Emergency

I've always found emergency contact forms to be a unique sort of aggressive. 

Who cares about you? You know, when you die. Who will give a shit? That's what they're asking.

In addition to releasing whoever (or is it whomever?) from liability on the next page, they really drill home how few people you may have in your corner.

I mean, that’s how it feels to me anyway.

When filling these out, I tend to vacillate  between my uncle and whatever girl I may be dating at the time and both of those options, when written down, bring into focus something I never really talk about.

For reasons I won’t be diving into, I don’t speak with the immediate biologicals at all. 

I want to be super clear: this is not a bad thing nor do I hate the people that I grew up around. 

If you happen to live a life of the more estranged variety I assure you, that you are not weird or wrong and, insofar as you are making choices in a way that positively impacts your life, you are doing the right thing.

And that’s why I’m hung up on these contact forms. In the place where so many people put down their mom or dad, some of us have the gift of writing down the family that we chose. And really, the family that chose us. An adoption without the paperwork. 

When I was 15 years old I remember being upset. The reason doesn’t matter. I headed to my aunt and Uncle’s home and they made coffee at an hour that any reasonable adult would avoid caffeine, and they stayed up late and talked to me and supported me. In many ways, this night was the catalyst that led to my relationship with this part of my family growing stronger. I could trust them and they treated me with a sense of respect that I think every adolescent craves. 

Hell, adults too.

I worked for my uncle for years and that sense of mutual respect grew over the course of several arguments that lasted, I’m not exaggerating, literal weeks, about everything from politics to music. Around this time, he became the first change in my emergency contact. The guy I figured would be least likely to answer the phone but most likely to care if I died or became horribly mangled in some fashion. 

There was also my bandmate, Trey. I’ve written alot about him, but suffice to say he was the most profound friendship over the course of my childhood. He started the band, introduced me to Fight Club, which I probably talk about too much, and fostered a love of reading and a deeper compassion than my protestant upbringing had previously encouraged. 

I could write a book about all the things I learned from Trey. He was a really important person in my life. So he became the second big change to that form. 

And that’s why those are the only two phone numbers that I have memorized at 33. 

There were some sporadic points at which my girlfriend’s name would fill the space below the medical release and above the insurance information, but really, that was a kind of blind optimism, right?

Anyone with a passing knowledge of my music knows the girls don’t tend to stick around very long and really, what would they do in the event of an emergency? 

The idea of that phone call makes me smile.

“Yes, this is Derek’s girlfriend, Haley Williams. Yes, the one from the multi-platinum selling band. What’s wrong?”

“We’re sorry but Derek is super dead.”

“Oh damn. Well that’s a bummer.”

“Totally a bummer. So look there’s these bills and funeral stuff…”

(Blank frame)

“We really only texted a few times…”

“We’ll call the state to pick him up. Listen, Misery Business is a bop.”

“Thank you so much!”

Or something like that.

And that’s the power of that blank space on the emergency forms. Those people, often unbeknownst to them, are signed up for a different kind of hell should the information ever need to be utilized. 

Death is a difficult thing in any circumstance but when you are the one tasked with navigating the specifics and the arrangements and the money, it is a uniquely persistent hell. 

The ones doing that for you, in the absence of you, are of a particular brand of importance. The family that, in my case at least, runs deeper than blood. 

So if you struggle with that space on the medical release, you aren’t alone. I hope that you have someone you consider your chosen family. They really are the best. And if you don't’ have that yet, feel free to write me down. When Haley Williams texts me back, our family would be happy to help in any way that our multi-platinum selling home is able. Because I probably love you.

Thanks for watching.