Finding Gratitude in Sadness

“Life is “Brutiful”. Both beautiful and brutal.”  ~ Glennon Doyle Melton, author

It has taken me 5 years to gather up the courage to put this down on paper. I have written about it over and over in my head because that is what I do with everything. It is how I process, heal and resolve. However, with something this close to the heart I have hit a block every time. I haven’t been able to actually put pen to paper. It is scary for me to go back to that night, but what I have found is that I go back there regardless. So, I may as well do what I love and finally put that pen to paper, or keyboard to screen, but you get what I mean.

Five years ago today, I lost my brother in a sudden and tragic manner. No one would have predicted this or ever expected such a random death for a healthy, vibrant and talented young man.

It was the night before Thanksgiving, a night when many friends gather for a night of fun before the day of feasting. I suppose this ritual night out starts back in college when everyone is home for the holidays, and really doesn’t stop until having your own family prevents a night on the town. I was in the latter group on this particular night. I went to dinner with my husband and his parents (whom we would not be spending Thanksgiving with). After we decided to call it an early night even though my parents had our only son (at the time) staying at their house, we still opted out of a party night in lieu of a much needed good night of sleep.

At approximately 3am I woke up to see several missed calls on my silenced phone from my parents’ house. I panicked, thinking, “is my son okay??” I called back immediately, frantically asking if Jay was okay. My mom told me he was fine, but to come out to their house right away so she could go to the hospital where my brother was taken after he got in a “fight.” Very confused, I said, I wanted to go to the hospital too and that Jamie, my husband, would come to the house so she could leave and I would meet her at the hospital.

Quickly, we jumped in our cars and headed out of my in-laws neighborhood. I was driving in front with my husband behind me. We had not even made it out of the community before I received a call from my mom telling me, “just come home.” Her words and the tone of her voice told me all I needed to know. I jumped out of my car and my husband jumped out of his. I threw my phone at him and fell on the street. From that moment there are many moments that are a blur.

As my husband tells me, my mom told him to drive us out to their house about 45 minutes away. It was a long, silent drive. I remember the sun just starting to rise as we approached their community. I felt sick and scared.

As soon as we arrived I sprinted inside to see my mom lying on the ground by the fire, wailing and my dad standing over her, an image that will never be forgotten.

I had trouble comprehending what my dad was telling me. My brother was in a coma, and would not wake up??  He said there he had suffered brain death and we couldn’t get him back.

I refused to believe this. There was no way. This was not going to happen. I was going to use all the prayer in the world to bring on a miracle. I immediately took to the phone and started texting, calling and emailing every person I knew asking them to pray. I called the priest at our local church. I was determined that my brother would live and the power of prayer would do it.

Shortly after, we headed to the hospital. I don’t remember the time or in what car I went to the hospital, but I do clearly remember walking into that hospital room and seeing my brother lying there. He didn’t look like a man who was “dead.” He had very little markings on him and he was breathing. Of course, he was not breathing on his own, but to me he looked fine, just like he was sleeping. I laid by his side on the bed. I cried and prayed. There was no way my brother was really gone. I (we) asked for opinion after opinion. Several doctors came in to examine CJ and many tests were conducted. They all came to the same conclusion that he was gone. I was convinced they were wrong but also knew that all we could hope for was a miracle.

Throughout Thanksgiving Day, the hallway was filled with family and friends that had come to pray for CJ. Some even flew in from out of state. It was a testament to how many lives he had touched. It was beautiful.  We all sat there praying for a Thanksgiving miracle.

But alas, the miracle we all prayed for was not to happen, and slowly each visitor came in to say their goodbyes. I lay numbly by my brother and cried silently for the majority of them. I didn’t want to leave him. Finally, it was my time to say goodbye. I can’t even remember if I actually said the words ‘goodbye’ or what I said at all. My last memory is of his face, holding his hand, kissing him on the cheek and telling him l loved him.

In those first few weeks, I felt gut wrenching pain. I often wondered when the pain would go away. I had asked a friend’s mom, who had lost her brother many years back, “When would it stop hurting?” The pain in her eyes told me, she still hurt. After five years, I understand it will never go away. The shock lessens, but the pain does not.

As I write this, I weep as though I am almost back in that hospital. The phone call still haunts me to this day and I can’t hear sirens without part of me tensing up. I am different. Life is different, but still good, as my mom has said. I wish with all of my heart that my children knew their amazing uncle CJ. Yet, I am so grateful I have them because I see a part of CJ in them and their innocent joy has helped us all heal.

This is especially true of my second son whom was born almost a year to my brother’s passing. Perhaps he was the miracle that God would grant.

I had been trying to get pregnant for over a year and my desire was to have a girl seeing as I already had a boy. Yet, in the hazy days after my brother passed, I remember a dark moment where on my knees I prayed to God, “please send me back a piece of my brother.” When I found out I was having a boy it was almost hard to handle, hard to believe and accept that perhaps what I had prayed was actually coming true.

I took the news of the pregnancy as God telling me, telling my family that he had not abandoned us. It gave us all some comfort. It didn’t take away the pain one bit, but it gave us a reason to smile. So did my other son who was almost two years-old at the time.

In December of 2010, Thomas Clinton Johnson was born exactly one year and 11 days after my brother’s passing, and one year, five days before the day of his service. From the moment he was born, he was happy, and even resembled CJ. Yes, it appeared my prayer had been answered: here was the piece of my brother I had asked for in the darkest of moments.

Now, I know what they say about true smiles not happening until about 2 months old, but this boy smiled that night. It is a moment I will always remember. As he fell asleep in my arms, his lips curved up so slightly as he took a sigh of contentment and drifted off. This boy was a gift to us all when we needed it most.

I had spent 9 months very worried that my sadness and emotional stress would affect this baby in a negative way. That he, too, would carry my sadness. I could see right away that the opposite was true. Thomas is now about to turn four, and that happy and content little baby is now a happy and content little boy.  God had a plan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I still don’t understand why He would allow a young man so good, so loved and with so many wonderful years ahead of him to be taken so suddenly and tragically, nor will I ever understand.

All I do know is that my life is still incredibly blessed. My three children, my husband, my parents, my extended family on all sides, and my friends fill my life with joy. Plus, I have the precious memories of 27 years with my first best friend and younger brother. No one can take those from me and I would choose to live it all again knowing the outcome.

It is cruelly ironic that my brother’s passing came on Thanksgiving. And believe me, I have my moments of irrational disdain for this holiday. However, it has also forced me to look long and hard at gifts I do have: To appreciate the people and moments that are here right now. I am not going to go around loathing Thanksgiving for the rest of my life or pretending it doesn’t exist (although I contemplated it) because that would be unfair to my children. They deserve a happy holiday and a time to reflect on our blessings. I choose to see this day through the eyes of my children and miraculously, it does indeed, seem a day to celebrate once more.

So this Thanksgiving, there will be tears of sadness and of joy, moments of silence and of laughter, and when we hold hands to pray, our hearts will be heavy but we have each other and for that I am GRATEFUL.

The investigation of the death of Clint Joseph Hubbard:

I know you are wondering what happened. Was there actually a fight? The fact is that we don’t know what really happened that night. It is a tale of a few stories. My family and I choose to believe what his friend and only true witness have told us of the night, simply because it makes the most logical sense.

The Friend:

According to his friend they were walking through the parking lot and CJ was several feet in front of him walking closely behind a man and woman that were arguing. The next thing his friend saw was the stunned look on my brother’s face as one side winding punch hit him in the temple and spun him around to face his friend. He then dropped to his knees and fell face forward, wrists down. His  injuries reflected such a fall, as well as the cracked face of his watch (They did not reflect that he tripped and fell. His knees were nearly identically injured and he did not put out his hands an automatic reflex for almost every conscious person. Why I mention this will become clear later on).

Then, according to his friend the man and the woman ran. This man has never been caught.

** The surveillance cameras at the venue were not working. Our family went on multiple news channels asking for help finding the man and although we received emails and phone calls with leads, nothing has ever come of it.

The Newport Beach Police Department:

After the autopsy came back showing it was not a brain aneurysm or a drug related accident, but that it was indeed trauma to the head that caused his death, the Newport Beach Police Department ruled it an accidental death. I was told, “he could have tripped.”

Where we stand now:

Like I said, no one knows exactly what happened that night/early morning, but to have his death ruled as accidental and to be merely filed away when so many signs pointing to the contrary, is unfortunate to say the least. My family and I have resolved that we may never know what actually happened that night and in some ways we are fine with this. Even if some man had punched CJ ending his life, we know it was accidental. Punishing this man, who is inevitably already punishing himself, would not bring CJ back. So perhaps justice in the traditional manner has not been served, but I have still managed to find peace and that truly is all I can hope to achieve in such tragic circumstances.

Shortly after my brothers passing, a group of us came together to form The CJ Hubbard Foundation. It is our way to honor the man we loved. For more information on the wonderful work of this foundation, please visit www.thecjhubbardfoundation.org