Chapter 2

“When you suddenly lose your entire family, the shock stops your brain from processing anything while you absorb what happened.”

It was two weeks after waking up in Kyle’s body. So far, I’d managed to avoid losing my poise and being thought mentally ill. The pressure was enormous, but after a couple of weeks of carefully tip-toeing through the minefield of Kyle’s life, I was still pulling it off enough to continue to fly under the radar of prying eyes.

It was a Friday and it was my day to address the senior class as my final project, which would account for fifty percent of my English grade for the year. With having lost his parents just about a year earlier, Kyle had chosen to present a ‘proper chat’ about his experience with depression.

My head was full of Kyle’s pain and sorrow as he dealt with the crushing loss of his family. I could identify with him after losing Karen, Maeve, and Rosemary. It was different for him than for me.

Similar, but different.

His notes were perfect. They allowed me to stand up in front of his peer group and speak conversationally about the death of his family and teenage suicide. With the added benefit of having had many of Kyle’s thoughts and memories downloaded into my head, I felt scared and confident in trying. The teachers were equally frightened about how the presentation would go and thrilled that someone the same age as their students would speak about a topic as emotional as teen suicide. Communicating with teenagers about something as dangerous as that, while sharing how to recognize the symptoms and encouraging them to speak up to someone in authority with the power to act was practically impossible ... unless the information came from a peer.

“When everyone you love is taken ... without time to prepare ... when ... everything you depend on is suddenly gone. Realizing that I would never again see my family again, never speak to them, give and get a hug ... never just sit down and talk about my day, or hear about theirs ... with the people who were always there ... it was ... it ... was ... well ... it was at times like I was the one dead ... instead of them...”

“The thing that I found hardest to deal with was the silence.” As I spoke, Kyle’s voice was loud in my head. It was Kyle speaking, not me. “The house...” I wasn’t ready to call it my house, yet. “The house was the place of loud music, talking, laughter, arguments, doors slamming, cupboards opening and closing, people coming and going, and all of those other sounds of life.”

“When the shock and grief finally let up, the only thing left was silence. That hurt the most. The silence was so loud ... for a long time it was all I could hear...”

“At first, when I woke up in the hospital, and they told me that my ... everyone ... was dead ... I didn’t notice the silence because my entire being was consumed with shock and grief. Everywhere I turned the house reminded me of what I couldn’t hear anymore. For a long time I’d wake up in the middle of the night and listen, straining to hear ... them ... anyone ... anything.

“Some of you remember when I wouldn’t talk. Lots of people thought that it was because I was still damaged from the crash.

“I’m sorry...”

I said it softly ... so softly that the students in the crowded auditorium had to concentrate to hear what came next.

“I’m sorry. The only way I could keep from crying was to lock it all away in my head and fight with all my strength to keep it from overwhelming me.

“Grief...

“Grief is toxic. I know what I’m talking about. The grief controlled me so completely that most of you assumed I couldn’t talk due to my injuries.