Dying With A Friend
By: Chris "Czach" Hidalgo - 1998
As a child Czach spoke
as a child, he thought as a child and acted as a child. Now, at the other
end of this stage in his life, he stands as an adult considering the ways
of a child and of an adult as well. The benchmark, the one thing catapulting
him into adulthood made itself apparent forcibly one rainy Saturday afternoon.
The experience changed his life more than anything ever did and probably more
than anything ever will. His best and favorite friend played a key role in
the experience, stripping him of his childhood and thrusting him into maturity.
The consequences plague him daily like a cancer, but for this episode, he
would not trade great riches. He now benefits from a constant reminder of
how much value life holds.
My favorite
friend's mother and father grew up together with my parents and likewise considered
themselves best friends. My friend's name was Zachary Christopher, and my
name is Christopher Zachariah. But because my father went by Chris, they called
me by my middle name to avoid confusion within our household. As a result,
my best friend and I went through the confusion instead because we both answered
to the name Zach. But for this story, I will go by Chris for now to help avoid
confusion.
On April
12, 1993, Czach and I again chose to live life to the fullest, as other eighteen-year-olds
do. We approached this day as we did all other days, feeling invincible and
ready for what life might throw across our path. Confident in ourselves, in
what we wanted out of life, and in what we wanted to become, we took one mad-capped
moment at a time.
We lived
in a middle-class suburban neighborhood just outside of Denver, Colorado and
attended the local public high school. We both enjoyed active involvement
in sports and prided ourselves in becoming a part of the "best of the best"
in school. Yes, we were jerks and we loved every aspect of such a stigma.
We would try to wreak as much havoc as our little brains would conjure up.
Our arrogant
and careless attitudes lead to "fun-loving" escapades through cemeteries as
burial proceedings were taking place. We would "tromp" through the grass and
gravestones tearing up as much of it as possible in Zach's four wheel drive
pickup truck. We would honk, yell obscenities and make the most insensitive
comments we could think of at the moment, laughing all the way. Then we would
head home and compare the day's "accomplishments" with past excursions and
discuss (laugh about) the looks on people's faces.
Fortunately
(or unfortunately depending on which angle you consider), things changed on
this particular Saturday. For on this date and only a few hours after the
day began, I would become familiar with humility in a way that few people
experience, let alone a high school senior. This event would put my childhood
to rest and give birth to what I consider adulthood, the first stage of my
maturity.
I clearly
remember the day starting out as a typical Saturday morning in my family's
household, because one easily remembers a dream they recount every night.
It began with my older brother, Haven, waking me as he promised, so we could
meet up with friends to play soccer. My other two brothers, Vandin and Evan,
were busy in the kitchen making our family breakfast.
My parents
rose shortly after I did to the almost nutty smell of fresh ground home brewed
coffee. This "special" morning, we could count on an old fashioned feast with
Eggs, prepared the way each of us preferred them (over easy for me), bacon
and hot Italian sausage links sizzling on the skillet. On the fire next to
them, some fresh grated hash-brown potatoes soaking up all the butter. In
the oven, some home-made country biscuits and sausage gravy the way my grandpa
used to make them, along with some freshly squeezed orange juice and a refreshing
cup of coffee for all except me, because I'm allergic to caffeine. This was
definitely my favorite breakfast, and I always looked forward to when Vandin
and Evan's turn to cook came around.
After
Breakfast, we left for the park and stopped at Zach's house to pick him up.
We left his house and drove to the local high school to meet the others.
The game ended with our team as victors and we drove back home in good spirits.
Another feast ensued when we arrived back at home where lunch waited for us.
Then, when the thunderclouds came in and it started to rain, we all went in
the house to relax in our family room.
While
we relaxed in front of the television watching Jeremiah Johnson for the un-teenth
time, we got a call from Zach's Sister, Maija (Maya), asking for a ride home
from her ballet lessons. Czach looked over at me, and using visual expressions
without saying a word asked me to tag along. In answer to his non-verbal question
I said, "let's go," so we jumped into his mom's Jeep and we left the scene.
The rest of this story changed my life and death forever.
Sitting
at a red light at the intersection of Cherry Creek parkway and Quincy Avenue,
right next to the reservoir, our favorite radio station played at almost maximum
volume against his Mom's wishes, of course. When the stop light turned green,
all pumped up from the loud music, Czach looked over at me with a smile and
punched it. We took off into the intersection yelling
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" in unison for fun and effect.
At that
moment a drunk driver took a chance and ran the red light.
I remember
hearing a loud crunching sound, feeling my head being forced to the left abruptly,
the sound of glass shattering and I struggled to keep my equilibrium as we
spun around. I realized what took place just before we came to a forced stop.
I woke
lying between several rain soaked bushes looking through blood in my left
eye and feeling pain in several parts of my body. I reached up to feel the
right side of my head where most of my pain was concentrated and brushed some
small pieces of glass from my skin. I noticed a paramedic walking toward one
of the police officers when it dawned on me I had been out for a spell. I
felt close to normal. My friend, on the other hand, went through an entirely
different adventure.
I got
up, and squinting to make everything out, I noticed several police cars scattered
about, an ambulance off to my right, people standing around with umbrellas
watching and colored lights blinking everywhere. Half-dazed and slightly confused,
I asked an officer where the driver might be and noticed the driver's side
of Zach's mom's car torn to shreds with Czach missing. Then I saw the stretcher.
The police officer grabbed my by the arm and told me to stay behind the marked
area. I looked at him, jerked my arm away and told him I was originally in
the vehicle. I ran over to the Ambulance as the medics slid Czach into the
back of the ambulance. Strapped down and covered with those wool blankets
that I hate so much, I called his name. I told the paramedics I was in the
car with the victim when the accident occurred and jumped in with them. The
doors slammed behind me and we started moving.
I suspect
the medics spoke to each other and to the hospital over the phone, just as
I remember seeing in the movies, but I heard almost nothing. The only
things I remember hearing include the muffled sound of the siren in the cab,
and the intermittent beeping of the heart monitor in the background.
The difficulty
of looking at my best friend with lines running into his arms and legs from
the bottles of clear and red liquids marked "BIOHAZARD" overwhelmed me. A
nose-and-mouth mask lead from a canister that read "OXYGEN" to his face. I
tried hard to get a grip and understand the reality of what just happened,
but it all seemed so abrupt and unbelievable. With his clothes all cut up
and hanging out from under the blanket, and his skin unusually pale-gray,
tears started to form in my eyes. As one medic opened Zach's eyes while checking
for vital signs, I noticed his eyes dilated and I did not see the life within
them I came to know so well.
From time
to time his left hand would slightly move and his chest would barely rise.
I am convinced he was aware in some ways of his vulnerability, felt his pain
and knew the sheer magnitude of the situation. I remember feeling incredibly
helpless and gritting my teeth so much that the pain gave me a headache as
a great sense of frustration took over.
Just before
we reached the hospital Czach took a loud deep breath, his hands suddenly
clinched, his head went back, his muscles tightened up and his face made the
first expression I witnessed since the accident took place; a grimace of pain
and suffering. After that, he slowly lost his strength. The sound of a sigh
filled the cab and I saw his eyes close.
I heard
a familiar constant sound that pierced my heart and broke my spirit forever.
I remember hearing that sound a hundred times on television and in movie theaters.
The heart monitor that warned of a still and lifeless heartbeat went off.
A chill made its way from my shoulders, down the middle of my back and out
to every part of my body. Again, my eyes filled with tears, but this time
they would fill enough so I could not make out any of the figures in the cab.
Breathing became difficult and a feeling of my chest sinking in hit me hard.
My entire body began to tingle, a sudden hot flash hit and then I went numb
all over. I knew what happened; Czach faced the crossroad where one lets go
of this reality and prepares to pass on to another. The echoing sound of silence
filled the cab. I sat there in wonder and disbelief of the things taking place
before me.
The medics
threw me to the back of the cab as they prepared Czach for defibrillation.
The only thing I remember hearing the medics say during the entire trip to
the hospital was "CLEAR", but I am sure other conversations took place. His
whole body leaped in a quick jerk upward, as far as the restraints would allow,
and came to a quiet stillness on the pad on which he rested. The steady piercing
sound monitoring his non-existent heart beat continued and they began CPR.
Four or
five minutes later, after the heroic attempt by the medics to revive my friend,
I lifted his left hand and noticed its cold touch. When I let go of his hand,
with no resistance in its way, gravity pulled Zach's hand down and it fell
lifeless onto the pad. At this revelation, I stopped crying and sat there
in silent awe thinking about life without my friend. For my best and favorite
friend was dead, and I watched the whole thing happen before my unwilling,
ignorant and youth-filled eyes.
At this
point, I suddenly realized what life means, how much value every minute of
every day contains, and how much I appreciated absolutely everything and everyone
on my planet.
I too
found myself at a crossroads and faced with a difficult decision. I could
continue with the same lifestyle I pursued before the accident, or I could
choose to become more aware of the world around me and allow virtues similar
to compassion and understanding to settle within my being, which I so obviously
lacked.
After
a few months passed, I still did not make a conscious decision to change,
even though I now understood and could grip the concept behind the value of
life. In fact, for months after the accident I became more rebellious. I looked
for new ways to destroy things and tried to complicate issues every chance
I saw. The concentrated rebellion was my cry for all things to be the same,
just as it was before Czach died. That's all I wanted, and I tried everything
I could think of to restore the past.
My existence
became clear to me one night while I laid in bed thinking about things I could
write on walls around town with spray paint. The fruits of my efforts will
be proportionately related to how I apply myself, I thought. Simply
put, the effort I put in to something will determine what I will receive in
return. So, I began to think about phrases that would capture people's attention
and stay with them for a long time. I wanted to make an impression, whether
positive or negative. Just as long as people would act because of what they
read, instead of react.
Almost
like a religious epiphany, I decided on: "If your life were to end tomorrow,
would you be satisfied with all that you have seen and experienced?"
For some
reason, and I wish I could tell you how or why, I busted out in full fledged
tears. Rivers of salt water flowed in my bedroom and I had no control over
their unrelenting torture. Here I was, confident, immovable and respected
by other troublemakers, and I was shedding tears over something so stupid…
or at least I thought it was stupid until I began to realize it was actually
fairly profound. What if "I" died the next day? Would I be satisfied with
what I had experienced up to that point in my life? The idea I wanted to convey
through "artistic expression" to others took a hold of me and started to backfire.
Conviction
began to set in and the greatest reality check I had ever experienced was
going to bounce like a rubber check! I was getting a "D" on the report card
for the first eighteen years of my life, and one word kept bouncing off the
inner walls of my hard head: Fool! I was facing my careless and arrogant attitude
for the first time in my life, and it didn't feel good at all!
After
I realized learning from this experience would out weigh rebellion in the
long run, my education became a priority. This turned out to be the beginning
of a one hundred and eighty-degree turn for me. After more thought and conviction,
I finally gave into its truth. I fell in love with my girlfriend because I
suddenly appreciated who she was, what she meant to me and how she helped
to complete me as a young man. I began to treasure the relationships with
my family and friends. I also began to question why I was given the opportunity
to continue with life.
I am no
longer the same person after such a life wrenching ordeal, and I think Zach's
death easily became the one most important moment of his life, and mine. It
will only be rivaled with the day I graduate from this understanding to the
unknown treasures of my afterlife.
Czach
did not give his life that I might find mine, but that was the result. So,
I figure the least I could do is make mine a worthwhile life, as long as I'm
still alive.
It's been
several years since Czach left and I think about him daily…no, hourly. Every
time I see a Polaroid camera, smell hot Italian sausage links, or see a high
school soccer game in progress, I am reminded of the day I discovered life.
I like to treat people the way I like to be treated and go out of my way to
help them in any situation. And now, I sure as hell take a second look every
time I pull out into an intersection. As far as taking pictures is concerned,
I stick mainly to landscapes but deviate on occasion.
I now
truly love life and will try never to take for granted the power it possesses
to come and go indiscriminately.
I thank
my creator for such a horribly painful experience and am still dealing with
the loss of a close friend. For I learned early in life what many people never
understand until they are practically dead. Dying with my friend changed my
life in many ways, and secretly, I can safely say I am glad to have gone through
such an experience, although I would rather not learn such a lesson the same
way, that's for sure!
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