By Lakhram Bhagirat
It was sometime around 13:15h on Saturday, March 29, 2014, when our mutual friend, Sarah, received the call informing her that Christine had taken ill and is being rushed to the hospital. We were at work about to commence a new shift and Sarah rushed to be with Christine’s family, while I stayed back and held down the fort but my world shattered a few hours after.
To this day, I remember how that conversation went after Sarah reached the hospital.
“Trev, Chrissy…” Sarah said while sobbing. I heard the wailing behind her and I became paralysed with fear as I braced myself for what was coming. Still silent, she went on “Chrissy is dead. We mama gone.”
I don’t remember anything that happened after that, but remember feeling my insides collapsing and needing air. I rushed out of the supermarket where we worked. I tried to process what I had just heard and the involuntary tears began streaming down my cheeks. I had questions that kept pounding in my head. Why? How? Why?
Her name was Christine Peters. She was just 21 years old, full of life and warmth. She was my closest friend. What devastated me was that she committed suicide, one day after we had so much fun. We never knew why and may never know but we do know how.
Chrissy died a few hours after she ingested a poisonous substance at her Lopinot Road, Arouca, Trinidad home. Her death is not something I talk about and very few people know of the amount of pain I felt. It was the first time someone close to me committed suicide and I did not know how to process it. I began blaming myself, as so did Sarah, because we were her closest friends and we failed to recognise she was in grave peril. Her eyes were crying for help but we were deceived by the smile on her face and her constant jokes about our weight and lack of sense of humour.
Those who knew Chrissy would tell you she had the kindest soul and was ever willing. She had a wicked sense of humour and was hardworking. But she had always had trouble expressing what she felt inside and at some point it because so overbearing that she began cutting her skin.
Chrissy and I met in 2013 and we immediately hit it off. We would see each other almost every day and our bond became strong. We shared mutual admiration for each other and the work we did. She was dubbed ‘the fastest cashier’ in the supermarket chain we worked in. But she was also a hero among our monthly senior citizen customers. She would arrive hours before her shift (if she was on late) or stayed hours after (if she was on early) and push the senior citizens’ trollies around as they did their shopping. She was respectful and never accepted a tip from them.
It was that level of care and unselfish service that made her well-loved. It is that way I choose to remember Chrissy but what haunts me is the way she died and to this day, my heart remains broken because we did not see the signs. I had asked Chrissy about the almost 100 lines across her arms and she would brush it off as her being young and stupid.
It was one day while we were hanging out that she related the reasons that led to her scars and made me promise not to talk about it with anyone. She said “is only you and Sarah know eh, so don’t talk about it or I go beat yuh up.”
After Chrissy died, Sarah and I never got over the fact that she had to go, that she got consumed by the hurt that surrounded her picture-perfect life; that our trio had moved from to two. Eventually, we fell apart but would always bond on her memories.
Every May 8, I say a prayer for her and hope we meet in the after life.
April 3, 2014, was the last day I saw Chrissy’s body but only this time she did not have a quirky comeback or a fancy nickname for me but she was still, in a casket about to be placed six feet under. I remember eulogising her, talking about our bond and how it killed me inside to know that it was broken, that she did not wait for me, and that she left without a final good bye.
The overwhelming feeling of guilt is still with me, but I am trying to get rid of it. Four years is still too short an amount of time to get over losing some who meant so much to you. Maybe one day I will get over it or maybe I won’t but I do know that it will get better. For now, I listen to her favourite song, Christina Perri’s “Human”, on repeat whenever I miss her. (Times Sunday Magazine)
