Pledge for Penny

The worst news. The worst news is never the worst news that you think you'll hear. It would seem that our minds love to fool ourselves into thinking the worst is the worst. I had a bad day at school. My car broke down. Even my family pet died. We never realize how worse the worst can get. That is, until the worst knocks on the door of the house you never wanted to be living in. 

On the day of Sunday May 19th, 2019 one day after my wife's birthday and two after my oldest daughter's, I sat working and believing that life doesn't change. I mean I knew it did. I knew it could. But not to the extent it was about to.  A text from wife would inevitably change my life forever. "Call me right, now I think I have some devastating news." 

Do you ever feel that moment when adrenaline releases into your body offering the nauseating intense feeling of angst. I won't pretend that I am stupid.I knew "devastating" meant death. I knew "Call me right now" meant it was someone close. And in the mere seconds it took to dial my wife's phone number, it seemed as though my fingers wouldn't listen to my commands. Hope began deflating like a balloon. Then she answered. The shakiness in her voice meant panic as she began to state, "I just read the Police Scanner, it says '20 year old Lummi female, motorcycle crash just died'. I have been calling Penny and she hasn't been responding." If any hope was left in that hole of a balloon that was my heart was now gone. 

The only native female I know that rides a motorcycle is my sister Penny. Sunday is her housecleaning day. There is no way she would scoff that off and enjoy a free ride with her friends...ah but the sun was out today. And aside from the horrible news my brain was creating, I might add how beautiful of a day it was. She rode. I would've.

With my mind racing faster than my heart I left work as quickly as I could. Speed limits were of no issue. I had to see my family. My wife. I needed to begin to find the missing pieces of the puzzle that I had to complete of a picture I most truly did not want to see. 

As I entered my home I received a call from a random number. Today I would brave the dreaded telemarketers for any news that I had to know. "Shae, I am at the hospital, you better get down here quick." If I didn't know before, then I definitely knew now. We aren't going to the hospital to get a tetanus shot or an annual check up. Unless an annual check up was horrible news. 

As I entered the Emergency Room of Saint Joseph's Hospital, I made an attempt of what some would call communication however sounded more like a jumbled conversation. "My name is Shae, I am here for...looking." Why was I here? Who was I looking for? Am I even in the right place? "My Sister.." I was cutoff by the staff and she  said, "let me take you. Follow me." 

As we walked through the doors, my wife, two daughters and I, felt all but solidified with my thoughts and fears of truth. If hope was a person it was now getting off the plane at another airport in a different country. Two State Patrol and what I would deem was a female counselor awaited us. I knew. I knew damn well what I was about to hear. State Patrol isn't here to tell us that "yes it was Penny and good news she is in stable condition, she will see you now." No. That's what Doctors do. I've seen Grey's Anatomy. 

Sitting in the room...that horrible, horrible room. Feelings emanating from the walls of years of sorrow and pain sealed in paint of the deliverance of bad news was stinging. My younger brother, my younger sister and her mother-in-law sat waiting to hear the words we didn't want to hear, but had to. 

Then it came...as the trooper spoke...

"Penny..."

Goddammit.

"...was riding north on Mosquito lake road when we believe because of high speeds she lost control, went off the road and struck the power line pole. She was found unresponsive, and CPR was begun however after a time she was pronounced dead at the scene...."

He continued talking but my ears wouldn't let me hear the rest. I couldn't quite tell if life was true. I couldn't tell if I was sitting in this god forsaken room hearing this hellish news or maybe I was at home lying on the couch and had fallen asleep to the worst nightmare imaginable. 

But I knew. I knew that I knew. So convincing myself was pointless. I looked at the tears and horror in the eyes of the family in the room. Then the United States Marine within myself took control without my permission. I had brothers in arms die and I knew what was coming next. Let them grieve. There will be time for me in the future. Right now I had mission. I was their older brother. I must be strong. 

The State Trooper, I would assume finished talking as the buzz went from my ears and sounds slowly became audible. He raised a white bag with from what I could tell was Penny's back pack she was riding with. He didn't even finish his sentence when I cut him off and said, "I'll take it. Give it me." This was my burden to bear, not theirs. After a short time I left that room to take that curse of back pack out of that dungeon. To describe the eeriness of holding a back pack that not but a few hours ago was attached to being that I helped raise and whose diapers I helped change, was indescribable. It was my duty and my burden. 

What followed the next few days was filled with much pain, anger and anguish. Many tears fell from many eyes and every floor I walked, my feet were cut with the millions of tiny shards of what used to be peoples hearts. 

And now we are here.

I write this not as a story of sadness but as a beacon hope. My hope balloon is long since deflated and empty. However luckily I recently went to the party store and bought a 50 pack. So this is where the air of hope will exit my lungs and inflate that balloon once more. 

Penny I know. We spoke. Her brother Alex, knew her even better. We both know what she wanted. She wanted what we want. Not sadness that shes gone. Not tears. She wanted and I truly mean she wanted, a party. She loved that motorcycle and the freedom of the road. The art of the road. The art of the ride. She loved art. Food was her art Singing was her passion and partying was her dream. This is what I ask. That any who knew her or are touched by this story or simply feel in a generous mood, I am at least asking for $5,000 dollars so I can give her what she truly truly wanted.

She wanted to dance, so we will dance.

She liked to drink, so we drink we shall.

She loved to sing, and I plan to. 

Please donate anything you feel comfortable as we throw a party...one last party to celebrate her life and we can begin to feel happy once more. Any and all are invited if the goal can be made. 

Even if we don't you better damn well believe that even if it's a one man party, I am going to party my ass off. 

Thank you all and riders who love that open road and the freedom. Ride hard, ride strong and ride safe.