Devin

The few days toward the end of April are always difficult for me. Whether I realize what is going on or not, something subconsciously moves me into a different mode during this time. For years, it was really subtle. I would see random “11’s” all over the place, be put in study groups with someone named Devin or the teams I coached would end up playing their tournament at Cal State Fullerton’s gym. I would go the whole season never being anywhere but two places and then all of a sudden on the weekend closest to this date, Fullerton would be my location. It would take me time to identify, like my brain was blocking it out at the same time it was trying to bring it to the surface. Whether it is two years later or 14 years later, the feeling is always the same — gut wrenching. Some of the closest people to me still don’t know the way I felt on that Friday, April 28, 2006. There are few things in my life that I hide from everyone, and this is one of them. But I guess with all of this self reflection, it is time for me to get it out on paper.

April 28, 2006 changed my entire life. It rocked me in a way I have yet to experience again. It forced me to grow up, make different decisions and really look at the world in an entirely different way. It was not my first time dealing with death, not even close to the first time actually. And there was a part of me that felt like I knew how I would always handle it. But this was the closest person to me that I had lost up to that point and it was definitely different. Devin Wayne Adair passed away from MRSA while playing college football at University of Tulsa. He had spent a little while in the hospital in an induced coma because the infection had spread to his kidneys and his lungs. They thought they had gotten it all and the infection was clear when they took him out of the coma and put him into a CT scan. He never made it out of the CT scan. 

Every part of that day, from the moment I got the first phone call, is burned into my memory forever. The feelings I had while trying to figure out if it was all true, the conversations I had, the people I saw, what I was eating, it is all stuck there forever. If you have ever had something like this happen in your life, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I was sitting on my friend Tori’s couch after school and we were eating leftover veggie pizza from Pizza Hut, watching an episode of Gilmore Girls that she had recorded using TiVO, ah the good ‘ol days. My Samsung flip phone started ringing, I can still hear the silly text tone I had, and the multicolored lights that were on the front of my phone (and the reason that I had wanted that phone so badly) started lighting up. My friend Bekkah was on the other line and all she said was, “Rach, are you okay?” with a very somber tone. I was confused and responded with “Umm, yeah, why?” “I heard Devin didn’t make it,” she said. I immediately broke into tears when she then said, “Wait! I don’t know if it’s true. I just heard it from Joe.” I threw my phone at Tori and sprinted downstairs to her room. This was the era of AOL Instant Messaging. We weren’t that into texting yet and any important information in anyone’s life was posted as their “Away” message. I immediately checked to see if his best friend Matt and his other friend Brenden were either online or had put anything on there that would shed some light, but there was nothing. I called my mom, she had no information and said she would try to find something out. I then finally called my brother, the one person I knew would give it to me straight. I had avoided calling him first out of sheer fear of the truth. He picked up the phone and said, “Hi Rachy,” and all I could say was “Jord…” to which he responded “It’s true.” My heart broke. I had never felt that type of pain before and I had no idea what I was supposed to do. I feel like we have all been there before. For you, it might not be a death, but we have all been in that situation where we are seemingly feeling the worst pain, heartache, loss that we have experienced up until that point in our lives. My brother told me he was about to leave and head up to Manhattan Beach from San Diego and that he would see me soon. 

I think shock is the best way to describe what I was feeling at this point. I was looking for someone to tell me I was crazy, that it wasn’t true, that it was a false alarm. I raced back to school and into our training room. Our trainer, Tim Cooper, was a staple to anyone and everyone who ever played athletics at Mira Costa High School. He had a really unique relationship with everyone and made each of us feel like we were incredibly special. He treated us like adults; he gave us real, raw, life advice whether we wanted to hear it or not. I knew going there would either bring me a sense of relief or intense pain, but it was what I needed to do. Devin and Tim were so close, especially when Devin was playing football at the local community college. Devin would train with Tim and always be there during school hours just shooting the breeze in his office. I would often leave classes, sorry mom and dad, just to go hang out with Tim and Devin. I walked in and saw the look on Tim’s face and I realized, again, that it was true. For whatever reason, I needed reassurance. I needed to hear from the people that I trusted most that I wasn’t dreaming. First my brother, then Tim and the final person was my mom. Has that ever happened to you? Your gut is telling you that this daunting event is in fact true, but your brain won’t listen, it needs to be told over and over and over again until the pain is so real from hearing it countless times, that you finally give into the truth. That’s how it was for me that day.

I remember that night, going to the football field at Costa for a candlelight vigil. Coaches, teammates, friends, family, community members, everyone was there but it was so eerily quiet. Devin meant something different to everyone that was standing in Waller Stadium that night. But to everyone, Devin was a symbol of hope. He represented strength and determination. Devin was NOT perfect by any sense of the word. He was a phenomenal athlete who had made some suspect choices along the way, but had recently seized his second act and was making the most of what had been given to him. He was in his first spring season of college at a D1 school, was finally living out his dream and all of a sudden it was taken from him. Like I said, this wasn’t my first loss. This wasn’t even my first loss of my junior year. But this was the one that taught me a very hard lesson on how fragile life is. 

Shaken up but moving through

Devin was my 2nd big brother. I had known him for as long as I could remember. He and my brother grew up playing baseball and hockey together. His sister was on the drill team with the two people I considered older sisters growing up. His family was always a part of my life in some capacity. And when my brother and he grew apart because Jordan went toward volleyball and Devin geared more toward football, Devin and I became closer. The two-plus years leading up to his death, we were closer than ever. Jordan was in San Diego doing his thing, but Devin was still in the South Bay going to school and training at Costa, he was just always around. He would drive me home from school or give me the advice I never wanted but for sure needed, whenever I found myself around him. I remember him telling me to stop doing what others wanted me to do and start doing things for myself. I remember him being one of the only people to tell me I was good enough to play volleyball at the highest level. I remember telling him the summer after my sophomore year, that I was not going to go through with the recruiting process after the nightmare of a season I had endured and him being so disappointed that I was letting someone else take away my passion for a game I loved so much. He always wanted what was best for me and he always used his past experiences to help guide me on a different path than he went down, which is clearly something I learned and implemented into my own life. He wanted me to learn from his mistakes and not make the same ones. His message was never more clear than when he was gone, which was a really hard pill to swallow. I knew that I had to honor him and the faith that he had in me from the very beginning. I had to push aside the voices of the naysayers and get over the feeling that the chips were stacked against me for him, which is exactly what I did.

Most people know the next part of the story. I went on to compete at the University of Oregon as a walk-on my freshman year. I was one of two setters in our offense and had a ton of court time, earning me a scholarship for my sophomore year. There was no stronger driving force in getting me there then Devin. If you look at it as an outsider, I made the best out of a terrible situation and made him proud by doing so. But the loss was deeper for me. It still is something that affects me massively to this day. For the last 14 years, there are few days in my life that I don’t think about him. He is a driving force in almost everything I do. He was one of the first people that believed in me outside of my family. He motivated me to be better and was the first person in my life that I actually wanted to make proud — again, sorry, Mom and Dad. I felt like I had to live life for him the way he wanted me to and by doing that, I figured out how to live life for me, which I know is where he wanted me to get to. I can’t think about Devin without crying, but it isn’t always sad. Sometimes I just sit and smile thinking about him and what he would say to me and how he would find some way to give me a hard time. Oftentimes I picture him and my dad racing down the sand from trash can to trash can, like they did for many years. Devin was always convinced he could beat my dad in a race, but my dad thought otherwise. By the end, I am pretty sure my dad was losing more than he was winning, ha ha. Other times, it is devastating and still all so raw for me, 14 years later. His presence is still so powerful in my everyday life and I can't help but wonder if I am making him proud with everything I do. I know he would be wrapping up his professional career right now if he were still alive. He would have made it big and impacted so many more than he already did. 

Learning from loss

His life and death have taught me some of the most valuable lessons. His presence in my life and even more, his absence, have inspired me to be better than I was yesterday and have driven me to be for others what he was for me. Loss is hard and everyone deals with it in different ways. Some people understand their grief better than others, some never have a firm grasp on it. What I can tell you is that it is different every time. The way one loss affects you, is not how they all will affect you and that can be unsettling sometimes. Over time, the days may seem a little brighter but every once in a while, it will hit you hard like it does for me. As I wrap this up — because my emotions are all over the place and I am not sure I want to continue writing about this anymore, ha ha — I will leave you with some lightness. 

10 years after Devin passed, a new sort of big brother walked into my life. It was definitely one of the harder years for me since his passing and I kept sweeping things under the rug until I couldn’t ignore them anymore. All of a sudden there was someone else who challenged me, didn’t put up with my bitchy attitude, and threw my sarcasm right back at me. It was the closest I had ever been to having my relationship with Devin back in my life and it just so happens his birthday is the day after the anniversary of Devin’s death. Ironic huh? Here was this new person who stormed into my life and became what I felt like I was missing the last 10 years. It’s hard not to think Devin just plopped him down here right when I needed someone most. I’m not a big religious person, actually — let’s be honest, I am not religious at all. But I do believe everything happens for a reason, that there are always lessons to be learned from situations, and that people come in and out of your life for a specific purpose. I know Devin is present in my life every single day and I am so grateful for all he has done and been for me now and always.

 
I love you, Big Bro.