The call came in the wee hours of Wednesday morning. I saw it was Michael and I wondered if his stomach flu had kicked in again. His words were even and monotone. “Mom, Phil’s dead.” He said it so quietly, I asked, “What?” even though I had heard the words. “Phil’s dead.”
Phil is dead. I still can’t believe, or understand, or comprehend that this beautiful boy is no longer here. No longer Michael’s best friend. He and Michael met, if not on the first day of school their freshman year of high school, then a day or two later. And they seemed to be best friends immediately. Two peas in a pod.
Memories of their life flood back to me. The video game sleep overs. Coming home from work one day to find my front living room furniture pushed aside with their band equipment in its place and them rocking a song. Phil entering our house with his familiar, “Hi, Mom.”
The crushing effect of Michael’s words hit me hard for so many reasons, because the sad part is, we’ve been here before. Twice before actually.
Michael had five close friends in high school; Phil, Nick, Aaron, Chris and Stephen.
Aaron died first. March 2008. It was devastating. The boys were in their Senior year of high school and Aaron’s death was more than a shock. Michael, Phil and Aaron had just been at the house playing music then ended up at Phil’s for a sleep over and had stayed up all night talking about their futures as well as goofing around at Udall park. Michael and Phil ended up back at my house raiding the fridge and seeing how long they could stay up since they hadn’t sleep the night before. When the call came, I told the person they were wrong, that Aaron had just been here, that they had the wrong Aaron. But, no, they did not have the wrong Aaron; he was killed riding down Mt. Lemmon on his motorcycle. I called out to Michael and carefully told him the news, to which he said the same thing. We just were with him, you’ve got it wrong, Mom. Aaron’s death seemed exceptionally harsh because of the promise before him. He was a tremendously talented musician. He would sit on my couch and casually play a guitar while talking with Michael and the beauty of his riffs were incredible. The boys took it very, very hard and eventually honored him by tattooing his name in Hebrew on their wrists.
Then, in 2011, Stephen died. Stephen was the troubled kid of the group. Bright, funny, smart, but troubled. He was a lethal soccer player, loyal friend, but depression seemed to surround him and in their Junior year, he ran away from home. His Mom would call to see if we had seen him or had heard any news and I would keep her up to date with any tidbits Michael had. I couldn’t stand the thought of him sleeping behind dumpsters so Michael and I would drive the streets at sundown looking for him. Then one day, there he was, walking his bike down Broadway. We pulled alongside and I told him to get in. I fixed them both dinner then went to call his Mom. He stayed maybe two weeks before he left again, eventually joining the Army and asking for infantry. He committed suicide while on leave here and the day I met his Mother face to face was the day of his funeral. I remember standing at his grave with Michael beside me, Phil behind me, and Nick and his parents beside Michael. The boys were sad, of course, but not surprised. Poor Stephen, maybe now he had found some peace.
And now, Phil.
Phil was the happy-go-lucky one of the group…everybody’s friend. His goodness is what strikes me now and what I’ll miss most. Driving his Toaster, wearing his neon, being his funky self and not caring what anybody thought. His friendship to Michael also makes my heart ache because I wonder how Michael will fill that void. Where Michael and Nick have a deep, we-can-share-our-deep-dark-secrets-and-you’ll-understand friendship, Michael and Phil had the everyday friendship. They seemed to do everything together; their band, their jobs, their circle of friends. They each had their own life, but shared everything. Their future was so tied together that Michael’s sense of loss goes to a depth that reaches beyond what he should have to be dealing with at his young age. Phil, from what we understand, was at a party and drown in an apartment complex pool. Michael was supposed to be there but that stomach flu had kept him home. His parents are very private and have asked Michael to help. They are worried about him, as we all are.
We have dealt with death frequently…not only these three boys, but Jon in ’07 and my Dad in ’10. We are familiar with grief. Michael grieves silently, alone. I grieve openly and want people around me. So, we rub each other the wrong way during these times. I want to help and hold and he wants me to leave him alone. He will sit by himself on Sunday, when we go to bury Phil. He may let Chelsea and Nick near. I will sit with Nick’s parents. His Mom and I scared for our sons. How will they cope burying Phil? How will they cope with the loss? How will they cope with being the ones still here? The questions of why are innumerable.
My mind can barely go to his parents. Phil was their only child and how do you go on? How do you bury your only child on Mother’s Day? My heart grieves and breaks for them. My feeble words of what their son meant to me, to Michael, they seen so small. How do you express gratitude for the wonderfulness of their son in our lives?
My prayers have been feeble as well. I have prayed for comfort and the peace that passes all understanding for everyone involved. But, my words fail me after that. My grief is too big right now. I have grief and worry and questions and know this won’t be over after the service on Sunday. I reached out to the Pastor of the church I have been attending and got no response, so now I have anger, too. And the verse on their wall yesterday was… Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. -Galatians 6:2. Apparently practicing what they preach is not their strong suit.
When death comes, I think about life. It is the everyday stuff we all take for granted. And the big ideas and philosophies we hold are all nothing if we do not live them out every day. Tomorrow never, ever comes. Today is the day the Lord has made, let us give thanks and be glad in it. Jesus tells us to love one another. Not judge others, not elevate ourselves, just love everyone. Death makes me think about my life and if I am even making a difference. Do I love? I get so hard on myself because I know how quickly this life can end…am I doing enough? Am I living my words?
And I look at Phil’s life, cut too short, and I see all the people he affected. The words people have written are of his goodness; of how nice he was; of his friendship. And it makes it easier somehow to know of the legacy of goodness he left behind. He did not talk about being a good person, he was a good person.
So, rest in peace, beautiful Phil. Your legacy lies before all of us and we are all better for knowing you. While we grieve your passing, Heaven rejoices at your entrance. I’m sure you and Aaron are riffing with Stephen bobbing his head in time. Thank you for showing us what love is. Miss you and love you always.
