It wasn't until I was 14 years old that I realized how quickly and easily it is to fall in love with someone. How deeply someone could entrench themselves in your heart that you can't remember a time when they weren't there. In August 2000, Nicholas Christopher Frank took a leap and decided to move from Boise to Wichita to live with a part of his wide spread and complicated family tree. One he had never met. It was this fateful choice that changed my life forever.
Before my dad married my mom in 1985, he was married twice before. The first was with Kim, Nick's mother. The marriage fell apart shortly after Nick was born and my dad made a difficult choice and walked away. Kim remarried and Nick was adopted by his step-father, Kurt. Years later, after two children together, that marriage ended as well and soon Nick was adopted yet again by Fran, Kurt's current wife. For a time he was happy, surrounded by four brothers and sisters, but soon he began to wonder about the father who gave him up because life in the military made it difficult for him to be the father Nick needed. After his 18th birthday, Nick found the courage to leave everything he had ever known and start a new life with a new family.
To this day I can see him clearly as he stepped off the plane carrying a half-eaten bag of Doritos, a well snuggled teddy bear and an overused orange blanket. He was grinning from ear to ear like he had known us for years and was finally coming home. And he was home. That moment set off a magnitude of memories and experiences that bonded him to us forever.
It wasn't that difficult to go from the oldest child in the house to the middle child. I was fascinated with my new older brother and it was easy to fall into the role of younger sister. His goofy, charming self was an instant fit with our wacky family dynamic. He fit the role of big brother perfectly and I was only too happy to play his younger sister.
During his first year with us, I had surgery on my eyelid and was on strict instructions not to get the stitches wet and therefore had to wash my hair in the sink. Nick didn't hesitate to start his big brother duties. While I lay across the blue kitchen counter with my head resting in the sink, he washed my hair, cautiously avoiding my stitches. Over the ten years he resided with us, this was just one of many affectionate, thoughtful gestures he showed as my big brother.
After high school he attended Butler Community College, initially to be an accountant. He was a student worker and it wasn't a surprise that he captured their hearts as well with his easy smile and boisterous laugh. Life had different plans for him, as it is want to do, and he quit school to raise a family. I soon followed in his collegiate footsteps and attended Butler in 2005. The impression he left on the Andover campus was influential in helping me obtain a student worker position, which, in the span of three years, was one of the greatest periods of my life.
He found time and motivation to finish his degree and though we were four years apart, we were able to graduate together. That is one of my best memories of him. I remember he came to pick me up that morning, cap and gown in hand, and we rode together to the ceremony. We were nervous, excited and relieved that we made it through the past two years (relatively). As graduation ceremonies normally go, we had to wait close to an hour for commencement and waited in line with hundreds of other graduating hopefuls. Honor graduates were told to line up first and though I was one of those graduates, I chose to experience that day with him by my side, literally. As I walked up to the podium and heard my name over the sound system, his name followed right behind. In that moment, sharing that walk, our relationship was made even greater in the celebration of success. It was, and will always be, one of the greatest moments of my life.
After his divorce, Nick came to live with us again. Looking back now, that was the last place and the last time we were truly together as a family. We were happy. We were loved. We had a chance to create memories. There are two that stand out the most in my heart. One summer evening as the sun was setting, Nick, Taylor, Jeff, Riley, Amber, Nate and I walked over to the church parking lot across the street from our house and simply threw a baseball around. There we were all gathered in a rather large circle, just tossing a ball to each other as dusk was setting in. It was nothing exciting or extravagant but it became something special because something so simple brought us so many laughs and so much enjoyment. When I think of happy times in my life, that one sticks out the most because I always remember how I felt in that moment, so at peace, so joyful, watching those closest to me laughing and having fun with something as simple as tossing a ball. Sometimes, it's the simplest moments that make the best memories.
The other moment that stands out the most is Christmas Eve 2009. Exchanging gifts on Christmas Eve is a tradition in our house. This particular year was special not because of the gifts that were given or the food that was consumed, but because of the Nerf war. That's right, the Nerf war. I was a completely innocent bystander in the beginning as I watched my brothers shoot each other with Nerf guns. But then things got crazy. They got it into their heads that Tina was looking too peaceful on the sidelines and suddenly I was being attacked from every direction by flying orange foam. The pillow from the couch wasn't a sufficient barrier against the onslaught and I was forced to play dirty. Before they could gather up their bullets and reload, I snatched up every bullet that was shot my way and hid them under a couch, busting with glee over thwarting my brothers. Of course, they tried everything thing they could to get to my stash but I managed to keep them dart free. That night was filled with such laughter and fun. It was one of the moments that I remember with fondness and proof that we were happy, that we were loved.
The Road to Loss
The beginning of the end happened when a co-worker set him up with a woman twenty years his senior with two twenty-something sons and a teenage daughter. For reasons that I will never understand, he fell for her and within a few months he moved in with her, her children and her parents. We only met her a few times but it was enough to know that whenever she had an ear within distance, she would complain about the pain in her neck due to a car accident a year before. Every conversation anyone had with her would begin and end with how much pain she was in and how many surgeries she'd had. Despite our reservations and own opinions about the woman, we did our best to befriend her.
His birthday came in August and we didn't call him or text him or hear from him. In October he met us in a Wendy's parking lot to drop off Riley's toys and I didn't get out of the car. I didn't smile at him, I didn't wave, I didn't even look at him. He walked away with "have a good day" like a common acquaintance. So unlike the Nick we knew for ten years. We spent Thanksgiving without him. The only contact I had from him was a few days after when he sent a text saying, "Happy late Thanksgiving" and I reciprocated with "Happy late Thanksgiving". I began to wonder if we were going to be able to put our differences aside and spend Christmas together; our family's favorite and most memorable holiday.
Darkness Settles In
On Friday, December 2, 2011, my mom, younger siblings and I were preparing to move them the following morning. That night at 1:30 in the morning my phone started to ring. My groggy self was tempted not to answer it. I wanted to silence it and roll back over. But I did answer it and I heard my dad's voice on the other end, which in and of itself was strange as he and I had hardly spoken two words to each other the whole year. It started out as a normal, or not so normal for one o'clock in the morning, conversation with typical social pleasantries. I wondered if we really had to do this before I had eight hours of sleep, but I thought it had to be important. And then he spoke the words that haunt me still, that play through my head over and over again. The most devastating words of my life: "Nick committed suicide." Immediately the fog set in and the tears began to pour.
I walked into the funeral home knowing it would make it real. That when I saw his body lying there cold and lifeless, I wouldn't be able to deny it any longer. Nevertheless, I was unprepared for the fierce tidal wave of emotion that hit me the minute I stepped over the threshold of the viewing room. I caught just a glimpse of him in the casket and ran into my mom's arms crying out, "I don't want to be here. I don't want to do this." I didn't want this to be my life. I didn't want to go from that moment on without my warm, caring, goofy big brother. In the back of your mind you expect to one day lose a parent or grandparent but not a sibling. Siblings are supposed to grow old and experience life's joys and sorrows, triumphs and disappointments together. I wasn't ready for the reality that I would never again have that with Nick.
My mom hugged me and, in the midst of her own grief, tried her best to comfort me. She led me into the viewing room and we stood beside the hollow shell of a man who used to clap and giggle when he was especially happy. His body was stiff and waxy. His chest looked like he swallowed an inflated balloon. He was lifeless. I watched as my mom reached down to touch his hand and as much as I wanted to do the same, I couldn't dredge up enough courage. I knew if I did, his hands wouldn't be warm and baby soft like they were a few days before. However, the temptation to touch him one last time, to feel connected to him once again, was too great and I finally, tentatively, caressed his chestnut hair. The longer I gazed at his face the more I wanted to break down. I silently, frantically urged him to open his eyes and get out of the casket, just like he did the year before in the funeral scene of Judgment House. But there was no getting up. This was no stage production. This was reality. A heartbreaking, life-altering reality.
I wanted to stand there forever, but others were beginning to line up behind us. My mom led me to the front row of chairs and she cradled me in her arms as we watched mourners surround Nick for one last goodbye. As I observed strangers and the people I blamed for his death crowed around him, a fierce sense of possession came over me. I didn't want them around him, staring at him, touching him, loving him. I wanted to stand up and cry "Imposter" to those who were shedding "tears" when they hardly cared for him when he was alive. When their actions and their words made him feel there was no way out. When they stole our last year with him. When they drove him to place a gun to his head and pull the trigger. Part of it was my own guilt over not being there for him when he needed me. Of making him think that the rift between us was so great that nothing could repair it. Or that my love for him was so shallow that I wouldn't be there for him in his darkest hour.
I sat there staring at the casket and couldn't believe it was reality, that this was my life now. I wanted to go back in time and change everything about the last year. Different scenarios ran through my head of what I wish I would have done. I wanted to do anything to prevent him from taking that final step. My biggest regret is the scenario that played most: the day in the Wendy's parking lot when I didn't get out of the car. I see myself getting out and throwing my arms around him. I tell him I still love him and that I've missed him. He grins that wonderful, heart melting grin and says, "I love you, too." I also see myself responding differently to his text. Instead of a generic, could-be-anyone "Happy late Thanksgiving" I write, "I love you. Miss you. You need to come see my new apartment."
At the viewing, his brothers told me they knew how much Nick loved me and how close we were. In the dark, angry stages of my grief those comments brought new pain to the already all-consuming agony I was living. When I was alone in my apartment trying desperately to find the numb effect of sleep, I shouted into the silence, "If he loved me so much, if we were so close, why did he leave me?" When I scanned pictures onto the computer for a video of his life, and I saw proof of that love and closeness, proof that he was happy with us, the anger intensified and for one moment I hated him. I hated him for severing the closeness we shared. I hated him for deciding that leaving us was better than working through his problems. I hated him for leaving with things unresolved in our family.
And then I felt guilty for being angry with him. For every time I was ever mad or annoyed with him. I went to bed that night feeling bereft and alone, afraid of the pain and emotion the days ahead would bring.The morning of the funeral arrived. I could almost pretend I wasn't getting dressed and preparing to head to my brother's funeral. Almost. As we made it closer and closer to the church, the haze that enveloped my world grew heavier. This was it. This was the moment when it would all become real. When we would tell the world that our beloved brother, son and friend had left this world. When we would say all the things about and to Nick that we were never able or willing to say when he was alive. When we would say our goodbyes and lower him into the cold, hard ground.
Through all the pain and unreality of the day, there was a moment when my heart opened up a bit and I was able to see that I may have lost a brother, but I gained one as well. My sister's long-time boyfriend, Nate, who was a prominent figure in our family, stood in our group as we waited for the service to start. I looked over at him, with tears streaming down his face, and I could see the pain in his eyes from this loss. That's when I knew that the boy I had previously thought of as just my sister's boyfriend became a brother. He was feeling the same pain I was. To see how affected he was by Nick's absence, to witness how much he loved Nick with each tear that fell, tugged at my heart and made me realize he was as much a part of our family as anyone ever could be.
The words of Chris Tomlin's Amazing Grace, My Chains are Gone began to fill the air as the pall bearers led Nick's casket to the front of the sanctuary. We followed in behind to the words:
My chains are gone/I've been set free/My God, my Savior has ransomed me/
and like a flood His mercy rains/unending love, Amazing Grace
The tears flowed faster as I listened to the lyrics and tried to find comfort in the words and grace of my God. I clung to my cousin and my sister-in-law as I listened to Pastor Mark make his opening remarks, as Nick's brother Ben gave his eulogy, and as Kurt gave his. Then it was my turn to tell those seated what Nick meant to me. There are not enough words to adequately relate what he meant to me, how much he changed my life and brought so much joy and laughter to it, nor to describe the bond we shared. A bond never before, or since, felt with anyone else.
At the end, we followed Nick out and stood in the lobby as we watched the pall bearers, including Jeff, put him in the hearse. slowly people began to congregate in the foyer to say their respects. My long-time friend and brother from another mother, Nate (not Taylor's Nate), came to me and wrapped me in his arms. The tears were overwhelming then as I whispered, "You're my big brother now." After acknowledging the others that came, it was time for us to follow Nick to the cemetery.
We stood around his closed casket in the cold and wind as a few mad last remarks and Pastor Mark said a final prayer.
And then it was time, it was expected, to walk away.
As the others began to turn away, I refused to leave him. The pain of losing him and being in that moment was so great the tears were blinding and I was gasping for air. I knew that soon they would lower his body into the ground and he would forever be lonely and cold. Rationally, I knew it was his earthly body and the real Nick was enjoying the rewards of Heaven. But rational is one thing you are not in that moment. I knew if I turned away that it would be real. That from that moment on, all I would have of him would be pictures and videos and memories. I knew I would never again be in his warm, loving presence. The first step I took away from the casket would be the first without him and that realization left me frozen.
The life I had before that fateful midnight call is non-existent. The girl I was before has vanished in the midst of unforeseen, unimaginable tragedy. My life is not as complete as it was. The memories of that life are fading into the midst of grief and absence. I can't find the desire to go on with the things that I was supposed to experience with him by my side. Where life had hope and potential now seem bleak and empty. Any experience or accomplishment will always be bittersweet. To think I lived the first fourteen years of my life just fine without him and now, after only ten years, I can't imagine living the rest of my life without him.
Through it all, I have not been angry with God. I know this was Nick's will and not God's. This was one of those instances when we fall off the path God has mapped out for us, only this time the choice Nick made brought him face to face with God. Some believe that those who commit suicide are destined for hell. I was never sure on my belief about it, until it happened to my life. To my family. Without the belief that Nick is indeed in the arms of Heaven, and I will one day see him again, there would be no light in the darkness of this grief that consumes me night and day. So I must believe that God calls to the lost souls who see no other way out of their pain than to end it all.
You are required to go on. The world expects it of you. But for some, it's not that easy. Sure, eventually the initial pain lessons and you adjust to life without them. But it is never the same, you are never the same. There will forever be a small ache in your heart and life's great moments now become bittersweet.
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