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THE ELUSIVE GIFT OF TRAGEDY
by
Regina Rose Murphy

I turned and saw Jack, John’s best friend and his mother, crying and running towards us through the gate of the backyard. The instant I saw them, I knew the moment I’d dreaded since that astrology reading was here. Jack was screaming, “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

I asked as calm as I have ever spoken, “Is he dead?” After Jack said, “Yes,” I asked, “How?” and held my breath. I needed to know above all else that John didn’t suffer. The answer to this question was more important than anything else to me. Jack fell to his knees and then sat on the step with his head in his hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Between sobs, he said, “John didn’t wake up, and it’s my fault.”

I hugged him and told him, “It’s not your fault, no matter what happened. John and I both knew he was going to die and it was only a matter of how. What ever happened was not your fault.”

Jack’s mother was crying and David was sitting on the boat with his head in his hands not yet able to move. It took a long time for Jack to stop crying so I could do what I knew had to be done. Finally, Jack was able to explain why he felt it was his fault. “I took Alex to John’s house with me from a concert last night. I knew Alex was using oxy, and he begged John to buy him five oxy to hold him for a while. Another reason it’s my fault is because John asked me to let another friend, Sharon, come over to spend the night to help him stay off drugs until he made it to your house. I objected to Sharon coming over because she and I had had a falling out and I told John I didn’t want her around.”

So I asked, “Where is John now?” Jack led me to believe that the police had already been to the house and John’s body had already been removed. My first call was to the morgue, and I learned they had no record of him. My sister Teresa is a good friend of the Coroner, so she was my next call. I told her, “John has died from an overdose but we can’t find his body, so could you start calling? I’m going to John’s grandparents’ house to tell them what happened and get John Sr.’s phone number so I can let him know what happened.”

In all of this, I had not yet cried a tear. I just needed to take care of telling John’s father and sisters, and find my baby. I needed to find my baby. The terror of seeing his body kept me from breaking down. I was paralyzed in fear. Nothing scared me more than what I was about to face. I knew it would fall to me to identify his body. I had done it my dream and was terrified.

I had just finished reading the book about the life of St. Francis and Living with Soul, the book by Tony Stubbs. These books reminded me of what I needed to know in my heart to get through the next few days. There would be no blame. I did not even blame myself at this point. (There would be plenty of time for that later.) Each of us could trace back to something we should have done, or not done, that would have changed what had just happened. I knew Mother Mary had John safe in her arms and he would never cry again in pain.

A priest, Father Joseph O’ Brian, director of the St. Therese Center for HIV and AIDS where I had volunteered as a massage therapist for many years, would be able to say the funeral Mass at the Shrine of The Most Holy Redeemer Church across from the Luxor Hotel. I knew the power of this Sacrament for helping the soul pass through the stages of ascension into the higher levels of light. Although I do not agree with what most religions do, I am aware of the sacredness of the Holy Sacraments, Mass and Holy Communion being two of the most powerful. I was thrilled that I could have a funeral Mass said for John. Friday was the first day available at the church and I took it.

Wednesday was a private viewing for immediate family only, so no one but the family knew about it. I was glad I could have some time with my son before all of his and our friends and business associates would be there. I was exceptionally frightened about seeing his body for the first time. Sheer panic took over. In my heart, I thought I might die from sadness by just looking at him. This was more frightening for me than anything I could imagine. I have never been afraid of anything more than one of my children dying and now I had to face that one of them actually had. This was the thing I had dreaded and tried so hard to prevent. Had the warning that this could have happen been a blessing or a curse for me? What if it was a self-fulfilling prophecy? Could I have brought this upon him because I believed the original prediction?

The ride to the funeral home was like going to my own execution, with everything in extra slow motion. John was in the largest chapel, so even the walk to his coffin took forever. David and I arrived early in case I went completely nuts and he had to get me out of there. Finally I was beside the coffin and getting ready to kneel before it. I was calm and still breathing. Even in death, John was beautiful and I loved him so. I wondered how it would it feel to touch my child’s cold hand. Would I die then? I felt he was still there.

My eyes began to play trick on me, for I saw his eyelids move. I felt he was communicating with me already and that he would never stop.

There were only two members of my family I could even mention this to. My daughter Michelle and my niece Jen … and they both had the exact same feeling. We knew everyone else would think we were crazy, so we just spoke about these things when we were alone.

On Thursday morning, the day of the public viewing and the Rosary, I was supposed to have been in the advanced training of Steve Rother’s Spiritual Psychology class. Steve was going to do the channel at the retreat house in Mt. Charleston, and invited me to get the Group’s perspective on John’s death. The channeling was early in the morning so we would still have plenty of time to get to the funeral parlor by one o’clock. I invited Dominique, Jack and Brian, another close friend of John’s, to come with David and me. On the way up to the retreat house, we started to listen to John’s original music to choose which songs to play at the service that night. There were hundreds of songs to sort through. I knew Jen and John Sr. were going to sing. I had requested Tears in Heaven by Eric Clapton, the song he wrote after his five year old son passed away. Jamie had asked her father to sing that song at her sixteenth birthday party. The video we have of that song at the birthday party showed both John and his father through the whole song. John was only six then and was singing it along with his dad. I couldn’t believe he would now sing it at his son’s funeral.

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