I remember a conversation my sister once had with my mother. She said "no one from my roommate's graduating class, or any of her other classmates, have died." That may seem like an innocent statement but, the truth is, our high school has a rather high mortality rate. I'm not talking inner city school mortality rate where kids are getting shot in a drive-by, but compared to most of my friends from college, the number is pretty high.
From my first day of high school in 2005 through today, I can think of at least six former classmates that have passed away. Skateboard accident, knife fight, overdose, car crash, cystic fibrosis, and diving accident being the causes. Now, the young man with CF? Yes it was unexpected since he'd just had a lung replacement, but there had always been that fear of his death. But the other five? There was no warning, no preparing yourself: it was just an ice cold slap in the face.
I write this today for the young man who passed on from the diving accident, Kevin Piper. Now, I wasn't best friends with Piper. In fact, I'm not sure if he even knew my name. But I dated his neighbor for nearly two years and drove by his house every time I went to the boyfriend's house to ride the boat or watch movies. The boyfriend, who we'll call David, was sort of a big brother to the kids in the neighborhood. There were a number of boys on the street, and they all played football and went fishing with David. I'd love hearing the stories about how David had to go out on the boat and tow so-and-so back in, or how such-and-such had caught a good sized snapper, only to have a shark come up and take it. I feel like I knew all of these boys better thanks to these stories.
Last night I went out with a friend downtown. I'd gotten a text from David saying he wanted someone to talk to, but I didn't pay much attention and figured it could wait until I got home since my phone was dying. When I finally got home, plugged my phone in, and had it come back to life, I had a text from one of my best friends. It stated merely "Who is the Kevin kid that everyone is talking about on Facebook?" Naturally, I hop onto my Facebook page and the first status I see is from a younger neighbor of mine saying, simply, "RIP Kevin Piper." Now I'd run through the Kevins I knew in my head, and little Piper wasn't one of them because he was always "Little Piper" not "Kevin." Immediately I call David and leave a message, begging and pleading, asking him to tell me it isn't that Piper. Not 16 year old Piper the spearfish junkie and cashier at my grocery store. Not that Piper. How could it be? He's only 16. He can't die. He's barely lived!
But I search for him on Facebook and up pops Kevin Piper, bagger and cashier at Publix, with a wall full of "Rest in Peace"s and "I can't believe you're gone"s.
The shock of seeing the news of the death of someone so young.... It's indescribable. I had seen him a few weeks earlier when he'd rung up my groceries. I'd hoped that he hadn't recognized me because I'd had a bad day at work, I was in sweats and a t-shirt, and buying ice cream, Oreos, milk, and a trashy magazine. He just kind of smiled with a look that said, "Rough day, eh?" I just swiped my card and left before he recognized me. Who'd have thought that would be my last time seeing him? Like I said, I didn't know Piper well, but he was sort of a fixture at Publix. His dad was the manager, and Piper Jr. had worked there for years. You go to Publix, you see Little Piper: that's just how it was. I go to David's, I see Piper. That's just the ways things are. And to think that the next time I go and buy my bad-day antidotes, I won't get a sympathetic glance from Little Pipe is just impossible. It's inconceivable. It's ridiculous. It should be blasphemous. But, sadly, it is the truth.
Arthur Schopenhauer once said "All truth passes through three stages. First, it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as being self-evident." Truer words were never spoken. I almost choked when I saw the name "Kevin Piper" attached to an RIP status. The mere idea that this vivacious 16 year old kid could be resting in peace? He was so full of life, that the idea that he was gone from this life was unthinkable. Ridiculous.
Once it began to sink in... That's when the violent opposition came. I called David, begging him to tell me that I was wrong. That Little Piper couldn't be gone. I went downstairs and told my parents, then adamantly refused to believe that he could have gone in a diving accident. It's SCUBA 101: you don't dive alone. Surely no one would dive to 120 feet by themselves. The mere idea! He could have buddy breathed to the top. His buddy could have reminded him that time was almost up and he needed to hit the surface. He wouldn't have made that mistake. The people wishing him eternal peace were mental. He couldn't have just died.
"Grief is the agony of an instant, the indulgence of grief the blunder of a life." - Benjamin Disraeli
To dwell on the grief would not only be counterproductive, but selfish. I wasn't his parent, I wasn't his sibling, I wasn't a relation, I wasn't a friend, I was barely an acquaintance. I read the postings by his girlfriend and sister and knew that if they could put on a brave face and get through this, then what right did I have to wallow in grief? There will be time for that when his memorial occurs. For now, it is time to put on a brave face, get back to work, and send my prayers and thoughts to his family. If I felt such pain for someone I barely knew, what agony must they feel?
But, such is life. Everyone dies at some point or another; many too soon. All we can do is support their family and friends, send strength, good thoughts, and prayers their way, and acknowledge that he is in a better place. Kevin Piper Jr. was certainly an adventurer and, as J.K. Rowling so aptly said, "Death is but the next great adventure." Best wishes on your great adventure, Little Piper. Until we meet again...
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