It was a birthday party!
A happy occasion,
Dancing, drinking,
Friends and more friends,
Laughing and joking,
Making joy on a late spring night.

He was a young man, 24 years old,
Small for his age at 5’ 3”
And 130 pounds on a good day.
Still, he took the role of the guy
Trying to “keep it down”
On account of the neighbors.
A kind person, friendly to everyone,
Grateful for his friends and family,
A new niece and nephew to
Jostle on his shoulder;
A whole future of his own
Stretched out as far as the eye could see.
And he was happy that night.

They were troublemakers,
Simply out to “fuck with someone”
Party crashers who’d been told
They weren’t welcome at that locale –
No one wanted that kind of trouble.
It could have been the Meth, you know,
That convinced them it would fun to go back,
Inciting their 6’ 4”, 280 pound frames
To find the little dude who told them “not tonight”
And start a fight that would ruin everything.

But they didn’t count on forever.
No one ever, really, does.

One of the troublemakers,
Finding Berna alone on the back porch,
Raged toward him,
Knocking the smaller man out with
One crushing blow to the head.

Then they stormed the kitchen of the meager house,
And a bigger fight broke out,
While Berna lay unconscious on the back porch,
A fatal wound beginning to run its course,
While no one noticed he was missing
Until the troublemakers were finally chased off.
They finally found the still unconscious Berna
Brought him inside, cleaned his wound,
And put him to bed,
Convincing themselves that he would be alright.

What happened from that point forward
Isn't really being talked about.
Skip ahead a few hours to the next morning,
When the birthday girl’s sister
Went in to check on Berna,
Only, she came out of that room sobbing,
For Berna wasn’t breathing.
Infact, Berna was dead.

And while everyone cries and mourns
A senseless death,
And while the injury itself was the original culprit,
There is a quiet sadness about the fact
That no one understood he could die from his injury,
And no one called for help.

And those of us still living get to take a breath,
And another,
And another;
Unrecognized luxuries that we used to take for granted.
We get to soak up our summers,
Go to the movies,
Plan other parties.
There will be weddings and new babies,
Flowers and sunrises,
Sunsets and the celebration of life itself.

But not for Berna.
He will never share another meal,
Or marry the love of his life,
Crack another joke,
Or hold his own children,
Or take another breath.
Ever.

05/26/2008

Author's Note: R.I.P Berna. 1983 - 2008 Your vacancy is everywhere.

Posted on 05/27/2008
Copyright © 2025 Alison McKenzie