Dying With A Friend
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"Dying With A Friend"
By: Chris "Zach" Hidalgo - 1998
As a child I spoke as a child, I thought as a child and acted as a child. Now, at the other end of this stage in my life, I stand as an adult considering the ways of a child and of an adult as well. The benchmark, the one thing catapulting me into adulthood made itself apparent forcibly one rainy Saturday afternoon. The experience changed my life more than anything ever did and probably more than anything ever will.
My best and favorite friend played a key role in the experience, stripping me of my childhood and thrusting me into maturity. The consequences plague me daily like a cancer, but for this episode, I would not trade great riches. I now benefit 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, Zach 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 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 breakfast for our family.
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 melted butter. In the oven, some home-made country biscuits and sausage gravy the way my grandpa used to make 'em, 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 to eat, and I always looked forward to when it was 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 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. Zach 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, Zach 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 Zach 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 Zach 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 Zach 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; Zach 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 Zach 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 Zach 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 layed 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.
Zach 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 Zach 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!
Above: An up-to-the-minute picture of the Flagstaff, Arizona USA area. Looking North toward the San Francisco Peaks from a dorm at Northern Arizona University.
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posted by Zachholio @ Tuesday, June 01, 2004
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