Twenty two years ago, today, I lost someone that made my heart sing. He was a a friend, a love and a soul mate. There has been no other that could compare to the light Paul shone on the lives of those that knew him. Paul Gregory Flowers wanted to be a gangsta' but honestly he was as sweet as a human being could be. He might have attempted to punch his brother in the face, but Jeff deserved it. And that's what brothers do sometimes, when they're young, passionate and wild. Paul and I argued until dawn so many nights, usually about philosophy, religion and... serial killers. We disagreed, yes, constantly, about the patriarchy and many other issues, but it was always with good humor. Paul planned on being a polygamist, and having all his wives barefoot and pregnant. He knew how to rile me up. He said family was the most important thing in the world. I didn't agree, I was career driven. We debated non stop, and agreed to disagree every time. Now, I know Paul was right. Only after losing him did I reassess my values. Every moment is precious, every day with someone you love is sacred. I am so mad at myself that it took losing him to fully listen to the words he spoke, and be present to those around me. Paul, near the end of his life, told me that I needed to be successful. I think he meant monetarily, but now my priorities have shifted. I am successful. I'm a mother, a wife, a daughter and a friend. I'm also a Godmother, God-grandmother, aunt, sister and a pretty well-rounded and thoughtful human being. Success. I think I did it, buddy. I know your spirit is out there, still loving me, and I love you too. Always, Your Number One Ace. This was written in 2011, it's a tune. I'm still working out the music. I could have easily gone, but you left me here. Tell me, twin, are you drinking beer In Heaven? I started living your dream The whole happy family I’m finally a Queen… Of Nothing…and Nowhere. And little bird are you finally free? Did I become you When you became me? In Heaven My dreams are so blurry Now you’ve gone away The fire has gone But the panties will stay In Heaven Always thought you would be there Your laugh and your touch Not your brains in my hair In Heaven I will succeed I made a promise. wrestle for the knife and seal it with a Kiss. Your Heaven. I didn’t die That’s why I’m still here, Drinking the whiskey and Smoking their fear My Heaven. So here I go Wasting my time Hustling my friends For a dollar or dime It’s not Heaven, my Brethren. Success? by whose standards? Surely not mine. I will find you when it’s my time In Heaven This was written in 2010, in an effort to shed light on the shadow. The pain changes, but never actually heals.
Waterfall of Sorrow I will share my nightmare death experience in hopes that reliving this will some how heal my broken heart or take the place of the therapy I should have received. I sometimes wonder if the last twelve years of my life I’ve been lost in purgatory and I am truly dead, but unaware, similar to Bruce Willis’s character in the movie, “The Sixth Sense.” It happened on July 28th 1999. I was smoking a cigarette on my back porch in the middle of the wilderness aka Penn Valley, California. I lived on a foothill surrounded by dark nights and trees, and I heard a rustle under me. The animal under me sounded heavy. “A deer,” I told myself, and I didn’t question why a deer would squeeze into a small 4’x 4’x 6’ area and then be still. I was tired and I went straight to bed (after brushing and flossing, of course). The phone rang at 2AM. I answered it. This was not unusual, my best friend called every night for the past few months, ever since I was dumped by my unofficial husband of six years. Paul normally called at this hour because I was an insomniac and would have been just getting settled and ready to chat about the day’s activities. Paul was usually still up drinking and he liked to sweet talk before he passed out. “You’re sleeping?” Paul asked when he heard my groggy greeting. I laughed and turned on the light ready for our evening exchange when I looked down and saw two large, muddy, man footprints right next to my bed as if some one had been standing over me while I slept. Some one HAD been standing over me while I slept. I yelled and thought back to earlier in the evening when I heard the rustle under the porch. It wasn’t a deer. The police had been out to my place 2 times prior to this new incident because my house had been broken into and notorious large, man footprints were found upstairs (where my mother occasionally lived). I didn’t know anything was stolen until much later; a full set of house keys that were placed in a drawer by my mother. She had been working and staying in Sacramento so I didn’t see her often. The first time I called the Police (at the recommendation of my ex-boyfriend) was when I came home it and it was as if some kids were playing a prank on me--every light was on, every drawer and every cupboard was wide open and all the doors and windows were wide open as well. Large footprints were in the hallway. My mother does not allow shoes on in her part of the house. And you could have fit 3 of my mother’s feet into one of the footprints. She had been gone for at least a week anyway. The second call was during a swimming party when a large log was thrown in my pool by an unidentified weirdo hiding in the bushes while a nine year old girl was swimming. Keep in mind I’m living on a hill in the middle of nowhere. It usually took the police about 45 minutes to an hour to get to my house, which is not unusual in this small town without its own police force. Paul took my panic seriously. He demanded I stay on the line and made sure I called him back using my cell phone before I hung up my house phone so we could stay connected until I was safely in my car on the way to his place (30 minutes away). He would have come to my place but he was inebriated and not able to drive, and could I pick him up a pack of Newports on the way over? He mentioned he had an extra gun for me to take back to my place. He didn’t feel I was safe there after I told him about the two other incidents and the new wet muddy footprints. His exact words were, “You’re going to wake up being raped with a gun to your head. This fool is getting too ballsy.” I stopped at the store, picked up the cigarettes and drove to Alta Sierra. It was almost 3AM at this point. I walked to the bottom section, where Paul lived went straight in and grabbed a beer. I cracked it sat down and slapped his smokes on the coffee table. He was playing with the gun. I knew it was loaded. I got angry at him because I didn’t think playing with a loaded .44 was a cool thing to do and I got up to leave. Paul apologized, set the gun on the table and unloaded it. I sat back down. He was drunk, babbling about leaving in a blaze of glory and grabbed the gun again and one bullet. He threw it in the chamber, spun it around, and put the .44 to his temple. He was sitting right next to me on his couch, my friend, my confidant, one of the only people in this world who ever truly loved me for who I was. I said, “If you kill yourself, you have to kill me too,” and I put my head up against his. BAM! The gun went off. I don’t remember screaming or getting up, I only remember standing like an idiot watching blood pour out of Paul’s head like a waterfall. His mother, father, brother, sister and sister-in-law all came running downstairs. They heard me screaming. They heard the gunshot. His sister-in-law grabbed a towel next to him and held it to his head to keep all the blood from dumping out. I’m a first responder, I should have done that. His lip trembled, and a tear slowly trickled down his face. His sister held his face gently and told him that he was the best brother in the world, she loved him, she forgave him and she knew it was a terrible accident. His brother, Jeff, yelled angrily, “Just go to the Light, Paul, you really did it. JUST GO TO THE LIGHT!” No one loved Paul like his brother. They were polar opposites, but closer than any brothers I’ve ever seen. Paul was 26-years old. His mother and father were frozen like me. I just held onto him. I couldn’t say a word. I felt paralyzed. The police or paramedics finally arrived about 30 minutes later. Paul was still alive, though unable to communicate and they pulled me off of him. I didn’t want to let go but I knew I had to; I was dragged toward the door. I saw him die. The light just went out and he slumped over. I collapsed in a swoon. The rest of the night was kind of a blur. I was in shock. I couldn’t cry, I just sat there and waited for people to give me instructions and I followed the orders robotically. The police talked to me for a minute, telling me to seek counseling, and informed me that Paul had pushed my head away in the last second when he realized the gun was going off, he had some sort of gun powder on his arm where my head was, that’s why I was not injured. My head was against his. The bullet went all the way through his head into the wall. They took a while to dig the bullet out of the wall, it was so deep. It could have been a double suicide; instead it was just a horrific accident. While the police were talking to me I was picking something out of my hair. It was brains, my best friend’s brains. Who can you tell that to? Paul had played Russian Roulette before. His sister's boyfriend had wrestled a gun away from a few nights before. His mother told me he did it once in front of her. His brother said he had seen him do it as well. It was absolutely heartbreaking. And there were signs. Signs that I didn't understand until it was too late. When Paul and I chatted he told me he was depressed. Instead of truly listening to him, I told him he was beautiful and that I loved him. I told him that he was a star. Sometimes stars burn too brightly and they explode and form a black hole. If only I knew then what I know now. At least ten of us including his mother, father, sister, brother, sister-in-law cousins and friends took his tattoo appointment the next week and we all were forever tagged with his initials or some kind of remembrance. It was a sweet gesture and I will forever love Paul’s family. I was blessed to share 10 years of friendship with Paul, but it wasn’t enough. It will never be enough. I never take a moment for granted, because everything can change in an instant. Death has touched me, and I will never be the person I was before it did. I never did find the stalker, I ran away. I guess I’m still running. Having feelings hurts. I miss Paul. No one ever calls me at 2AM.
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