During the Fourth of July weekend, in 1989, my husband (at the time) and my eighteen month old daughter (at the time) went to see the fireworks with his cousin and her husband. I will call her Be and him Bo. Afterwards we went to Be and Bo's apartment to play cards, drinks a few beers, and catch up on old times. We put our daughter to bed in her portable playpen, and began to play Euchre. Soon we heard fireworks outside. Having completed a game it was perfect timing to go outside to see them.
We went out on the patio to ooh and ahh at a few streams of fireworks. We turned on the radio and asked who needed another beer. We all did, so I went to the kitchen with her to grab another and bring one back to my (then) husband. I returned to the patio to deliver the guys another and went back to the kitchen to help her get some snacks. Soon the guys followed back into the house, and off they went so Bo could show off his beginning gun collection. Soon, Bo brought his newest piece to show me, and although I admired it for a minute, I explained it made me nervous especially in the same room with my sleeping daughter. So he returned it to the next room, and my (then) husband went to pay his water bill (as beer makes that bill come due more quickly.)
Bo came back once again, and met us in the kitchen and helped us take the snacks to the coffee table. The three of us sat and nibbled. Bo apologized about bringing the gun out, hoping that I was not offended. I explained that it was fine as long as I knew it was put away. We began discussing if we were going to play Spades or continue with Euchre. I suggested we wait to hear what my husband thought. Meanwhile, I rubbed it in that we had won and warned that Spades was my favorite.
A few more minutes went by and I decided to go check on my husband. I knocked on the bathroom door and joked about throwing him a rope. Yet I got no response. Puzzled, I knocked again, and said sorry for the joke, and asked if he was okay in there, but there still was no answer. I walked back into the living room and asked to look through the music collection because it might be a few minutes. I browsed and they stepped out on the patio. I found a favorite and took it to them to request a play. Bo turned off the radio and put in the tape. Still not hearing anything from my husband, I told them he never answered, and I better go check in case he was sick or something.
I knocked once again, and once again I got no answer. I explained through the door that I was sorry to disturb his privacy, but could he at least answer me, so I would know he was okay. Still nothing! I banged real loud and repeated myself. Finally, nearing panic, I tried to open the door, to no avail. I banged even harder and pleaded and demanded that he answer me. I yelled now that I was going to get Bo to open the door if he didn't answer or come out. Just as I was turning around to get Bo, my husband fumbled with the door and stepped out of the bathroom.
As if in a daze he floated past me. I noticed beads of sweat streaming from his damp hairline down his face. I touched his shoulder and asked him, "honey are you alright?" He did not respond. Instead he went and sat rigidly in an armchair, white knuckling it. I starred at him as he clutched the arms of the chair with intensity. He appeared pale, and from the sweat, I figured that he was nauseous. I asked him if he was sick and if he wanted some water. He just starred ahead with a blank look on his face. For the lack of a better description, he looked like he had just seen a ghost. He did not respond verbally or physically in anyway. He seemed in shock! One more time I asked him if he needed anything, yet still nothing. Finally, I yelled to Be if she had anything for an upset stomach and to come look at him that I thought he was sick. She yelled back that there was some pink stuff in the bathroom and that I was welcome to it. I asked him if he wanted me to get it in the bathroom. As if it took extreme effort he finally looked at me and only said one single word, "no..."
Bewildered, I sat there looking at him, hoping for some type of explanation. I asked him if he was able to get up and if he wanted to go home. He slowly shook his head for a yes. I went on the patio and told them that I thought he was sick and that we were going to leave. I asked if they could help with the playpen. As we packed, he only gave a slight wave and went to the passenger side and sat down in the car. I thanked them and apologized for leaving like this, but they understood.
Once we were on the road I asked him what was wrong, and for him to please talk to me. He said to give him a minute, but to go, urging me to get going, while ensuring me that he would explain. I drove on in confusion. Something was just not right.
After every single second of every single minute of the next ten minutes passed, I pulled over when I noticed a few tears streaming down his check. Actually, I was scared. I asked him to please tell me what was going on. He looked at me with fright and took a deep breath of hesitation. He asked me to not laugh and to listen without interruption until he was finished. He made me promise that I would not think he was crazy. All of which I did as chills rolled over my flesh.
He said that while he was in the bathroom, the room changed. It changed to like a different time and although it was the same, it was different. He said it was as if the sky was above the bathroom without a ceiling, yet if you looked up the ceiling was right there. He said he felt a bit of panic and went for the door, but it was not there anymore. He said the bathroom elongated and became one with the bedroom. He said there was stillness about the whole scene that was eerie. Of course, I was beginning to have doubt, yet with every word he forced out I believed him more and more. He went on to explain that what happened next was what was unnatural.
He described that next, Bo came into the bedroom (now elongated bed/bathroom). He said he could see him, but that he could not quite hear things right, and that he realized he was starring down at him and that he could see himself or at least his own body standing there too. He said he wanted to run and get out of the bathroom, but that he could not move, in actuality he did not feel present in his own body and therefore even if he could find the door, he knew he was incapable to move, and the room/s were inescapable. He hung his head, and said he was not sure he should describe what happened next because it was the worst thing of his life.
With tears streaming down his face he described Bo walking over to the gun cabinet, reaching up to the gun that he had showed us earlier. He saw Bo taking it down and loading it. He said he saw Bo crying. He said that he then watched Bo shoot himself!
At this profession we both cried silently. He said he wanted to try to stop him, but he could not move that he felt frozen in time and disbelief. Finally, I asked him if he thought it was a premonition. He said he did not know what it was for sure, but that a premonition was exactly what he sensed it was. I asked him if we should say something to him or them or maybe just Be. He said that he did not think we should, that he himself hardly believed it, and that they would just think he was crazy. I suggested he think of, what if it was a premonition, and I pleaded that he reconsider telling them, but I recanted the request due to the pain I could see that it was causing him. He made me promise not to tell anyone, and I agreed because I could see it obviously terrified him. I wish that were the end of the story.
A little over a month later, I was sitting in class when I got a note requesting me to call my husband at home immediately. On the way to the payphone, I was frantically worried about my daughter, but before I reached the phone, I had a peculiar sense of ease about her, but the felling quickly turned to dread. After dialing the number he picked up on the first ring. He said hello, and I asked what was wrong? He did not hesitate with his response: "Bo shot himself last night!"
There was a long silence, and feelings of dismay from the news set in throughout my body. This was horrible! I knew he wished he had said something. I told him he really could not have known. I told him that I was sorry, and that I would be right home. Once I got there we both shared our grief and decided against telling anyone. We felt a sense of guilt for not saying anything before and did not want to bring upon anymore negativity. We have told many others since then, but we have not told anyone in the family in order to protect Be from any anguish and ourselves from any blame.
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