9/05

I had originally posted this on August 27, 2005 but I needed to post it again. September 5, 1997 was on a Friday too:



The date was September 5, 1997. A little boy, 3, a little girl,2, and a lady were asleep in their apartment. They had fallen asleep in the living room while watching Cartoon Network. The kids had fallen asleep first and the lady wondered momentarily if she should carry them to their bedrooms but decided against it as their grandmother would be returning home from work soon and they could put the kids in bed then. Not an unusual event for any of them. The lady stretched out on the other couch and in no time had dozed off herself.

She was awakened by the smoke. Sitting straight up on the couch, she called for the children. It was then that she realized the entire wall by the front door was on fire. Not being able to see through the smoke, she had to rely on the children's voices to give her an approximation of where they were. She runs to the front door, grabbing one child's hand as she goes. She doesn't know which child it is, just that it's one of them. She opens the door and pushes the child through it. As she turns around to grab the other child no more than 3 feet away, the room explodes and throws her across the hallway into the door of the other apartment.

By this time the neighbors are there, the living room is engulfed in flames, someone's calling 911 and someone has gone to the back to try to get into the apartment that way. It's impossible. The lady is still trying to get through the front door to reach her other child but the neighbors are holding her back because (as she was told later) the heat was simply too intense to get through. She can hear her child calling her name, screaming for her. So she keeps trying to get in. But she can't. It isn't until the fire department comes and forcibly removes her that she stops.

So they can do their jobs.

The fire department is notified, however, that the lady's upstairs neighbors have a propane grill on the balcony upstairs. At that point, they refuse to go in to try to rescue the child, because "it's too dangerous." They simply try to put the fire out. It seems to go on forever.

At some point, the lady really doesn't know when because time and reality have ceased to exist for the moment, the fire is extinguished. She knows that her child didn't make it, but hopes against all hope anyway.

She walks up to a fireman and asks him "Did you find the little girl?" He responds "Yeah, what was left of her." Torn between being dying herself and wanting to kill this man, she simply says "I'm her mother" and walks away. The fireman rushes after her saying that he didn't know and she tells him "That shouldn't have mattered."

Briana Grace Brown died on September 5, 1997. We buried her on September 10, 1997. Rachel (her grandmother)...her father died on September 17th, exactly one week after Briana's funeral. He couldn't take it.

In the space of six months, from March 17, 1997 to September 17, 1997 I lost my mother, my father, Briana, and the man who had been like a second dad to me. And I don't mean to lessen the others but Briana was my child. She's the one that ...when her life ended, so did half of mine.

During the week of the funeral, we stayed at Rachel's sister's house until we could find another place. One day I was sitting in the bedroom and watched someone come out of the bathroom. And I knew that there were razor blades in the bathroom. And it just seemed like it would be so easy and mercifully quick. I was getting up to go there when two thoughts stopped me.

1. If you do this you'll go to hell and you'll never see her again.

2. What would Josh do? He wouldn't be able to deal with both of you gone. You have to be there for him, even if you don't feel like you're going to make it yourself.

And so I stopped.

In December of 1996, I had a tattoo put on my upper right arm. It is the only one I have. It is a phoenix. At the time, I liked the symbolism of rising up from the ashes. If only I had known how prophetic it would turn out to be 10 months later.

It's getting close to that time of year again. Briana would have been 13 years old this year. Some days are good, some not so good. Some nights I can go to sleep. Some nights I still hear her screaming my name and I cry myself to sleep.

Joshua and I talk about it sometimes, more often than not we don't. See, we were the only ones there that night and we already know what the other one's going through. It's a bond we share, one that neither one of us would have chosen voluntarily. But oftentimes it makes conversation unnecessary.

I get glimpses of her every now and again. The way Josh will move his hand or tell a joke and laugh at himself like she used to...a little girl who looks just like her but isn't her..and I feel her around me sometimes it seems. Crazy? I don't think so. I think it's just God's way of sending comfort my way.

I just hope that when I get to Heaven she remembers me and finds no fault with how I've turned out.

Why did I decide to tell this? Because I wanted everyone to know that there once was a girl named Briana Grace Brown.

And she was loved more than you will ever know.


Peace alllll..............