A Death in the Family
Father of midtown Mobile murder victim
ponders 'horrors of death and joys of life'
It’s been more than two months now since the staggering tragedy that took Kyser Miree from us. I am overwhelmed with emotion from the flood of compassion with which you have
covered us. The
notes of gratitude
that we plan to send
for individual acts
of kindness cannot
convey my feelings
as comprehensively
or as promptly as
this statement will
allow. So I am glad
to hide behind my
computer and share
with you, our
friends, some of
the facts and
reflections regarding this passage, without having to speak. Hopefully, it is not an undue imposition on our friendship, for me to give you information that you did not solicit. It is good tonic for me to reflect, not just on the horrors of death, but on the joys of life, and to anticipate that we will be back to our normal relationships with you soon.
On Friday night, April 16, 2010, Annie and Maurice Green are having dinner with Kathryn and me at Sawtooth Branch, our property in Chilton County. Maurice and I are looking forward to being partners in the annual Sawtooth Branch fishing tournament, which is set to begin at 10:00 Saturday morning. This is more of a social outing than a serious competition, as you can tell from the start time. We host it each year with Vicki and Craig Rogers, who also have a place there, and altogether we have about ten teams of two fishermen per boat. We all put a few bucks in the pot, and compete for the various prizes. Kyser and his friend Adam Fry are one of the teams entered, and Kyser is planning to come from Mobile after work to join us for the night, and be ready to fish on Saturday morning. About 7:30 p.m. the phone rings, and it’s Kyser.
“Dad, the water pump on the purple dragon (his pickup truck) is leaking, and I’ve squandered too much time fixing it. I’ll just get up early and be on the dock in time to hammer those bass tomorrow.”
“No problem, little buddy. We’ll miss seeing you tonight, but look forward to tomorrow,” I say as I think to myself that one of the great joys in my life is to see a son who I taught to fish, become a better fisherman than I.
About five hours later, at 12:30 a.m., the phone awakens us, and thus begins the worst day of my life, a day that no parent should have to endure.
Kathryn answers the call from Curtis Wright, Kyser’s roommate, who immediately gives his phone to the Mobile Police.
I hear her say, “No, he has never had an allergic reaction or a seizure."
She asks if she can speak to Curtis again, which the policeman does not allow, and the call ends.
Kathryn gives me their report that Kyser had been hurt, and that we should come to the University of South Alabama Medical Center as soon as possible. We call USA Medical Center to verify that Kyser is in their care, which they confirm, then inform us that his injury is a bullet wound to the head. With so many unanswered questions, we call Curtis’s cell phone back. The policeman answers, and says he has taken the phone, and that Curtis isn’t going to be talking to anyone, because he is a suspect. We wake up Annie and Maurice, and tell them we are leaving for Mobile and why, and we hit the road.
I dread the next conversation as I dial (younger son) Harry’s cell phone as we drive south, but there is no answer. I leave this message, “Harry, this is Dad. Please call me when you get this message, no matter what time it is.” Harry, coincidentally, has made a rare trip home from Berklee College of Music in Boston this weekend. He is making a presentation on Friday with fellow musician, James Harb, at the University of Alabama, a presentation in which they take top honors.
By about 4 a.m., we are running across the hospital parking lot. Our hopes rise when the attendant at the front desk tells us he is in the 8th Floor ICU, Room 5.
There we are met by about three or four members of the staff including a young Oriental female doctor, who says she wants to talk to us before we see our son. She is bright, competent and candid as she shows us the film of his brain scan. Then she destroys all remaining hope that Kyser will survive. Irreversible damage was done the instant the bullet hit him, there is nothing they can do, there is no brain activity, and that as soon as the life support is disconnected, he will die.
The following is a recap of some of the occurrences of the day:
- The hospital provides us a room, and while we get situated, a couple of the detectives from homicide stop by the hospital after they've left the crime scene to let us know they are working on the case. They are not giving out any information.
- We meet Curtis’s parents, Tootie and Phillip Wright, who are already in the ICU waiting room when we arrive. They have grown to know and love Kyser, and they are fine people.
- We meet Marshall Thomson, Kyser’s friend and co-worker at Chevron, who was with Curtis when they found Kyser. They placed the 911 call.
- We meet Sarah Wright, Kyser’s girl friend, when she comes to the hospital after being released from questioning by the police. She had met Curtis and Marshall just moments after they arrived at the house where Kyser was shot, but prior to the arrival of the police.
Later Curtis, who I knew because he had joined Kyser and me on a duck hunting trip earlier in the year, is released by the police, and he comes to the ICU waiting room also.
Marshall, Sarah and Curtis are all crushed by the incomprehensible murder of their friend. They had just been separated and interrogated by the police, where they were essentially accused for several hours of killing Kyser. I understand and support the police procedure to separate and interrogate them, since they were the ones who found Kyser. But, I’m glad I did not hear their screams.
Harry calls from Birmingham, and I give him the facts. I say, “Harry, if you want to see your brother alive, you need to get down here as soon as you can." I add, “Other than seeing him in a coma, there is nothing that you can do if you come, and it is not a pretty sight.”
Harry cuts me off -- “I’m on the way Dad; I’m coming as fast as I can.”
In about four and a half hours, Harry and his friend Jessica Johnson are there.
We are joined during the course of the day by numerous friends and family, including Kathryn’s Dad, Kyser’s beloved Papa; her brother, Bogue; sisters Virginia and Louise; my brother, Dick and his son-in-law, Marc.
We all have time to be with Kyser, to hold him close, and say the things to him that we want him to know.
It is not until this point in time that one can make organ donations. We go through the process of answering about three pages of ghoulish questions, but we take comfort in knowing Kyser can help someone else live, and in some way, that he will live on through them.
There are conversations with the funeral home, the coroner, discussion about an obituary, and I talk with God.
Before someone can be declared legally dead, there are statutory requirements for a specific series of brain scans by separate neurologists, which take about 12 hours. At about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, when the final neurologist completes this process, the Death Certificate is signed.
The hospital official who gives us this news also tells us that the Mobile Police Department have sent them a directive not allowing organ donations, since they might still need them in the investigation. We object. The official asks us to wait while she checks, but when she returns, she informs us that the hospital is bound to follow the directive of the police, and that the police authority trumps the wishes of the parents. Someone loses out on, among other things, a great heart.
A different hospital administrator subsequently asks us if we are prepared for them to disconnect Kyser’s life support apparatus. We give our consent, but we want to be there. We kiss him goodbye and hold him tight as they remove the breathing tube. As he draws his last breath, we feel his magnificent spirit leave his body, and he is gone.
By now it is dusk. Harry and Jessica have left, and Kathryn and I are ready to leave, but I am not so sure that I am fit to make the drive home. Brother Dick and Marc Novellino, who is married to Dick’s daughter Allison, do us a huge favor by putting us in their car, and driving our car and us, all back to Birmingham. They deliver us home before midnight.
Still incomprehensible grief and anger swirl through me, and I have never felt more alone. It is like I am a visitor from outer space who had come home to the wrong planet. While I am desperate to be able to take some action that can help my shattered family, this long, dark day is over, and I will have to deal with that tomorrow. We go to bed.
In the following days, sobs come bursting out that don’t even sound like me. A memory pierces my core so deeply that I spin out of control, gasp for breath and feel claustrophobic. There is no reason to live, no hope for the future and nowhere to go. Since the tragedy, I’m no longer afraid of much, and certainly not my own death. I do have a heightened fear that another tragedy could strike our family, and the pain for those remaining would be magnified.
The memorial service on Tuesday brings a tremendous outpouring of affection for Kyser, when so many people whose lives he had touched come from all over the country, overflowing the Church, the Narthex, the main Foyer on the side, and out into the courtyard, as they pay their final respects to their friend.
One matchless bright spot at the service is listening to Harry as he calmly and poignantly describes the love and respect that fill the Church, and captures the essence of being Kyser’s little brother. He makes us laugh, he makes us cry, and he provides us a glimpse of Kyser by the genius and courage he demonstrates under devastating circumstances, as he portrays their special relationship. I hope Harry will bat clean-up at my funeral, and tell my friends about our special relationship.
The stream of condolences continues and is, in a way, a constant reminder of the tragedy, but these words of sympathy are a great comfort and help in the healing process, no matter how they are offered. I can tell little difference in who gets the message right most often, whether what is said are the well composed words of a person with experience in these matters, like a doctor, pastor or a grief counselor, or if the words are the awkward effort of an amateur. The right message is “I care; I hurt for myself; I hurt for you and your family; and if there is anything I can do, please call.”
The question “How are you doing?” makes a liar out of me, because invariably I say, “Fine.” I say it no more convincingly than a bad actor in an awful play that won’t end. The truth is I hope that one day I’ll be fine, but deep down inside, I’m not so sure. I am sure that I am anguished for all of you who adored him. You did not deserve this, and you have shown that you are the most magnificent people in the world.
Our faith remains strong, and Kathryn and I understand that we have been blessed with two extraordinary, talented boys. While the tragedy is never far from our consciousness, the reality of confronting a life without Kyser, has drawn all three of us closer. As much as I have worried about their well being, they have done the same for me. We are all three in this together.
For all of the members of my family it was always, “What can I do for you?" Baseball glove got a broken lace? Valve on the saxophone stuck? Bully at school teasing you? Car won’t crank? Algebra problem got you stumped? Ask Dad, he can always fix things. But not this – this is beyond imagination.
My parents are gone, and I smile when I remember them. There is very little training for confronting the grief of losing a child. I feel like I am 100 yards into a marathon, and I realize that I did not prepare. I wonder if I will eventually be able to smile when I think of Kyser. My heart says “No way.”
Since I have been delivered into that fraternity of those who have lost a child, a group that we all hope will initiate no new members, I now realize things I should have seen, but didn’t. When I saw my friends who had joined this group before me, I saw them carry themselves with dignity, while they carried that heavy burden of sadness, and I didn’t understand how they could do it. Hopefully, when others look at our family, they will see that in us as well, and they will hug their own children.
Kyser had his special relationships with many, and sometimes I wonder on what was our relationship based. He was that rare person who was totally devoted to me, unquestionably loyal and astoundingly trusting. His commitment was irreplaceable, and it was mutual. Certainly we had shared countless happy hours hunting, fishing, skiing and talking, and we knew beyond any shadow of a doubt that we loved each other. We had no unfinished business between us that needed to be discussed, no rough spots that needed smoothing over. Possibly we had an unspoken acceptance of each other’s essential loneliness, something we did not air with others. Not surprising for me, since I am basically shy. But I always felt that in Kyser, the speed and power of his phenomenal mind induced a certain isolation. When others could not comprehend things as quickly and completely as he, and few could, he accepted it without boasting about his understanding or humiliating anyone. For us, this world was mostly paradise with a small patch of desert. Our paths after high school had begun to scatter us, but would never prevent us from thinking of each other often, because we knew our buddy was out there. On that Friday night in April, an intruder intervened, and now that door is locked against us. At that moment our mourning began.
Now that Kyser has met the Lord, he can have some idea of how I felt
at Brookwood
Hospital on that
cold December
morning twenty
three years ago
when the nurse
handed him to me.
I miss him dearly.
He is with the
angels now, and
they are all praying
for us to join them.
But, as Kyser, with
that easy charm
and huge smile
would add,
not anytime soon.
Since the tragedy, Kyser has been honored in wonderful ways by colleagues from all phases of his young life. I understand that one day there may be at least one as yet unconceived child out there who will be named for Kyser.
The Altamont School has an honor code that is an important part of their culture, and in his senior year, Kyser had served as the student representative on their Honor Council. The school had planned to create a World Center for Ethical Leadership as a part of its ongoing emphasis on the importance high standards of ethical conduct in our leaders. Their Board of Directors voted recently to change the name of that venture to the C. Kyser Miree Center for Ethical Leadership.
At Vanderbilt University each year from this point forward, some bright young student in the School of Engineering will receive the Kyser Miree Memorial Scholarship, which has been established in his honor.
In Mobile, the first annual Kyser Miree 5K Run was sponsored by Chevron Corporation. Over 300 runners started and finished at the Mellow Mushroom, with proceeds going to the above mentioned Leadership Center at The Altamont School.
When a powerful intellect and great social skills, in combination with those fine qualities of honor, integrity, civility and humility are all rolled into one individual like Kyser, we have someone extraordinary among us who will be recognized as a leader wherever they go. Death was probably the only thing that could have prevented this gifted young genius from achieving his unlimited potential.
In addition to the personal loss to all who knew him, there is a larger circle including those who would have been influenced by him in the future, and we all are diminished by this despicable act of violence that took him from us.
I don’t know when we crossed the line from his depending on me to guide him, to teach him to brush his teeth, or do his homework, or to cast a fly. But somewhere things changed, and I found myself looking up to him. We love you very much little buddy; we will never forget you; and, by the manner in which you conducted yourself, you will continue to inspire us until the day we die. You are my hero. R.I.P.
