Today on this very special 8th day of February would have been my brother Greg's 36th Birthday! As I reflect upon this day we once celebrated together with cake, ice cream, & gifts, I now wonder what he would have been like. What would he have chosen as a career? Would he be married? Would I have other nieces and nephews?
May I introduce you to my little brother? His name was Gregory Allen Foster, Jr. He was 2 years younger than me. We were like most siblings. We played together, played sports together, built forts together, climbed in each other's beds during thunderstorms, we fought and called each other names, but boy, Lord help the kid on the bus who called either of us that same name. We loved one another deeply and stood up for one another through thick and thin. Our lives were difficult and both brothers and I were knit together very closely as a result. We had each other. When mom and dad worked long hours, I would babysit my brothers and in some ways took on the role of care giver, getting their breakfasts, helping to get them on the school bus, helping with homework when we got back home, getting the house cleaned up, laundry done, dinner started before our parents got home from work. As we grew older, we entrusted our secrets to one another, had crushes on each other's best friends, collaborated on how to sneak in the next stray dog we found, called on one another in moments of crisis, etc. We were siblings, but we were friends!
He grew into a very tall, dark, and handsome young man. He was the brother that all my girlfriends thought was "cute!" :) He wasn't flashy, very much down to earth. From child to teen years, he was all heart. He loved family, especially our grandparents who held a special place in his heart, friends were friends for life, he was loyal, he wore his heart on his sleeve, he always stood up for the "under dog," he had a tender heart for animals, and everything he did, he did with all his heart, for better or worse! :) He had a girlfriend, who he loved deeply. He was a very gifted art student and he expressed himself through his drawings. He was also a star football player, #25, his number now officially retired, receiving awards and team captain, leading his team to state championships at the Syracuse Dome in Upstate NY.
Unfortunately, like many teens, an after game party here, back road party there led him to delve into the scene of experimentation with alcohol and marijuana. Fast forward to April 28, 1994, the day that would re-define the lives of our family, leaving us forever changed, less than 2 months prior to what would have been his high school graduation.
School was closed that particular day. Greg and some friends at some point decided to "hang out" with one another at a location they often went to near train tracks. I had just seen him and spoken with him the evening before. I had come into town for an appt to look at an apartment I was interested in renting. He was riding his bike as he often did, saw me driving down the same street, pulled up next to my car, I told him I was in a hurry, late for my appt to see this apartment but that I would stop by my mom's house nearby when finished to catch up with him. Well, as life calls, my 2 year old son, (Greg's first born nephew who he loved and babysat for often as I was a single mom working several jobs - as I said above, family was everything to him), was fussy and ready for bed after the appt, so I took him straight home rather than going to my mom's as I had told my brother and little did I know at the time, that would be my last conversation with him!
I remember explicidly as if it were just yesterday, the man I had just began dating 8 months prior at the time, now my husband of 15 years, and I were spending time together that evening. He was over at my apartment, Zachary had been put to bed for the evening and I specifically remember that we were watching "Friends" on TV which was all the rage in 1994! The phone rang and on the other end would be news so unexpected, so devastating, it would change the rest of my life as I knew it. I was told that there had been a terrible accident involving a train, my brother Greg was involved, and what I was told at the time, was that his leg had been injured, (the grace I needed in that moment to allow me to safely and sanely drive to the hospital), and that I needed to get to the hospital right away and that my family would meet me there to explain further.
From that point forward, much of what happened is very much still a blur. Somehow, again by the grace of God, and I mean that very literally, Harry and I gathered Zachary from his crib, got in the car and drove toward the hospital. We were not far down the road (this tragedy had occurred just a couple of miles from my apartment) and we began to see all of the emergency vehicle lights off in the field in the distance. I just knew something horrific was transpiring before my very eyes. An ambulance pulled out from a road that led to train tracks just before our vehicle reached that point and we would continue to follow that ambulance only several miles away to the hospital but it seemed as if we followed it for hours not knowing what exactly was going on, was my brother on board, what were the extent of his injuries, etc. To this day, I remember the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach and I recall that what I knew in the depth of my being was that I was preparing for the unfathomable.
We finally arrived at the emergency entrance of the hospital where I also was an employee. As an employee there, I knew that the ambulance for some reason was bi-passing the ambulance entrance to the emergency room and was heading toward the entrance of the morgue. There must have been a mistake. They surely did not know they had bi-passed where they needed to stop, right? Or maybe my brother wasn't on board after all. Maybe it was someone else. What would take place next, to this day almost seems to go through my mind as though it were all happening in slow motion. As I got out of my car and neared the emergency room entrance, ahead and to the right I saw my mother, laying on the street by the entrance, screaming, an agonizing scream that I will never get out of my mind with family and hospital staff gathered around her. I looked to the left and there was my father coming from the side of the hospital morgue where he had just been through the unimaginable worst parent's nightmare of identifying the body of his son. From that point forward, to be quite honest, I really have very little memory of the events that would follow.
It's difficult to describe just how completely "out of your mind" you are when tragedy such as this strikes. It's just beyond anything you could ever possibly prepare for and looking back in retrospect, it becomes apparent that in that moment of emotional shock and trauma, all things surrounding that traumtic experience become in essence, "a blur." I do vaguely remember that the several days that would follow would be marked as I robotically went through the motions in survival mode by events such as these: our small town was almost seemingly shut down, our high school closed and then re-opened with a team of grief counselors depoloyed, the newspapers displayed my brother's senior photo on the front page along with his obituary, the news and media seemingly replayed the scene over and over that would show what I came to learn was my brother's body, covered by a sheet, and all you could see were the sneakers on his feet. A sense of shock and disbelief filled my being. It was like the worst nightmare I had ever had and it was almost as if I was robotically going through the motions just knowing that I would soon wake up and find that this had all been a very bad dream. I never awoke from this nightmare and before I knew it I was sitting at my little brother's side, all that was left of his life, his coffin, cascaded with flowers, his senior photo displayed, with Harry, my stregnth at the time, my other little brother and my parents, who were highly medicated by their doctors in efforts to keep them remotely functional, as we proceeded to receive the multitudes of a receiving line blocks long! The one thing I do remember very vividly was the ride that seemed to be the longest ride of my life - the ride in the Funeral Director's car that would follow a herse, vehicles following behind with headlights on, in a line that was likely miles long for the burial service! To the final epiphany, by far the worst good-bye I have ever had to say, when all that was left to hug and kiss good-bye was his coffin, a coffin I couldn't seem to let go of, covered with the tears that have never seemed to stop flowing, just before they would lower it into the ground and all that would be left would be a grave that displayed a stone with his name on it. A grave that is still sobering to visit to this very day, 17 years later.
I will end this particular post here with Part 1, which I have specifically written in this strategic way for the purpose of sparing my very much still grieving parents the re-living of the the details surrounding this tragedy. They are my biggest fans and supporters of my ministry and faithfully follow this blog and I have asked that they not read Part 1 of this posting. God has placed a call on my life and I have very much had to rely on the grace and mercy He has supplied for me to share these places in my heart that if it were up to me, I would never chose to dig up and re-live but for the sake of ministry and obedience I will endure it, however I will not do so at their demise. If I am to effectively minister, I cannot hold back, it's important to someone to be able to connect and relate and so although believe me I have left out many details, I have shared more of them than I feel my mother and father need to re-visit. So how do you walk in victory when tragedy such as this strikes? Part 2....
May I introduce you to my little brother? His name was Gregory Allen Foster, Jr. He was 2 years younger than me. We were like most siblings. We played together, played sports together, built forts together, climbed in each other's beds during thunderstorms, we fought and called each other names, but boy, Lord help the kid on the bus who called either of us that same name. We loved one another deeply and stood up for one another through thick and thin. Our lives were difficult and both brothers and I were knit together very closely as a result. We had each other. When mom and dad worked long hours, I would babysit my brothers and in some ways took on the role of care giver, getting their breakfasts, helping to get them on the school bus, helping with homework when we got back home, getting the house cleaned up, laundry done, dinner started before our parents got home from work. As we grew older, we entrusted our secrets to one another, had crushes on each other's best friends, collaborated on how to sneak in the next stray dog we found, called on one another in moments of crisis, etc. We were siblings, but we were friends!
He grew into a very tall, dark, and handsome young man. He was the brother that all my girlfriends thought was "cute!" :) He wasn't flashy, very much down to earth. From child to teen years, he was all heart. He loved family, especially our grandparents who held a special place in his heart, friends were friends for life, he was loyal, he wore his heart on his sleeve, he always stood up for the "under dog," he had a tender heart for animals, and everything he did, he did with all his heart, for better or worse! :) He had a girlfriend, who he loved deeply. He was a very gifted art student and he expressed himself through his drawings. He was also a star football player, #25, his number now officially retired, receiving awards and team captain, leading his team to state championships at the Syracuse Dome in Upstate NY.
Unfortunately, like many teens, an after game party here, back road party there led him to delve into the scene of experimentation with alcohol and marijuana. Fast forward to April 28, 1994, the day that would re-define the lives of our family, leaving us forever changed, less than 2 months prior to what would have been his high school graduation.
School was closed that particular day. Greg and some friends at some point decided to "hang out" with one another at a location they often went to near train tracks. I had just seen him and spoken with him the evening before. I had come into town for an appt to look at an apartment I was interested in renting. He was riding his bike as he often did, saw me driving down the same street, pulled up next to my car, I told him I was in a hurry, late for my appt to see this apartment but that I would stop by my mom's house nearby when finished to catch up with him. Well, as life calls, my 2 year old son, (Greg's first born nephew who he loved and babysat for often as I was a single mom working several jobs - as I said above, family was everything to him), was fussy and ready for bed after the appt, so I took him straight home rather than going to my mom's as I had told my brother and little did I know at the time, that would be my last conversation with him!
I remember explicidly as if it were just yesterday, the man I had just began dating 8 months prior at the time, now my husband of 15 years, and I were spending time together that evening. He was over at my apartment, Zachary had been put to bed for the evening and I specifically remember that we were watching "Friends" on TV which was all the rage in 1994! The phone rang and on the other end would be news so unexpected, so devastating, it would change the rest of my life as I knew it. I was told that there had been a terrible accident involving a train, my brother Greg was involved, and what I was told at the time, was that his leg had been injured, (the grace I needed in that moment to allow me to safely and sanely drive to the hospital), and that I needed to get to the hospital right away and that my family would meet me there to explain further.
From that point forward, much of what happened is very much still a blur. Somehow, again by the grace of God, and I mean that very literally, Harry and I gathered Zachary from his crib, got in the car and drove toward the hospital. We were not far down the road (this tragedy had occurred just a couple of miles from my apartment) and we began to see all of the emergency vehicle lights off in the field in the distance. I just knew something horrific was transpiring before my very eyes. An ambulance pulled out from a road that led to train tracks just before our vehicle reached that point and we would continue to follow that ambulance only several miles away to the hospital but it seemed as if we followed it for hours not knowing what exactly was going on, was my brother on board, what were the extent of his injuries, etc. To this day, I remember the feeling I had in the pit of my stomach and I recall that what I knew in the depth of my being was that I was preparing for the unfathomable.
We finally arrived at the emergency entrance of the hospital where I also was an employee. As an employee there, I knew that the ambulance for some reason was bi-passing the ambulance entrance to the emergency room and was heading toward the entrance of the morgue. There must have been a mistake. They surely did not know they had bi-passed where they needed to stop, right? Or maybe my brother wasn't on board after all. Maybe it was someone else. What would take place next, to this day almost seems to go through my mind as though it were all happening in slow motion. As I got out of my car and neared the emergency room entrance, ahead and to the right I saw my mother, laying on the street by the entrance, screaming, an agonizing scream that I will never get out of my mind with family and hospital staff gathered around her. I looked to the left and there was my father coming from the side of the hospital morgue where he had just been through the unimaginable worst parent's nightmare of identifying the body of his son. From that point forward, to be quite honest, I really have very little memory of the events that would follow.
It's difficult to describe just how completely "out of your mind" you are when tragedy such as this strikes. It's just beyond anything you could ever possibly prepare for and looking back in retrospect, it becomes apparent that in that moment of emotional shock and trauma, all things surrounding that traumtic experience become in essence, "a blur." I do vaguely remember that the several days that would follow would be marked as I robotically went through the motions in survival mode by events such as these: our small town was almost seemingly shut down, our high school closed and then re-opened with a team of grief counselors depoloyed, the newspapers displayed my brother's senior photo on the front page along with his obituary, the news and media seemingly replayed the scene over and over that would show what I came to learn was my brother's body, covered by a sheet, and all you could see were the sneakers on his feet. A sense of shock and disbelief filled my being. It was like the worst nightmare I had ever had and it was almost as if I was robotically going through the motions just knowing that I would soon wake up and find that this had all been a very bad dream. I never awoke from this nightmare and before I knew it I was sitting at my little brother's side, all that was left of his life, his coffin, cascaded with flowers, his senior photo displayed, with Harry, my stregnth at the time, my other little brother and my parents, who were highly medicated by their doctors in efforts to keep them remotely functional, as we proceeded to receive the multitudes of a receiving line blocks long! The one thing I do remember very vividly was the ride that seemed to be the longest ride of my life - the ride in the Funeral Director's car that would follow a herse, vehicles following behind with headlights on, in a line that was likely miles long for the burial service! To the final epiphany, by far the worst good-bye I have ever had to say, when all that was left to hug and kiss good-bye was his coffin, a coffin I couldn't seem to let go of, covered with the tears that have never seemed to stop flowing, just before they would lower it into the ground and all that would be left would be a grave that displayed a stone with his name on it. A grave that is still sobering to visit to this very day, 17 years later.
I will end this particular post here with Part 1, which I have specifically written in this strategic way for the purpose of sparing my very much still grieving parents the re-living of the the details surrounding this tragedy. They are my biggest fans and supporters of my ministry and faithfully follow this blog and I have asked that they not read Part 1 of this posting. God has placed a call on my life and I have very much had to rely on the grace and mercy He has supplied for me to share these places in my heart that if it were up to me, I would never chose to dig up and re-live but for the sake of ministry and obedience I will endure it, however I will not do so at their demise. If I am to effectively minister, I cannot hold back, it's important to someone to be able to connect and relate and so although believe me I have left out many details, I have shared more of them than I feel my mother and father need to re-visit. So how do you walk in victory when tragedy such as this strikes? Part 2....
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ReplyDeleteIt's taken me 1 week to gain the courage to read this particular blog. I was only 13 at the time, but remember every single detail, as you have portrayed here. It seems like only yesterday... (Sigh) The world is lacking one heck of a great guy... May he rest in peace & his memory live on in our hearts forever! ((Hugs))
ReplyDeleteLove,
Mandi