while I was working at a television station - the body was previously a transient middle-aged male who a week earlier had been hit by a train and had since laid in the Texas heat for seven days before being discovered. They say you never forget the smell of a rotting corpse - unfortunately its true. Several years later I would see the dead bodies of my grandmother and grandfather. I held my stepmother's hand as she took her last breaths. Eleven months later I saw my brother's dead body - correction, I didn't just see Zach's body I I helped prepare him for burial according to Jewish custom...
I debated how I would approach this particular topic and decided I would explain the practices my family opted to incorporate into my stepmother's and brother's deaths as opposed to a "comprehensive" listing of Jewish mourning practices. Jewish burial practices vary depending on several factors: The level of religious observance by the deceased; how the person died (a person who commits suicide does not receive the same treatment as a "regular" death); the branch of Judaism the person belongs to; and lastly the personal wishes of the deceased and his/her family. At the end of the post I will include several links that will help explain certain aspects better than I can and will also include rituals my family does not observe. For this post I utilized several online sites, books I own on Jewish practices and customs, and my own limited knowledge.
For all intents and purposes my Jewish family identifies as belonging to the Reform branch of Judaism. In a nutshell Reform Jews are not required to practice the strictest laws of Torah as opposed to the Conservative and Orthodox branches. Therefore a Reform Jew has much more leeway when it comes to burial practices. That said, my stepmother opted for a mostly traditional burial, as a family we decided to bury Zach much the same way.
BEFORE THE BURIAL
One of the first issues is deciding when the funeral is to be held. Jewish custom is ASAP, but a delay of no more than 3 days is considered acceptable. There are several reasons for this time-frame; 1) It's tradition going back as far as anyone can locate Jewish records. But why? There are several possibilities. Judaism was in the Middle East for thousands of years and the Middle East gets hot. What happens to a body that lays exposed to the heat? I alluded to it above. 2) Jews don't allow embalming because we believe it is a desecration of the body - cremation and autopsies are also considered desecrations of the body.
The period of time between death and burial is called anninut and the bereaved is called an onen. The prime responsibility of the onen is to arrange the funeral. During this time, an onen is exempt from positive religious obligations. As such, prayer is not obligatory at this time. However, an onen who finds it helpful to express feelings through prayers may do so. Only relatives or very close friends should visit during this time, primarily to help make arrangements for the funeral and shivah. After the funeral, a mourner is known as an avel. One is a mourner by obligation for parents, children, siblings or spouse. However, anyone is allowed to observe the mourning rites.
Before the met (the deceased) is dressed for burial, we observe the ritual of tahara, ritual washing, done by the hevra kadisha, the Holy Society. Additionally we dress the body only in traditional burial shrouds, takhrikhin, which are simple white garments along with a yarmulke or kippuh on their heads and we spread some earth from Israel in the bottom of the casket. Lastly, a simple wooden casket is preferred -an ornate all-wood casket, though ritually acceptable, is not in the spirit of the law. Zach and his mother's caskets were simple all wood caskets with a Star of David on the top. These are not things the coroner does, these are things we did. My wife helped prepare my stepmother's body for burial and my middle brother and I helped prepare Zach's body.
A few minutes before the funeral begins, the first formal act of mourning, kriah, the tearing of one's garment or a ribbon, takes place. Kriah is a centuries old symbol of inner grief and mourning. Mourners stand as they perform it, showing we face grief directly and that we will survive, even without our beloved departed. Before the cut is made, mourners say the words of Job, "The Lord has given and the Lord has taken, blessed be the Name of the Lord," and recite a brakha which is a reaffirmation of faith. We all wore ribbons, and as it is customary to grieve an entire year for a parent, Zach was wearing his kriah ribbon when he was killed.
THE FUNERAL SERVICE
A funeral can be held at graveside or the Synagogue and both Zach and his mother's funerals were held at the grave site. A service held only at graveside includes the same elements as those begun at another location. It is shorter because certain elements are repeated when a service is held in two locations. A graveside funeral is no less dignified nor less giving of honor to the deceased than any other service. The funeral service is brief. Selections are read from Psalms and a eulogy, depicting the life of the deceased as a guide for the living, is presented. El maleh rahamim, which expresses our faith in the immortality of the soul, is recited on most days. Once at graveside, the service consists of recitation of tziduk ha-din, a prayer which expresses our acceptance of God's decisions, followed by the recitation of kaddish and el maleh.
After the casket is fully in the grave, the interment is begun by shoveling some earth into the grave. This mitzvah, is known as hesed shel emet - true loving-kindness. This mitzvah demonstrates our continuing concern for the deceased as we make sure the final journey of the met is completed.
SHIVA
The next phase is Shivah. Shivah lasts seven days and the day of the funeral is the first day and one hour of the seventh day counts as a full day. Shivah is suspended at 1:00 Friday afternoon and is resumed after Shabbat is over. The shivah period begins after the interment with a simple meal, the seudat havra'ah, the meal of consolation. There is a custom to rinse one's hands with water before entering the house for the meal. This meal, traditionally provided by family and friends for the mourners, is not meant to serve as a social following the funeral. Since it is a time to rest and contemplate the day's events, only family and closest of friends should attend. A party-like atmosphere should not be allowed to develop - which is more difficult than you might think.
Men aren't supposed to shave and should practice only minimal hygiene. Kaddish is recited daily, the mirrors in the house are all covered, and many more customs that I don't remember are implemented during these seven days.
SHLOSHIM
This next stage last for 30 days after the burial, or 23 days after finishing shiva. It allows for a gradual re-entry into everyday life. Again, there are many laws and customs - we continued to wear our khria ribbons, I didn't shave, and I continued to recite kaddish daily.
YARRZEIT
Yahrzeit is observed each year on the date of death according to the Hebrew calendar. Therefore, the timing of Yahrzeit on the secular calendar will vary from year to year. The name(s) of the deceased are read at the appropriate evening service and at the Friday evening service the week before the Yahrzeit, if those who observe Yahrzeit are present and request it.
The Yahrzeit observance lasts a full day and it is customary to attend services on the evening Yahrzeit begins as well as the morning and afternoon of the next day. Those who come to observe Yahrzeit recite kaddish as part of the daily service and may lead portions of the service.
Additionally, it is traditional to make contributions to charity on Yahrzeit.
Perhaps the best known custom for observing Yahrzeit is lighting of a candle made to burn for at least 24 hours. The candle is lit the evening Yahrzeit begins. If Yahrzeit falls on Shabbat or Yom Tov, the candle is lit before the Shabbat or holiday candles. Although there is no formal blessing when lighting the candle, a meditation and/or Kaddish may be said. Kaddish is a special prayer and perhaps deserving of its own blog post.
LINKS FOR MORE INFORMATION
http://www.chabad.org/library/article.asp?AID=281541
http://www.jewfaq.org/death.htm
http://www.interfaithfamily.com/site/apps/nl/content2.asp?c=ekLSK5MLIrG&b=297374&ct=323822
Monday, March 19, 2007
The Worst Day of My Life
First let me apologize for not blogging for a month - my computer crapped out and I was forced to purchase a new one. Secondly, this post will be an emotional one - what I'm about to write on is the very reason I started blogging - I just couldn't bring myself to do it until now. Its not easy to write about and I doubt it will be easy to read, but I need to write it. This will be part 1 of a 4 part blog series I want to do: Part 2 will be on Jewish mourning practices, part 3 will be about Zach's murderer, part 4 will be about the extensive problems with America's hang gun laws - several of which helped contribute to Zach's murder. Lastly, please forgive my inadequate writing skills, lack of a strong literary voice, and the length of this post.
As many of you know my youngest brother was murdered in the Fall of 2005. His name was Zachary Benjamin Weir and he was 15 years old. I'll tell you more about him later.
It was Sunday October, 30th and I was awakened by the incessant ringing of my cell phone. The previous night had been my first Halloween party in Lafayette and I was mildly hung-over so I ignored the phone. Then my wife's phone began ringing, but I didn't get to it in time. It was my brother Patrick calling both times - he never did that so I immediately knew something was wrong, I just could have never expected how wrong. I called him back and when he answered I could tell he was in the car - you can just tell by the background noise, perhaps its the muffled radio, or just ambient car noise - anyway, I asked what was going on. He responded with, "David call Dad now. Zach's been shot." "Shot?" I asked stupefied. "Yea, and its not good."
The first of many lumps rose into my throat.
I called Dad. "What happened?" I asked. "Zach was shot several times by a woman at the synagogue and he's on his way to the hospital." I couldn't believe what he was saying nor how calm he was relaying the info to me. He must have been as shocked as me. "Is he OK?" I begged. "David, he was shot in the head and stomach - he's alive but unconscious." I sat there in stunned silence. "David you should come home" he finally said.
I don't clearly remember the next few hours. I don't even know if I took a shower. But I do know that I woke my wife up and told her what had happened and that we had to leave ASAP. We were frantic, yet somehow managed to find a place to board our dogs on a Sunday. On my way back to the apartment from the kennel I called to check on things. Dad answered, "David ... I can't ... here." He handed the phone to my god-father, "David your brother is brain-dead." I literally dropped the phone and had to pull over. I screamed and cursed for a period of time before I was stable enough to make it back to the apartment. On the drive I remember a friend calling to remind me that we had our fantasy basketball draft that night. I told him that I wouldn't be there because my brother had just been shot. He didn't believe me at first (no one does - hell I didn't) but after he realized I was telling the truth he started crying - he would be the first of many people I spoke to about Zach's murder that cried while I did not.
I walked into the apartment and collapsed. I started balling, it escalated into hysteria, my wife didn't know what to do and was just as bad as me after I told her Zach was dead. We were packed but now had to add clothes for a funeral. Neither of us was in any shape to drive to Indy, we were both hung-over and emotional wrecks but we had to catch our flight.
I don't remember the drive other than screaming at my wife that everything was fucked - and it was. The flight was full and we couldn't sit together but we were too numb to care.
My mom, aunt, and uncle were at the airport to pick us up. Mom said, "Hurry you guys, your Dad said to get the the hospital ASAP." I knew this meant they were about to take him off of life support, but I didn't ask. My uncle drove while my aunt stayed behind to get our luggage.
My uncle dropped us off at the emergency room entrance and we ran to ICU. Everyone was there but I didn't stop to say anything - I went straight to Zach's bed. He was pale and surrounded by bloody sheets. His head was wrapped in gauze and he had a breathing tube in. His fingers were bloated and cold to the touch - this was not Zachary.
Zachary was brilliant and precocious - an honor student at Amarillo High School taking AP classes and in the International Baccalaureate program. He was somewhat short and skinny - too skinny, with thick medium brown hair, green eyes, fair skin and strikingly handsome. He was witty, loved reading, wanted to be a writer, and devoted to his family - this person I was looking at was dead. Perhaps most importantly he was dedicated to his faith. After his mother died a year earlier from cancer, Zach made it a priority to continue to learn and grow as a Jew. In fact, he was teaching Sunday School (for lack of a better term) at the synagogue when he was killed. He was learning guitar and wanted to start a band with his friend J. English was his favorite class and he was in the middle of A Tale of Two Cities when he died and I made a silly promise to finish it for him - but I haven't yet. His second favorite class was history (I like to think I influenced him in this regard) and he was taking it from Mr. Mike Harter - who taught me Texas and U.S. History at Stephen F. Austin Middle School. Later, the following January we all found out that Zach had scored at or above the 95th percentile on his PSATs. He had also started writing short stories. I wish there was more to read. He would have turned 16 on February 18th, 2006 and Dad had already purchased him a car - a 1965 VW Kharmann Ghia - it need some work but Zach loved it and was already learning to drive it.
Its been a little less than 17 months since his murder and I think about him daily.
We fought with the coroner and District Attorney because they require an autopsy in all homicides, however; observant Jews are not supposed to have an autopsy, they are also supposed to be buried ASAP after death - if we fought the autopsy Zach's burial would be delayed indefinitely, if we allowed the autopsy we could bury him quickly as required by Jewish law. We decided not to fight the autopsy.
We left the hospital and returned to Dad's house - it was surreal. Zach's bedroom was on the way to the stairs and as I passed his door I noticed his bed was still unmade and his dirty clothes from the previous day lay on his bedroom floor. It was the last time his room would look like that.
I didn't really sleep that night, or at all for the next several weeks. After we received Zach's body from the coroner's office we performed the ritual washing of his body, dressed him in a shroud, placed him in an all-wooden coffin (all according to Jewish custom and I'll explain more in Part 2 of this blog series), and buried him on November 1st. The rest of that week people were in Dad's house constantly - it was a blur. I was numb for the most part but drank excessively to kill any feeling that might have remained. My wife returned to Indiana after a week, my brother had to go back to law school, we decided it would probably be best if I stayed with Dad for a while. He had lost his father exactly 1 year prior, his wife 1 month later, and now his youngest son. It was without question the worst year of his life. Just 3 short years earlier he was talking about retiring and moving out to California permanently - how quickly and tragically things can change.
I'm not sure how much good it did for him by me being there, but I stayed until the end of winter break. We didn't actually talk much, but we drank a lot together and I felt better knowing he wasn't alone in his house. However, in retrospect I think I was staying because despite confronting daily reminders of Zach, I knew that if I left his death would be more real - and I guess I wasn't ready for that.
Things are better today. "Life goes on" as they say -it may sound trite, but its true. I have a lot of guilt today - mostly from not being much of a big brother to Zach. I was 13 years older than him and starting my sophomore year of high school I just wasn't around much - boarding school, rehab, college, New York, Indiana, etc. I kept thinking if I hadn't had such wanderlust, if I had just been more linear in my career path, if somehow I just could have been there this awful thing ... might not have happened. Unlikely I know, but knowing it didn't change the fact that I thought that way. When my stepmother's cancer became life-threatening my wife and I decided to take a year off from school and our careers and move home so that we could be there. In that year Zach I and I became extremely close. I embraced the role of big brother: Picking up Zach from school, taking him for a soda, playing video games with him - basically I spent as much time as possible with him so that when he wasn't at the hospital with his mom he wouldn't be so preoccupied by the fact that she was dying. And after she died I spent even more time with him - talking about books, life, how he wanted to become a writer, where he wanted to go to college, etc.
The last few months we were in Texas, my wife and I helped Dad and Zach move into their new house. It was a fresh start for them and that summer was an amazing one - lazy days by the pool, cooking out, hanging out with my brothers - I was 28 but it felt like I was 16 again.
Late morning in early August of 2005 - the UHaul is loaded up and my wife and I are ready to embark on the next phase of our lives. Its the week before Zach starts his sophomore year of high school so he's sleeping in as late as possible. Dad has to go wake him up so he can say good-bye to us. He stumbles to the drive-way sleepy and shoeless and I give him a big hug and tell him I love him and how proud I am of him and that I'll see him at Thanksgiving. As we drive off I check my side-view mirror and Dad and Zach are still waving.
Its the last time I saw him alive.
As many of you know my youngest brother was murdered in the Fall of 2005. His name was Zachary Benjamin Weir and he was 15 years old. I'll tell you more about him later.
It was Sunday October, 30th and I was awakened by the incessant ringing of my cell phone. The previous night had been my first Halloween party in Lafayette and I was mildly hung-over so I ignored the phone. Then my wife's phone began ringing, but I didn't get to it in time. It was my brother Patrick calling both times - he never did that so I immediately knew something was wrong, I just could have never expected how wrong. I called him back and when he answered I could tell he was in the car - you can just tell by the background noise, perhaps its the muffled radio, or just ambient car noise - anyway, I asked what was going on. He responded with, "David call Dad now. Zach's been shot." "Shot?" I asked stupefied. "Yea, and its not good."
The first of many lumps rose into my throat.
I called Dad. "What happened?" I asked. "Zach was shot several times by a woman at the synagogue and he's on his way to the hospital." I couldn't believe what he was saying nor how calm he was relaying the info to me. He must have been as shocked as me. "Is he OK?" I begged. "David, he was shot in the head and stomach - he's alive but unconscious." I sat there in stunned silence. "David you should come home" he finally said.
I don't clearly remember the next few hours. I don't even know if I took a shower. But I do know that I woke my wife up and told her what had happened and that we had to leave ASAP. We were frantic, yet somehow managed to find a place to board our dogs on a Sunday. On my way back to the apartment from the kennel I called to check on things. Dad answered, "David ... I can't ... here." He handed the phone to my god-father, "David your brother is brain-dead." I literally dropped the phone and had to pull over. I screamed and cursed for a period of time before I was stable enough to make it back to the apartment. On the drive I remember a friend calling to remind me that we had our fantasy basketball draft that night. I told him that I wouldn't be there because my brother had just been shot. He didn't believe me at first (no one does - hell I didn't) but after he realized I was telling the truth he started crying - he would be the first of many people I spoke to about Zach's murder that cried while I did not.
I walked into the apartment and collapsed. I started balling, it escalated into hysteria, my wife didn't know what to do and was just as bad as me after I told her Zach was dead. We were packed but now had to add clothes for a funeral. Neither of us was in any shape to drive to Indy, we were both hung-over and emotional wrecks but we had to catch our flight.
I don't remember the drive other than screaming at my wife that everything was fucked - and it was. The flight was full and we couldn't sit together but we were too numb to care.
My mom, aunt, and uncle were at the airport to pick us up. Mom said, "Hurry you guys, your Dad said to get the the hospital ASAP." I knew this meant they were about to take him off of life support, but I didn't ask. My uncle drove while my aunt stayed behind to get our luggage.
My uncle dropped us off at the emergency room entrance and we ran to ICU. Everyone was there but I didn't stop to say anything - I went straight to Zach's bed. He was pale and surrounded by bloody sheets. His head was wrapped in gauze and he had a breathing tube in. His fingers were bloated and cold to the touch - this was not Zachary.
Zachary was brilliant and precocious - an honor student at Amarillo High School taking AP classes and in the International Baccalaureate program. He was somewhat short and skinny - too skinny, with thick medium brown hair, green eyes, fair skin and strikingly handsome. He was witty, loved reading, wanted to be a writer, and devoted to his family - this person I was looking at was dead. Perhaps most importantly he was dedicated to his faith. After his mother died a year earlier from cancer, Zach made it a priority to continue to learn and grow as a Jew. In fact, he was teaching Sunday School (for lack of a better term) at the synagogue when he was killed. He was learning guitar and wanted to start a band with his friend J. English was his favorite class and he was in the middle of A Tale of Two Cities when he died and I made a silly promise to finish it for him - but I haven't yet. His second favorite class was history (I like to think I influenced him in this regard) and he was taking it from Mr. Mike Harter - who taught me Texas and U.S. History at Stephen F. Austin Middle School. Later, the following January we all found out that Zach had scored at or above the 95th percentile on his PSATs. He had also started writing short stories. I wish there was more to read. He would have turned 16 on February 18th, 2006 and Dad had already purchased him a car - a 1965 VW Kharmann Ghia - it need some work but Zach loved it and was already learning to drive it.
Its been a little less than 17 months since his murder and I think about him daily.
We fought with the coroner and District Attorney because they require an autopsy in all homicides, however; observant Jews are not supposed to have an autopsy, they are also supposed to be buried ASAP after death - if we fought the autopsy Zach's burial would be delayed indefinitely, if we allowed the autopsy we could bury him quickly as required by Jewish law. We decided not to fight the autopsy.
We left the hospital and returned to Dad's house - it was surreal. Zach's bedroom was on the way to the stairs and as I passed his door I noticed his bed was still unmade and his dirty clothes from the previous day lay on his bedroom floor. It was the last time his room would look like that.
I didn't really sleep that night, or at all for the next several weeks. After we received Zach's body from the coroner's office we performed the ritual washing of his body, dressed him in a shroud, placed him in an all-wooden coffin (all according to Jewish custom and I'll explain more in Part 2 of this blog series), and buried him on November 1st. The rest of that week people were in Dad's house constantly - it was a blur. I was numb for the most part but drank excessively to kill any feeling that might have remained. My wife returned to Indiana after a week, my brother had to go back to law school, we decided it would probably be best if I stayed with Dad for a while. He had lost his father exactly 1 year prior, his wife 1 month later, and now his youngest son. It was without question the worst year of his life. Just 3 short years earlier he was talking about retiring and moving out to California permanently - how quickly and tragically things can change.
I'm not sure how much good it did for him by me being there, but I stayed until the end of winter break. We didn't actually talk much, but we drank a lot together and I felt better knowing he wasn't alone in his house. However, in retrospect I think I was staying because despite confronting daily reminders of Zach, I knew that if I left his death would be more real - and I guess I wasn't ready for that.
Things are better today. "Life goes on" as they say -it may sound trite, but its true. I have a lot of guilt today - mostly from not being much of a big brother to Zach. I was 13 years older than him and starting my sophomore year of high school I just wasn't around much - boarding school, rehab, college, New York, Indiana, etc. I kept thinking if I hadn't had such wanderlust, if I had just been more linear in my career path, if somehow I just could have been there this awful thing ... might not have happened. Unlikely I know, but knowing it didn't change the fact that I thought that way. When my stepmother's cancer became life-threatening my wife and I decided to take a year off from school and our careers and move home so that we could be there. In that year Zach I and I became extremely close. I embraced the role of big brother: Picking up Zach from school, taking him for a soda, playing video games with him - basically I spent as much time as possible with him so that when he wasn't at the hospital with his mom he wouldn't be so preoccupied by the fact that she was dying. And after she died I spent even more time with him - talking about books, life, how he wanted to become a writer, where he wanted to go to college, etc.
The last few months we were in Texas, my wife and I helped Dad and Zach move into their new house. It was a fresh start for them and that summer was an amazing one - lazy days by the pool, cooking out, hanging out with my brothers - I was 28 but it felt like I was 16 again.
Late morning in early August of 2005 - the UHaul is loaded up and my wife and I are ready to embark on the next phase of our lives. Its the week before Zach starts his sophomore year of high school so he's sleeping in as late as possible. Dad has to go wake him up so he can say good-bye to us. He stumbles to the drive-way sleepy and shoeless and I give him a big hug and tell him I love him and how proud I am of him and that I'll see him at Thanksgiving. As we drive off I check my side-view mirror and Dad and Zach are still waving.
Its the last time I saw him alive.
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