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.