In a couple of weeks it will be 4 years since the most difficult night of my life. It started innocently enough although on a bittersweet note. My best friend and I decided to divorce about a month short of our 2 year wedding anniversary. It wasn’t a sudden impulse by any means, we’ve known it for the majority of the time spent together but kept delaying the inevitable. We were bound by ties of friendship that night when we took off our matching gold bands in unison on our way to celebrate a new chapter of our life.
I wore a new dress. It was in style of Marilyn Monroe, with voluminous skirt and fitted bodice. I paired it with a vintage pearl necklace purchased during First Friday Chinatown festivities some months prior. Our first stop was Ohana karaoke, an old-time establishment in Kailua that has since relocated to Waimanalo, the block on which it once was unrecognizable now with posh boutiques and juice bars. We sat at a large round table booth, enjoying pupus and drinks, standing up to sing. Suddenly, my dress skirt caught on the table and ripped. I was sad, my brand new dress torn but I could not have foreseen how symbolic that tear will be. In Jewish tradition mourners tear their clothes, partly as an expression of their grief, partly to symbolize that the body is only a garment that the soul wears and that the soul persists after it is torn by death.
For me, my marriage died that night, but my friendship would emerge stronger than ever. But that night was the scariest night of my life, for I have never come as close to death of the body as I had then. After singing we left Ohana and went to a popular Kailua bar, started mingling with the crowd. The night was drawing to a close, I started looking for Eric. At first calm, I became very nervous. I knew it was our first night of freedom but I also knew he would not leave without a word. Someone from the bar started walking around the building with me. And then I saw him, curled and motionless on the ground of the parking lot, his shirt torn, his face covered with blood. I screamed. The next moments are a bit of a blur. I was scared to touch him, I was scared he was dead. People started pouring out of the bar, soon the ambulance was taking him away. I don’t know why I wasn’t going with him, the police drove me home. Soon I was calling Queen’s Medical Center frantically but they would not give me any answers.
It was 3 a.m., hysterical I knocked at my neighbor’s door. She advised me to change, wipe my mascara covered face and we drove from Kailua to town. Those were the longest moments. In the hospital, Kathy stood beside me as the doctor delivered the news: he was unconscious, with blood loss and fractures to the skull. My heart sunk. Over the next couple of days I stayed next to him in a pull out chair, mindlessly watching tiny ICU room TV. A large breathing tube was in his throat, his eyes closed. Couple of my co-workers came in to bring me some snacks, couple of his co-workers came and sat with me. Kathy came back with her son. I felt so scared and despite everyone around, alone. Hour after hour, my best friend not being able to talk to me, immobile. The doctor told me they were not sure what his neurological functions would be, if he will be able to write or speak as before.
Finally the day came when the tube was removed. He writhed on the bed, disoriented. He was in so much pain. His ear was bleeding. I barely could stand watching it, my heart hurting so much for him. We went home and for weeks he laid in bed, barely able to eat, taking anti-seizure medication. I helped him walk to the bathroom. At first I was home too, he could not be left alone. It was breaking me to see him hurt so much but I knew I need to be grateful, he was alive, he could speak, he could write. Later tests found no brain damage, only bleeding, neurologist telling us that he was very lucky. We only spoke of the parameters of the story to the doctors, Eric had no recollection of the attack. The bruises and scabs on the face were visible reminders of what had happened and his constant head pain and ringing in the ear a knowledge I was keenly aware of. The first weeks were very difficult, neighbors helped though bringing groceries and Thanksgiving dinner. I went back to work, initially just part-time to be with him. After couple of months he was able to go back to work too. Then came countless appointments with the ear doctor, a surgery, but hearing in one ear mostly gone for life, a new head gesture--leaning and turning to hear--always a reminder of difference.
We did not talk about the divorce for about three months after that night, it wasn’t really important. What was important was that he kept getting stronger, and that he would never be alone. The night I almost lost my closest friend was the most painful night of my life. I wanted us to run away, scared that the attacker was somewhere among us in Kailua. I threw away my dress and his torn shirt. We stayed and life went on, differently, but it continued. After a year I did end up moving, to San Diego, and missed my friend tremendously. His heart is good and his spirit is complex and light. Coming back to the island a few months ago, I saw Eric strong and confident and I was so glad to be in his company. I can’t wait to wish him blessings of love and health, creativity and prosperity at his wedding, for the trials he endured on the road to happiness were many and I am so happy to have him in my life.