One Year
TW, CW: Suicide
There are some things that we foolishly try to force ourselves to forget, knowing fully well that it is impossible. One year ago today, my dear friend Daniel Nakajima took his own life and somehow, the aftermath has cemented itself as my clearest memory. Since it has been a year, I would like to reflect on what occurred during that week, my state of mind, and where things lie now. What particularly frightens me about the entire event, was how easily someone had gone from being described as “alive and well”, as “happy”, to “gone”. Even now, sometimes when I’m playing basketball, I expect him to come skipping into the gym as he always did, with a childish grin and high energy. That’s where I found myself 364 days ago, the day that the news broke, on the basketball court.
I’d prefer to skip the re-telling of the revealing that Dan was the one who had passed the night before because that would require me to go into pages and pages of context. Anyway, just 30 minutes after our mandatory all-school assembly, I found myself sitting in my first-period class. No backpack, no will to work, no words to say. 5 of the 16 people showed up, and I didn’t feel that bad about making it 4 within the first few minutes of class. I knew exactly where I had to be. So, I walked across campus to the basketball court, threw on shorts and shoes, and climbed the stairs to the gym, where I was met with the comfortable silence of an empty gym. Each dribble was a movement in a dance with the hardwood. I played mindlessly, but with purpose, as oxymoronic as that is. I was joined by my friends Jason and Gottfried, all of our moves in sync, a sorrowful grind.
The next 36 hours were a blur, as I made it to one class and unknowingly took on the pain of many of my friends who were also grieving. When Friday rolled around, it was the first Friday that I was unable to plaster a smile on myself. I found myself angry at every single thing. The first time that I cried, was that Saturday. It took me nearly a week because I had been going through the week like a ghost, taking up space and not much else. I unknowingly used class and sports as my distractions from facing facts. But low and behold, come halftime of our game against The Salisbury School, I broke down in front of my entire team, coaches, trainers, you name it. It is truly difficult to even recall this, as I do not remember I time where I felt more defeated. Jason and I said a prayer for him that day in the corner of the end zone.
Earlier in the month, the entire town of Andover, as well as neighboring towns, experienced a gas leak, which presented high concern from a safety standpoint. With good reason, as establishments were blowing up and the number of injuries was quickly increasing. Let me be clear in saying that it was and still is an extremely nerve-wracking time for many in that region of Massachusetts. As soon as I started to see posts on snapchat that something had gone wrong, my mind immediately went to Dan. It’s hard to truly understand any level of “tragedy” in the wake of Dan’s death, because what was more tragic than that? Absolutely nothing. This is not to say that other forms of tragedy do not carry validity, but quite the opposite. They carry validity and Dan’s death carries so much validity both to me and the communities that he has been apart of, that I think about it constantly. There truly is no aforementioned “wake”, there is no timetable for grief. If somehow a day does pass where my mind does not dwell on the events of that week, then there is another day where that seems to be all that I can think about. A few questions raise themselves when something like this happens. What do you want done in the future? How can this be prevented? This rhetoric is dangerous, in that it burdens those who are grieving with an unwanted and unfair level of castigation, at a time when it is hardest to think. To that, however, I have no idea. Things must continue to go on, classes will continue, tragedy will continue. The simplest answer that I have, is that I wish the entire thing never happened.
Too often, we put all sorts of death under the same umbrella by saying that someone “has passed”. It is worth a reminder that Dan’s death was a confirmed suicide. To all of my friends, my readers, my family, and everyone in between, whatever you may be going through, understand that you are cared for. You are loved. You are valued. It’s ok to not be ok, even when it seems like everyone around you has found some sort of happiness. Dan’s closest friends, the day students in the class of ’18 at Phillips Academy, have continued to be strong, funny, and never back down from basketball games in the face of grief. They inspired me and continue to inspire me with their willingness to look after one another, to check in on others, and to make sure that Dan’s memory is nowhere close to gone.
In conclusion, I miss Dan. There is no masterful way to say it, no way to subtly say it. When times do get truly, truly hard, I take comfort in remembering my favorite ritual my sophomore year. Both benchwarmers on the JV basketball team(You’ll be delighted to know that we both had shining moments that year eventually), Dan and I had to start every single practice working on our post play, per our coach. We would spend the first 10 minutes trying the most outrageous moves and laughing, despite our coach’s scoldings. That’s how he always was, easy going, fun-loving. I hope next year is a little bit easier on this day, but I know better. Fly High Frequent Flyer.
Sidebar: I wrote for him that Sunday.
Euthanasia
I wonder if,
in those 20 minutes,
you pondered assignments you knew you would never turn in, the teachers
taking attendance the next day,
aware that you would not be sitting right there
as you always were.
I wonder
if
you thought that all the basketballs in the gym would bounce
a little differently
without your familiar embrace tossing up brick after brick. I wonder if,
you listened to the silence
echoed by a soft breeze flowing in and out of the tracks
on this cool September night,
did you imagine an afterlife,
did you have plans to be home in time for your mom’s famous cooking?
did you wonder if you would even be recognizable,
afterward,
if there was an afterward?
Did your mind move backward in those final moments,
your life flashing,
the train flashing,
your life flashing,
passing only the most important moments.
I hope I was in there,
but that’s selfish and so is this poem,
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I should be happy if you’re happy, right?
Even if that means you go down under I wonder,
if you found what you were looking for,
If you live in the rain and thunder,
the sun, the stars,
I’ll think I see you in a passing car,
did you follow a particular trail to your swan song or
did you walk aimlessly,
did you even want to feel alive?
I have not seen a T train sign or
heard the drowning blare of a train,
interrupted
since that night.
I wonder,
If the people on the train thought
you were just a dumb kid,
if it was an accident,
If they would make it home that night,
If you would make it home that night.
I, wonder
If, I could have helped you.
But that is selfish, and so is this poem.
I
wonder
if
your smile was waning this entire time
and only you noticed, somehow
memories of you come back in flashes.
I wonder if that will stop,
I wonder if I will run out of memories
I wonder if I will run out of tears.
I wonder
when the last time I hugged you was.
Because I can’t remember.
And I want to.
