winter flesh / a book based on real accounts about unconditional love, loss, death, and life / 2012
This is a book I have to write. But at the same time, I would
rather not...
I
don’t really know where to begin. I have started and stopped writing this book
a thousand times over the past year. Where do I find the words to tell a story
about the worst heartbreak I’ve ever experienced after I have survived so many
others in my life? How do I express my state of mind after the worst lost I
felt as he walked away from me, and I watched his back get smaller and smaller
until he was out of sight? I know there’re thousands and thousands of people just
like me that have been in my situation. The situation of being left. He may as
well had ripped the very heart of me from my chest. But, I never thought I
would end up the way I have. So very broken. Destroyed. Lost. Wandering through
life like a blind man with no eyes to see the beauty that used to surround me
and still must exist, but is blurred, distorted and covered over by a blanket
of lost hope and dreams; wet to the point of being soaked with tears. No fingers
to feel the bark of the trees or suppleness of their green leaves which they sprout,
or legs to steady my stride as I walk down a graveled path. It has been over
two years and I still feel tremendous suffering. I miss him so very much. I
pray to God to make the memories leave the realm of my mind and set me free of
their crippling grip. It was all enough to make me go to
great lengths to end my life, only to be brought back to deal with the same
pain all over again. I so wanted to die. I did die, but a short chain of events
brought me back; forced air into my breathless lungs and new blood was pushed back
into me, through my capillaries, veins and arteries to replace that which had
drained from my body after I willingly cut open my flesh to the bone, to make
my heart beat once more after five hours on an operating table. On a table where
the doctors practically beat life back into my body.
How do I stop loving the only person that
filled my heart with such joy to just be in the same room with? How do I cope
with the knowledge that he does not love me anymore?
They say it’s better to have loved and
lost, than to have never loved before. But I say no. No! It isn’t better to have
known his touch, the feel of his skin against me, the taste of his saliva
mixing with mine as our lips locked and our hands and mouths explore every part
of our bodies. No! No! No! It isn’t better to have known looking into his eyes,
to remember their shape or color. No! It isn’t better to have held his hand or known
his smell. No! It isn’t better to have time and time again fallen asleep with
him in my arms only to now wake up with them empty. It’s better to have never
known he existed, that he breathed in air, that he walked this earth. No. It
isn’t better.
How will I write it? I’ll do my very best to
tell it as honestly, compassionately and be as open as possible. Much of what
I'm writing, dealing with my death and being brought back to life, and the days
after were recounted to me by my sister and friends that unfortunately had to
witness the aftermath of what I did to myself. I want to be very clear that I
have no ill feelings for anyone involved, but only complete and total love;
although I wish they had let me be and allowed death to keep me. No one can
look into another person's heart and truly know what they're feeling. By being
brought back I have to continue to grieve not only losing Christopher and his
betrayal, but I have to live with the guilt of putting my family and friends
through hell.
By telling this story, I hope to continue my work to
share with others in hopes that they will avoid what I did, and for those that
have been where I was and survived, I can add to their strength to continue on
this journey that we call life. And then once again, I may be able to find
hope, hold on to it, and believe that anything is possible despite the past. In
order for me to continue, I have to find that hope and the ability to trust
again; two of the things that Christopher stole from me. How do I do that, when
he took my heart when he left? I have to find a way.
o
n e
There were very faint voices
swimming around me as if people were speaking from a far distant place and I
was submerged in water. Seemingly unfamiliar voices as they mixed and mangled
in my head, but I could see nothing—my eyelids swollen and feeling glued shut.
I was submerged in a sticky, thick fog of darkness swallowed up in complete,
still blackness. My mind struggled to open my eyes but failed. The voices ever
so slowly grew louder, creeping into my ears like little insects. I tried to
move my arms, but I felt constrained. My legs the same. They would only move in
short jerks. I didn’t know who or what or where I was. Then I heard, “I think
he’s waking up.”
Panic and confusion set in like a
fire raging through my body. My heart started beating at a rapid pace and I
began to feel sweat collect on my forehead and behind my neck. I struggled more
and more as if I was fighting an unknown enemy, but again my arms and legs
would not help me to defend myself. I wanted to run as fear sickened my
stomach.
The voices were on me now, coming
in from different directions; their intensity piercing my eardrums like prickly
needles. I felt the pressure of several hands on my body. My eyes grew wet
under their sealed lids. What was happening to me?
“Randy, Randy, you’re okay. Stop
struggling. Nurse, nurse …”
Then the voices stopped and I
drifted deeper into that still blackness where I was safe.
“Randy can you hear me?” I heard
in a whisper.
I felt my shoulder shake.
“Brother, it’s me, Patricia.
My panic subsided as the fog
around me grew thicker again, pulling me back into its core.
I remained drifting in that fog
for two days. Any memories I have during that period of time are a series of
interrupted sounds, voices, words, blurred pictures of faces, and events in the
form of dreams; all coming in and out of focus like a bad video signal.
My sister got the call in the
late afternoon of July 4th, 2009. She was in her bedroom
watching an episode of Law and Order on the TV. She reached for it,
scrutinizing the unrecognized number highlighted on the screen; almost ignoring
it, which was her habit for unfamiliar calls, but something told her to answer
it. A stranger’s voice was on the other end, my friend Monty.
“Are you Randy’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“I hate to tell you this, but
your brother tried to commit suicide. He’s at Grady Memorial Hospital. He’s in
surgery now.”
She gasped, “Oh my God. He what?”
My sister later told me her heart seemed to stop beating the entirety of the
conversation and she held her breath until it ended; her body was shaking.
“Is, is he okay … will he be
okay?” she asked.
“It’s pretty bad. Sorry to tell
you. I don’t know, but I think you need to get here. They won’t tell us
anything because we’re not related. I’m here with Rusty, Harvey, and Michael.
Rusty told them that he’s Randy’s half brother, but I don’t think they believe
him.”
“I’m … I’m on my way,” the words
stuttered out of her mouth. “I’m on my way.”
“How long will it take you to get
here?” Monty asked.
“About an hour and a half,” she
answered.
“Okay. We’ll be here.”
The phone fell from her hand to
the floor. Fear overtook her body as it continued to shake. “Thank God I’m not
drinking anymore,” she told herself, knowing the huge wedge it had put between
us over the past many years. We were still somewhat estranged because of her alcoholism
and the events surrounding our mother’s death a few years ago. But, Lynn knew I
had been in a bad state of mind for months after Christopher had left me,
although I had only seen her once and we had talked just a few times during
that period, but she had never imagined I would go as far as to end my life.
Thoughts of our father’s suicide rush her mind, but she quickly tried to focus
on getting to Atlanta. Frantically, she
threw some random clothes into an overnight bag before rushing out the door to
her car. She called her friend Kelly as she raced down the road to tell her
what had happened and asked if she could MapQuest the directions to Grady,
afraid of getting lost. By the time she arrived at Kelly’s, her friend was
waiting in the driveway with the directions printed out. Then, once on the
interstate, she called Monty several times, but he was unable to give her any
updates of my condition. The tone of his voice caused her to worry even more.
Her mind flooded with the worst-case scenario mixed with memories of our
childhood. She had no idea if I would make it through the surgery, and feared
she would arrive in Atlanta too late.
The light of day was waning as
Lynn caught sight of the mammoth hospital from the interstate. She exited, but
got lost and had to ask a homeless man on a bike where to park her car.
After entering the hospital, she
called Monty again to find out where they were. Walking down what seemed like
endless corridors, she finally found four guys talking in the emergency room
waiting area.
“Excuse me. Are one of you
Monty?”
“I am,” answered a tall, blonde
attractive man in his mid to late thirties.
Lynn breathed out a slight sigh
of relief.
“Is he okay?” she asked.
“We still don’t know anything”
After a quick introduction, Patricia
nervously commented,” If Randy saw me like this he would die … I just rushed
out of the house without showering and changing.”
A subdued laughter commenced.
“Well, it’s good you’re here.”
It was then around 8:30. They
continued to wait until almost midnight when Lynn heard footsteps approach her.
She looked up.
“You are Mr. Chumbley’s sister?”
the doctor asked.
She jumped up from her seat,
“Yes. Please tell me he’s okay,“ she asked as tears filled her eyes again.
“We’ll have to wait and see. He
did a great deal of damage to his body. He really must have wanted to die.”
Patricia started to cry as her newly
found friends listened closely.
“We repaired his arm. He’s very
vascular, so he cut open five veins. Then we had to reconnect the muscles and
there was some tendon damage as well. He cut pretty deep. We pumped his stomach
to get as many of the pills out, but his body absorbed quite a lot. It’s good
that he had left the bottles so we knew what he ingested. We have him on a
respirator now. It’s too soon to tell how much oxygen was lost to his brain
since the majority of blood had drained from his body by the time he was found.
We finally did get his heart beating on its own again about thirty minutes ago,
but I have to tell you it was touch and go. They’ll be taking him to recovery
soon.”
“Can I see him?” Patricia asked,
wiping the tears from her face with an already well used clump of tissues.
“As soon as they get him settled
in the ICU room.”
“Thank you. Thank you.”
“If he makes it through the night without
anymore complications, well let’s just say he’ll be one lucky guy. Lets hope he sees it that way as well.”
Moments later, Patricia, Monty,
Rusty, Michael and Harvey watched as they rolled me past them.
As the days passed, the fog began
to subside. My eyes squinted opened. I could see fuzzy figures standing around
me. Everything was gray, void of color. I moved my head to get an idea of where
I was.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” I thought to
myself. “This had better be hell because it doesn’t look like heaven.”
A deluge of tears flooded my
eyes, soaking my face. My head began to hurt, but the pain could not compare to
what I was feeling in my heart. My first thought was of Christopher.
“You’re too old. It will never
work,” I remember him saying to me.
“How did I get too old in two
years?”
I closed my eyes to see his face
in my mind. I couldn’t believe I was still alive. “How could this be possible?”
I thought to myself. “I’d planned everything out so well.” But I was alive and
tied down to the bed with a guard standing in the corner. I was on suicide
watch. All the pain came back to me that I have been feeling for so many months
after watching Christopher walk out of a door that for two years he had eagerly
entered. All I could think about was how I was going to do it again...
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255), a free, 24-hour hotline available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. Your call will be routed to the nearest crisis center to you.
National Suicide Hotline
Crisis line. Automatically routes the call to the nearest crisis center 800-SUICIDE (24 hours).
Crisis intervention and referrals. National communication system for runaway and homeless youth 800-621-4000 (24 hours).