break it down again...

i've been asked to remove the content that I had up here. i took it down for a while, then edited it and put it back in a sanitized version. pierce will never leave my heart.

in dreams they come... with pain

Losing a loved one is bad enough. Losing a loved one and finding out about it at 7:30 AM on a sleepy Sunday morning is horrible. January 20, 2008, was the Sunday morning. Sipping coffee and looking over some e-mail. The phone rings and it is my father. His tone is panic. Urgency is in his voice. It seems a woman with the last name of "Wood" called my brother's home to report that my oldest son, John, had been transported to the East Baton Rouge Coroner's Office and morgue after expiring from a drug overdose while at the Baton Rouge Marriot Hotel.

My first feelings were of disbelief. But then my gray matter kicked in to suggest that Johnny's girlfriend lives in Baton Rouge, so it could very well be a genuine event. We began calling every number we could trying to find him. Pierce didn't answer his phone. Johnny wasn't answering his phone, either. Minutes seemed like hours. Finally a call came though on my cell from Johnny himself. Immediate relief came over me. But Johnny's good news was shortlived, as he informed us that it looked like Pierce may have fallen victim to a similar fate, only at the New Orleans Marriot downtown.

My heart sank lower than it could have and we waited. we communicated with friends and family, using the time to reassure each other that nothing possibly could have happened to Pierce. He had been at the hotel with friends, in town for the Krewe of Vieux parade from Louisiana State University. He had just begun to get settled in his new apartment. He had the world at his feet and a wonderful plan for living. This just could not be happening. It HAD to be a mistake.

I paced and sat at the computer and spun, back and forth in my leather chair. Watching the clock, my glare wore holes in the surface of the numbers as the second hand called it's, "tick, tick, tick", in an almost mocking sound. The minutes grew to hours, as friends trickled in to comfort and console; to offer some small ray of hope that they themselves had no faith in. Shock was setting in and it was no gentle friend. Calls of inquiry to the Marriot Hotel were politely but firmly dismissed. They would not even tell us if Pierce had been in a room there. Of course, we knew he had the room... we knew.

We called the New Orleans Police Department. That was like talking to the fitting room attendant at Super Wal-Mart on Saturday during Christmas. It was MARDI GRAS. They had drunks vomiting all over themselves and fun bag tourists pissing in the middle of the street for the cameras of (insert reality/cops show name here) camera crew filming the debauchery. And don't forget those balconies. God help the poor dumb ass whose drunken stupor allowed him to fall on the street because the titties he saw were only inches away. That was the important people the cops had to watch. To Hell with a grief striken and confused family.

Next was the Coroner. This too, was fruitless. The nightmare continued as all we could do was hope that some caring law enforcement or public offfical would have pity on a family on the edge and tell us what was happening. Don't count on it. They could take lessons in public service from some of the cadavers they've been charged with.

All of the just mentioned entities were as cold and callous as they could be. We were bothering them interfering with them doing their jobs. Guess what, Sock Monkeys? That IS your job! helping those in trouble or distress. Enforcing the law. We got jaded and frozen people who I hope never have to search for a relative who has met with misfortune. Bastards, all. Don't worry about talking to the people whose lives have just been pulled out from underneath them. Not to mention the poor soul who is in their command. Their, (ALL of the agencies aforementioned), ideal interaction would be, Thank you for calling the New Orleans (PD, Coroner, Feds, etc.) voice interaction system. To continue in English, press "1"; To return to your cocktail, press ***

• You pressed "1". In English, here are your selections:
• Press "2" to attempt to speak to a duty officer. We call this the "Scooby" option. People selecting this option are told, "Rotsa Ruck". There is another option. Let's say "2A". With "2A" you get an officer who actually gives you an NOPD Item Number... And nothing else.With that Item No. you are entered in the world of leaving countless numbers of messages to law enforcement people who won't call back, EVER.
  
  Surely they have a big board with names of the people who call. They throw darts at the names in random. If your Item No. is hit, BINGO, you might get a call. But don't hold your breath.

• Press "3" to get the person who will tell you that they care, but there's just nothing they can do to help and no information they can give, but if you need some more help, please call again.
• Press "4" to speak with the Weekend Crew at the Coroner's Office. "Hello You've reached the Coroner's Office. Our hours are from 9-5, Monday thru Friday. If you've reached this recording, then please try again during normal hours".
• Press "5" to speak with the SHHH! feds SHHH! These guys are SO super secret that they have earned the right to be SO disgustingly rude, so completely callous and so self-important, that their entire system should be revamped with the victims and families in mind.

Ripley's Fun Facts: SINCE JANUARY 20, 2008, I HAVE NOT RECEIVED ONE SINGLE SOLITARY COMMUNICATION FROM ANYONE IN PUBLIC OR LAW ENFORCEMENT SERVICE...

on July the 2nd,  i was finally contacted by the United States Attorney's Office - details are on the entry post of the same date. thank you, Mr. Quinlan...

Jesus, do you hear that silence? I am his natural father. Not step. Not mother's fiance'. I am fifty percent responsible for bringing Pierce into this world and since he dies, NO ONE has contacted me. Of this exact thing I caution you, parents who may be reading these lines. The bottom line is that they (some) don't care.

And if you're a divorced parent and not chosen to get the goods from the "authorities", you're stonewalled even worse. The information, if any, is filtered and disseminated and may even be completely cut off!

I guess it's really because Pierce was something to the effect of "not very close" to me or "our side of the family".
 

Pierce and Jester being "not close", while planning paintball strategy...

end part with note... i have made some references that will piss some people off. .. what can I say? i may revisit this or I may not. but it seems my entire existence is tied in with it. and the pain is unbearable. it is supposed to subside with time. but you know something? when you wake in the wee hours of the morning with nothing in particular on your mind, and the thought of him hits you, when does the adrenaline sickness that hits your stomach go away? when do the tears stop when you hear a song by an artist that he loved? when do you stop shaking your head to clear the fact that you just can't accept that he is gone forever? this, I wonder every single day as my tears fall...

i am not there, i did not die...

Something that says a great deal about Pierce is the eulogy that I composed for his services. How I ever got through it, I'll never know. He had to be there giving me courage & strength to go through it without breaking down.

No parent ever expects to deliver a eulogy at one of their children’s services; especially a child taken so quickly and at such a young age. The deep seated pain and sense of unfathomable loss is something unnatural and foreign to humans. As it has been said over and over again, “no parent should have to bury his child”.

When Pierce came into the world, I knew he would achieve things that I could never do. Even as a toddler, some of his serious nature was apparent. He refused to sleep in his crib and ended up between his Mom and me most every night. But he wasn’t alone in that department, as big brother was good at the same thing. As he grew older, he would start out in his bed, but at some point in the night I would hear the unmistakable rustle of his diaper and his little feet running as he hit our bed and whispered, “Wanna come lay with you”. Of course, he climbed up and settled in, closing his eyes and drifting off with a smile on his face.

We bore his pain in more than one occasion. From high fevers of unknown origin, to spinal taps to the accident when his Uncle Mark visited from New Orleans; I will never forget his run down the hallway to tell everyone dinner was ready. As he reached the tile in the foyer, he slipped and struck his eyebrow on the window ledge. After a trip to the Emergency Room, some stitches and a broken Papoose board, we returned home with our little guy to brother Johnny waiting at the door. It was the kind of pain that, as parents, we expected to bear. To take away as much of that hurt as we could.

No brothers could have been closer. From Ghostbusters to Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, they shared their fantasies and played their games. This degree of closeness would serve them through their childhood, adolescent and young adult years. Unfortunately, as happens in many families, jobs, lives & separations took place and they ended up with dual households and new strangers in the parental roles they were familiar with.

The years went by quickly for me. I moved to the Northshore. Pierce and Johnny visited as they could. I did what I could to remain a fixture in their lives. But my own poor choices betrayed me and all but estranged my relationship with Johnny, who was attending my alma mater, Archbishop Rummel. Through all of the difficulties, Pierce could look through my defects and see that I was still his father and that he would always cherish that. Our time was ours.

Then, as if it were an answer to a prayer, Pierce discovered an unconventional sport that gave us a common ground. That sport was paintball. It enabled us to spend weekends together in the outdoors. We met people who we have developed solid, lasting friendships with. We learned how to operate a field and referee games. Had it not been for Pierce, I would have never met my closest friend, Woody. AND, have my hangout paintball shop and game company. Without Pierce, I would have none of that. Sadly, though I never ended a phone call or visit without saying “I love you” and delivering a big hug, I don’t think I was able to tell him just how much he meant in the overall picture. I failed to have the foresight for tragedy.

He was a capable Game Director, Head Referee, Role Player, Artist and all around great player. With a smile on his face, Pierce and Ramzi, Travis or Blake could be seen with a sideward grin when planning the next goof on some unsuspecting staff member. He could take a forty page game script and within five minutes have it laid out and ready for “Game On!” If you walk into the Gunfighter Pro Shop, look two places. The stripes that go around the walls – his handiwork. And the pinkish-red stain near the front wall – where he spilled paint on the carpet! (Note: The shop was moved in August 2009. Since Pierce couldn't be there to duplicate the stripe, it was decided that the stripe would remain, in it's only part... on the cork bulletin board that he insisted we paint across when we originated the design. If you enter the new shop, check it out. Red & yellow - you can't miss it...)

And in another answered prayer, someone else who I was scared that was gone from my life returned for the same thing with the assistance of Pierce... Big brother, Johnny. I think that was what I was most grateful for. Johnny has picked up almost all of the skills that his brother performed and can do it well, including his relationship with his Dad. And I thank God we have grown closer than ever in our lives, for we shall need each other to survive through the repercussions of this event.

Honor student at LSU. All-around paintball “great”. Liked and loved by everyone he came close to. Touching so many lives and having so much ambition and potential. What will we do without you, my precious, precious, son? We will never forget your enthusiasm, your verve, your sense of perfection, your love for all things Ralph Lauren Polo, your loving heart, your bright smile, and who could forget your lightning fast trigger finger. I will never forget ANYTHING about you, my son; for you are a part of me and will ALWAYS be a piece of my heart until I am lucky enough to join you in Heaven when my time comes.

I love you, Pierce.

When I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant though no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree;
Be the green grass above me.

With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget.
I shall not see the shadows, I shall not feel the rain;

I shall not hear the nightingale, sing on as if in pain.
And dreaming through the twilight,

that doth not rise or set;

Haply I may remember, And haply may forget.

Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)

in your face, quietly...

Friends and family have created a Facebook group for Pierce. "In Loving Memory of Pierce Sharai". Click here or just search Facebook. A very appropriate tribute to Pierce's memory. And the real treat is that if you go far enough in the Friends list, you'll find some people with more guts than brains!

Ive been disconnected from the Facebook group...

and so it begins...

I've been wanting to do this for a long time. You see, I'm an attempted writer anyway. I try to write for several Paintball magazines and websites. I try to write storylines and games for our (Gunfighter Paintball) scenario production company. I love to write. I never got around to a legitimate blog. Then came January 2008 and a tragedy that changed my life. My youngest son, Pierce, was taken from us. How he was taken is still the subject of much discussion and controversy. "Officially" he died of an accidental drug overdose while at a party in a room at the New Orleans Marriot Hotel. There were six other young adults with him that morning. He died in the 4 AM hour of Sunday, January 20th. That began a journey that has taken a terrific toll on all of his family. More to come...