It's Not Fair

I've tried to write this before, but got only so far.  I'm not sure how far this will get because Jack is sick and Anna (having been woken up by his crying) is in full brat mode.  And honestly, it's difficult to type through tears.

When John and I moved into this house 10 years ago, we met our friends Judy and Darryl and their children, Kay and Brian.  Kay was in high school, had a boyfriend, a job, a car.  We never saw her.  Brian was another story.  When Darryl started racing with John and his brother, Brian would tag along.  Brian was no more than 14 and was at our house, in the garage at least 4 times a week.

He was a goofy kid.  Tall, skinny.  One big gangly growth spurt after the other.  He would do anything the grown-ups (and I use that term lightly) told him to do.  Roll that tire into the garage.  Roll it out.  Get them beers from the fridge.  Take tire temperatures.  He was their garage slave.  When I gave them hell for it, he told me he liked it.  And he did everything they told him with a big goofy grin.

John and I got our third dog, and John wanted to name it Brian after the dog in Family Guy.  It became confusing because we had two Brians.  Brian-the-boy and Brian-the-dog.  Over time, the dog was called Brain and the boy was, simply, The Boy.  Again, when I gave the men hell for taking away the kid's name, he told me it was fine.  He actually kind of liked it.

As a teenager, he had his typical moments and his not so typical moments.  Case in point.  While they were at my house once, he and Darryl got into a fight.  Darryl was trying to assert his right as a parent and Brian was trying to assert his independence.  It got ugly.  Both of them were very angry.  The fight was over--those kinds of fights always end.  Brian called me up and apologized for his behavior.  No one made him do it.  He just did it.

In his late teens, he was given an inheritance when one of his paternal grandparents passed away.  Instead of taking the money and doing whatever it is a teenager would do with a big chunk of change, he gave Judy and Daryl a hefty sum for everything they had done for him. 

He went to a "technical" high school, thinking that he would like to become a chef.  He liked it well-enough, but it wasn't truly his passion.  He, like many people, wouldn't put in the effort unless it was what he really wanted.  So after graduation, he flitted from cooking job to cooking job not able to find the "right fit."
He tried welding and fabricating.  He went so far as to take the firefighters' exam.  He then decided that he wanted to join the army.  Unfortunately, he didn't score high enough on the entrance exam to get into what he wanted--cooking.  He went into the National Guard and was able to get trained in what he wanted.  He planned on seeing if he could go in full time after he had been trained.

Basic was hard work for him, but he pushed himself and excelled.  He was then sent off to Kuwait.  I addressed my letters to him "Dear The Boy."  But a funny thing happened:  The Boy became a man.

He worked for a couple of years as a cook, here and there.  He trained and drilled.  He remained immensely close to his parents and sister.  He doted on his mother, truly grateful for her.  He was kind.  He was funny.  He absolutely adored his nephew. 

It was amazing to watch him grow. 

Last summer, an opportunity came for him to go to the police academy.  He was one of only two cadets from our city.  He went and trained.  He studied.  He passed everything they put in front of him--both physical and "academic."  He flourished. 

When he was a police officer, he loved it.  He loved every minute of it.  His facebook status updates were mainly about how much he loved his life and the people in it. 

His love of life and of people was not limited to the ones he knew personally.  In the spring of this year, he ran a half marathon to raise money for injured veterans.  He participated in other community service fundraising events, too.  He understood that people needed help, and he did what he could to help them.

I actually had the opportunity to see him at work a couple of times.  I was driving the kids to his mom's house one morning and he had someone pulled over on the side of the road.  I was so proud of him that I wanted to pull over to the side of the road, give him a big hug and then take his picture.  I refrained, barely, because I didn't want to mess with his "rep" as a policeman.

Another time, John and I were driving home from somewhere and Brian was standing on the side of the road, his cruiser near by.  He was directing traffic around an accident or something, but both John and I could tell it was him from kind of far away because of the way he was standing, with his head forward as always.  I wanted to stop that time, too.

On Wednesday, Bri was in court.  A suspect took off and Brian and some colleagues chased him--through the court house, across the street, and through a parking garage.  Brian took a long time to calm down after that.  It took him about three hours to recover.  After work, he had a 2 mile run and then went to the gym. 

When Darryl went to wake him up on Thursday, Brian didn't wake up.  It turns out that not only was his heart big figuratively, it was big literally.  He had an enlarged heart.  After all the excitement and physical activity on Wednesday, it was so large it blocked off one of his valves preventing his heart from doing its job.

I nearly died on Thursday when Judy called and told me.  John was home when she called and he went over right away to see Judy and Darryl.  When he came home he cried.  I think I can honestly say that while I've seen his eyes get watery a few times over the past 15 years, this is the first time I've seen him cry.   

People have been writing on his facebook page and on their own pages that his death has broken their hearts.  Mine is broken, too.

The loss for what I had--we had--in Brian is overwhelming right now, but the loss for what could have been with this man is worse, I think.

Brian gave a trophe to Lucic

Running at his charity half marathon

Officer Brian Mc Sharry