An Unexpected Epiphany

If you would, imagine a scenario with me. Picture your favorite, closest relative: your favorite aunt, uncle, or cousin, whoever it may be. Now imagine a typical family get-together whether it is around the dinner table, a campfire, or a game board. Allow me for a moment to set up this situation: your family has gotten together for a holiday, you are gathered around, and you step outside yourself briefly. You are looking around as if you are looking at a picture. You see your parents, your brothers/sisters, and the aunt that everyone tolerates because it’s the holidays, your favorite relative, your grandparents, yourself, and your cousins. Wait, something wasn’t right about that picture. You return to within yourself and look back to where your favorite relative was sitting, but they are no longer there. You, then, realize that your favorite relative is not at this family get-together because he/she passed away recently and you were only imagining them there.

How did you react to that particular situation? Was it upsetting? Did it make you realize that your favorite relative will not be at the family gatherings ever again?

Well, I will inform you that is exactly how I feel whenever I have that particular dream. I usually awake in a panic, very emotional, searching for my family, and finding only the darkness of my bedroom. It is probably the single most upsetting dream I have ever had.

It has been nearly two years since the “accident” that took my beloved uncle’s life. Everyone else has seemingly moved on from the fact that he won’t be attending anymore family functions. Or that they cannot just call him on the phone randomly to discuss silly things that he would have appreciated. I, on the other hand, haven’t forgotten. Time hasn’t stopped me from hearing a funny joke that I wished I could tell him. And time certainly has not ended those dreams I have of him. No one else has these dreams; and if they do, they don’t share them. I cannot really be the only one that is still affected by this, can I?

Perhaps I should have started by telling you more about myself. My name is Nikki; I am 22 years old and am now happily engaged. I grew up in a very unstable home with my mom, my step dad (who, in all aspects of the word, is my father), and my three younger brothers.

The men in my life, as a child, were anything but typical or role model types. There was drug abuse, alcoholism, verbal abuse, physical abuse, and abandonment all introduced by the men in my life at a very young age. My mom hasn’t seen or spoken to my real father since two days after I was born. Or her own father since she found out she was pregnant with me. My mother got pregnant very young. She was sixteen and frightened. Her father, my grandfather, told her that if she didn’t abort the pregnancy that he would disown her. Therefore, my mother took matters into her own hands and stopped speaking with him. However, not until she informed him that she was keeping the baby.

Need less to say, I grew up without a grandfather and a real father. My step dad’s family became my family. I grew up with them and knew no different. The men in their family weren’t noteworthy either, but I became ”immune” to it, if you will. My home life was not conventional, as you can imagine, but deserves some reference to establish my state of mind by the time of the afore mentioned “accident”.

When I was younger, I did not know that other kids’ parents weren’t fighting all the time. I thought it was normal. I believed that all dads pushed around all moms, all dads had terrible tempers, and that all dads drank a lot. As I got older, I realized how much pain and suffering my mom was going through to keep us safe. When a fight would break out, it was normal for me to grab my brothers and huddle in a corner until the yelling stopped. The older we got the more accustomed we grew to the yelling; we even got to the point where we could just ignore it. Tune ourselves into something else: the TV, a book, or turn up the radio. Until the fighting would turn violent that is. My mom never wanted us to get involved, but the older we got the more we realized that it was wrong. We would try to get in the middle of the fight just to spare my mother of one blow. If he wasn’t hitting her than everything was okay. One punch to us meant one less to her. Don’t get me wrong; there were good times in the house also, it wasn’t always that way. However, out of habit, when a man around me gets angry: angry enough to strike anything (even a wall), I try to duck to protect myself from the blow. Kinda sad, huh?

Anyway, I have gone astray. When I was younger, we moved around a lot. However, there were always a few constants. The fighting, of course, and my uncle Mike. I cannot remember us ever moving to a different place where he didn’t stay with us, even if it was only briefly. He was like a second father to me. He was always around and helped raise me. Nearly every memory I have from childhood, he is involved in somehow.

I am told that as a very young child I would wake him up every Saturday to watch cartoons with me. My uncle Mike always obliged, no matter how little sleep he had gotten that night. My mom says I would run into his bedroom, jump on his bed, and yell “uncle ‘ike, uncle ‘ike! Come watch ‘toons with me!” I remember his favorites were Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Alf.

I also remember him catching me doing things that I wasn’t supposed to be doing; he always kept the secret for me. He was like my best friend as a kid. Now, most kids grow out of that phase where their family is their best friend. However, he and I remained close over the years. He gave me a nickname as a kid of Duderbug; apparently, I used to “duder” a lot. For the longest time, he was the only one I would allow call me by that name. It just seemed special, I guess.

People say in tragic moments, you tend to block things out of your head. Not me. I remember that day perfectly. I lived alone. I was sleeping when my phone rang. It was early so I didn’t answer; I had to get up in a few minutes to get ready for work… I would return the call then. It was my dad. He called right back. I answered this time in a sleepy daze. He told me there was a family emergency, to go over and talk to mom, someone in the family had died, and to call off work. When my dad had told me that someone had died, as awful as it may sound, I automatically thought it was my uncle Donny. He was diagnosed with cancer earlier that year and wasn’t doing well. So, I was preparing myself for the “news” that my uncle Donny had passed away as I got dressed and drove to my parent’s house.

When I got there, my mom asked me what I had heard, what dad had told me, and told me I should sit down. I refused, I told her what I knew, and braced myself for the news that I knew was coming. Then, out of right field she tells me “Uncle Mikey is dead.” Everything after that seemed slow motion. I sat down. She told me the gruesome details, the ones she knew anyway. And told me that we were going to go get the boys out of school and all head down to see Grandma. My mom was waiting for my dad to call back so I went to the high school to get my brother out of classes.

At some point after my mom told me and before I headed to the school, I phoned my boyfriend Mark (now fiancé) to inform him of the tragedy that struck our family that day. I told him what I knew. It still didn’t seem real; it was as if I was dreaming all of this. Mark had no idea how to react. I realize now that I had no idea how to react to the news either. He apologized and told me to keep him informed.

I began weeping on the short drive to the school. I couldn’t stop myself. My mom had told me not to say anything to my brothers because she wanted to be the one to tell them. I regained my composure as best I could before entering the high school office. When the office assistant asked me why I was pulling the boys out of school, I broke down again. My middle brother, Bobby, entered the office and I tried to wipe away my tears as quickly as I could. We walked out into the hallway to wait from my youngest brother (Zackie), Bobby asked me what was going on and I told him. “Uncle Mike is dead”. I told him not to tell Zackie or tell mom I told him.

We drove home in silence. It seemed as though time stood still the entire drive home. We only lived a mile or two from the school, but the passing miles seemed endless, as if we would never get there. When we did arrive home, my mom told the boys what had happened and we departed for Grandma’s house.

Along the way, Zackie asked a few clarifying questions about what had happened. As we approached my grandmother’s house, I saw the train. It was stopped on the tracks. I began weeping as I’ve never wept before. Seeing the train stopped along the tracks made all of the questions clearer. We had not known whether my uncle was hit by a car or a train… but this made everything apparent. I could not look up at the motionless locomotive; I could not open my eyes.

“Try to regain your strength, Nik. Dad and Grandma need to feel your strength,” my mom said as we pulled into the driveway at my Grandma’s house. However, it was if I was paralyzed. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t get out of the car, couldn’t go into the house. My uncle lived with my grandmother; if I entered the house, it would undoubtedly smell like him. I would have visions of him there, memories of holidays past.

My dad has a very large family, three sisters and five brothers. As you can imagine, my grandparents also have many grandkids; most of which, were at my Grandma’s house. I somehow gathered enough courage to go in the house to talk to my Grandma. She was always strong with these types of tragedies. That day was no different. My Grandma was calmly going through pictures she had of uncle Mike for a memory board at the visitation. I couldn’t look. It was too soon to be bringing out the pictures. I, then, began to wonder how my Grandma remained so calm.

I was only a freshman in high school when my Grandpa (Papa) died. He was battling cancer for a very long time. It was an incredibly emotional time for me because my step dad’s father was the only Grandpa I knew. He never treated me as if I wasn’t part of the family. Actually, it was quite the opposite. My Papa and Grandma were the type of people that always treated everyone with love and respect unless you gave them reason not to. My Papa loved all his grandkids whether they were biologically his or not. Anyway, when my Papa died, I cannot remember ever seeing my Grandma breakdown. Sure, she was emotional; he was her husband, after all. But never did my Grandma break; she remained strong for her kids and grandkids. She wanted us all to know that Papa was up in heaven and that he was probably fishing. And if Papa was fishin’, he must be happy!

After losing her husband and one of her kids, I found it very hard to believe that Grandma was still as strong as she appeared. Some would say that Grandma was the “glue” of the family. My Papa was in the Navy and Grandma always knew what to say, what to do, and how to keep the nine kids in order while he was out to sea. I often wonder if my Grandma knew something the rest of us didn’t. I’ve read about people who can see/hear things, messages from God, if you will. I find myself wondering from time to time if Grandma knew that Papa and uncle Mike were better off dead there than alive here.

My mom asked my brothers and I to meet my dad out back, he wanted to talk to us. My dad isn’t an extremely emotional guy, but when there is a death, he does get very emotional. We went out back; my dad was standing alone staring off in the distance. I approached him and seemed to startle him. He began crying and hugged me tighter than I ever remember him hugging me before. He explained that it was very hard for him; that he heart was breaking, he couldn’t believe what was going on. We all stood there and had a very heartfelt discussion.

Grandma had locked off uncle Mike’s room to prevent people from going in there, but every time any of us would walk passed the closed door, we wept. I didn’t even attempt the “stroll” passed his door; I knew I wouldn’t have been able to make it. I would catch a whiff of him and that would be the end of dry eyes for me. I notice Bobby was having an exceptionally hard time sitting in the house; I asked him if he wanted to take a drive with me. We told my parents we were leaving and would be back later.

Now Bobby was sixteen at this time. He was your typical sixteen-year-old guy. The only emotion that he openly expressed was anger. So as you can imagine, it was slightly bizarre for me to see Bobby in this manner. We got in the car and started driving; we had decided to go get some lunch and take a break from reality. I want you to understand, where my Grandma lives, there is no way to get into town without crossing the railroad tracks. We knew that the train was still stopped on the tracks while the police finished their investigation and what not. So, what we did was we took the country roads back to the town where we lived and then the highway back into the town that Grandma lived to get lunch. That must seem silly, but I know I wasn’t ready to see that train again especially after my first reaction to seeing it.

We stopped at the restaurant that we both worked at, Bobby didn’t want to go inside so I went in and ordered for him. By this time it was about noon, word had been around about what happened, and rumors were starting to spread. The town my parents and I lived in and the town that Grandma and Mike lived in are both very small. Rumors spread like wildfire. My dad used to joke: “you can’t shit in this town without everyone knowing what color it is”. My boss asked me what was going on and for what really had happened. At this point, I was only sure that he was hit by a train. I couldn’t confirm or deny any of the rumors that she had heard. She expressed her remorse, gave her condolences to the family, and gave me our food.

Bobby and I sat and ate our food in the parking lot. When we finished, we headed back to Grandmas house. I figured by this time the train certainly had to be gone. We were about a quarter mile from the turn to get to Grandma’s house when we ran into a long line of cars. The train conductor was just about to move the train. Something inside of me made me turn onto a nearby dead end road that the tracks passed over. The train was heading in that direction and for some reason I wanted to see it. Bobby and I sat just before the tracks and waited. The train wasn’t moving at all yet, but we could see the first car. I began spacing out just looking at the train. The light on the front of it, the sound of the engine running, the wheels; I was captivated by this machine. The machine that killed my uncle.

I am not sure entirely what made me sit and stare at that train. I suppose I was hoping to find some sort of comfort. Maybe catch a glimpse at the front of the train, the first few set of wheels. Looking back on it now, I think I just wanted to see some sort of proof, spatters of blood, tears of clothing, or patches of hair. I know that sounds very gruesome and extremely disturbing, but none of this seemed tangible to me.

The next thing I remember after spacing out at the front of the train was hearing the loud, obnoxious sound of the train conductor blowing the horn. It awakened me from the daze I was in, the train wasn’t moving yet, but the conductor was trying to get me to cross the tracks before he got going again. Without seeing anything that I was looking for, I turned my car around and headed back towards Grandma’s house.

“Nik, I really don’t want to go back there, can we just go home?” Bobby asked. I obliged and called to inform my mom that we were just going to head home to wait for them. Bobby and I drove home in silence and disbelief that this day had started so ordinarily.

When we got home, it seemed as though it had to be late evening, but it was only around one or two in the afternoon. After making funeral arrangements, my mom and Zackie came home. My dad went to a local bar for supper and drinks with a few of his siblings. I decided that I needed to get away for awhile, take my mind off of what was going on, so I called Mark and asked if we could do something that night.

By the time I had showered, changed, and got to Mark’s parents house it was around 5:30pm. I remember that because when I arrived, Mark’s dad told me he had seen the story on the 5 o’clock news. Steve (Mark’s dad) gave me a big hug as I walked in the door and asked how I was doing. I thought to myself, “how do you think I’m doing?” but responded I was okay. I never quite understood why people asked someone how they are holding up after a death in the family, it seems like a silly question to me. Anyway, I proceeded into the kitchen where I was greeted by Mark. He hugged me and asked what I felt like doing. I told him “…anything, really.”

We decided to go see an animated movie that we both thought looked funny. After all what harm could there be in a cartoon, right? The movie didn’t start until seven, so we went to the mall to walk around until then. At the mall, there are walkers; people who will go to the mall strictly to get in their aerobic exercise when it’s too hot to do so outside. Mark’s mom and one of his sisters were a few of these walkers on this particular day. And of course, we ran into them at the mall while they were on their “walk”. I got more hugs and “how are you doing”. We stayed and chatted for a bit and then headed to the movie.

Now, just to be safe, I will leave the name of the movie out of this. But we went to the movie and I couldn’t focus my attention. My head seemed foggy. I just wanted to be close to Mark and away from the reality that waited for me when I got back home. The basis of this particular movie was zoo animals wanting to escape back to the wild. They were tired of the routine of the zoo. Anyway, one of the animals heard a zoo-goer say something about the train station and it being wild… or something to that nature. So the zoo creatures decide that the way out of the city is by way of train. They somehow escape the zoo and make it to the train station unnoticed. Then one of the animals is peering down the tunnel in search for a train. I had become increasingly uncomfortable with every mention of the word train. With his head around the corner of the tunnel wall, the animal nearly is hit by an oncoming train.

I began weeping again in my seat at the movie theatre. I remember thinking, “maybe a movie wasn’t such a good idea.” However, I don’t think Mark noticed and I didn’t want to bother him during the movie. We went back to his parent’s house after the movie and I wept more. Mark tried comforting me the best way he knew how and then when I felt up to it, I drove back home. Back to reality for me.

I slept a dreamless sleep that night. I awoke the next day hoping that the previous day had just been a horribly realistic dream, only to realize it wasn’t. With the new day came more hardship. I found out that day while Bobby and I were getting lunch, some of my dad’s siblings had gone to see my uncle’s distorted body, what was left of it. And someone had the idea of getting his hair put in lockets for all of the girls in the family. However, they excluded me. Whoever had decided on the idea obviously didn’t consider me family. It breaks my heart, even to this day, to know that everyone else has something to remember him by, but I was left out. It was the first time that I ever felt as though I wasn’t part of the family.

The next few days seemed to have blurred together. I don’t really remember much of the days between the death and the funeral. It was almost an entire week that I seem to have misplaced in my memory. However, the funeral I remember very well. Mark had decided that take off work that day because he wanted to be there for me in my time of sadness. For some reason, instead of meeting at the church, we met at Grandma’s house and all went to the church together, as a family.

Now you may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned my third brother yet. That is because he is my stepbrother. He lives in Rockford with his mom and was unreachable at the time. My dad somehow got a hold of Neil, who at the time had a suspended driver’s license. Neil drove over from Rockford anyway. He said there was no way he was going to miss the funeral, even if it meant driving illegally. Neil still hadn’t arrived when we left Grandma’s so my dad left him a note to meet us at the church.

When we got to the church, we all viewed the memory photo boards and took seats in the pews. This visitation/funeral was meant to be family and close family friends only, but being from a small town word got around quickly. And nearly everyone that had ever known my uncle Mike showed up to pay his or her respects. The church that my grandmother had chosen was the same church that they had attended as a family. It was an older church and rather small. As you can probably imagine, the church filled up rather quickly.

Family that we hadn’t had lost contact with over the years had shown up and with nearly everyone in the family in attendance; we began running out of places for people to sit. I remember very clearly, at one point during the visitation, there was a line of people all the way out of the church and wrapped around the side of the building. All these people waiting to give condolences to the remaining family members and catch a glimpse at the memory board. I was awestruck with how many lives my uncle had touched.

If you recall, I mentioned “the aunt that everyone tolerates”. Well, my family is no exception. I have an aunt that everyone tolerates. I warned Mark about her ahead of time, to avoid her and that she was somewhat bitchy at times. I think Mark thought I was kidding until she did the most heinous thing you can possibly imagine.

With the church pews very close to full and people still trying to pile in, my aunt (who will remain nameless, everyone in the family knows who I’m talking about anyway) decides that she wants to clear out the first two pews on both sides. That means pushing everyone who had already sat down, back two rows. Mark and I had taken our seats along with my brothers in the second row. This is where my mom and dad wanted us to sit as a family, so we sat there and reserved seats for my parents while they accepted condolences from my uncle’s friends.

So my aunt decides she wants her brothers and sisters to all sit together. In addition, Grandma and her family, and what was left of Papa’s family could have the remaining seats in the two rows she cleared out. She tells us to get up and move back two rows; so, we did just that. After all that fuss and nonsense, she realizes just how claustrophobic the church is becoming with all of the people standing in the aisles and those still waiting to get inside. She then, proceeds to go to the doors of the church and tell all of those people still standing patiently outside that they cannot come in. The church was filled to capacity, but I know we could have made room. No one should ever be turned away when it comes to this sort of thing. They are all entitled to join in the service and in remembering the departed one.

After my aunt had officially upset everyone, the brothers and sisters of my uncle ended up sitting with their families. My Grandma sat with her sister, and my Papa’s family didn’t take up an entire pew, so they sat with my Grandma as well. The remaining pews that were cleared for these people, my aunt proceeded to tell her family to sit in. We moved, shifted, and upset all the people outside so my aunt, her husband and three kids would have a front row seat.

I wish I could say that was the end of the madness of the day, but sadly, it wasn’t. Once everything was sorted out with the extra people that were unplanned for, the funeral service began. Before I get too far into this, you should know that I am not a religious person. For reasons I’d rather not get into, I don’t believe in God, Heaven, or Hell. The preacher that was leading the service gave me even more reason to defend my believes.

The preacher began speaking; all was well. I was retaining my strength and remained calm. Until, that is, the preacher began describing my uncle Mike as insane. The preacher went on about how someone couldn’t have possibly done the things my uncle did and maintain his or her sanity. He proclaimed that God has forgiven my uncle his past sins and indiscretions and has taken him into his Kingdom. This upset me the most. Anyone that knew my uncle was well aware of his state of mind. He was the most selfless person I knew. He would do anything for his family and for his kids.

My Grandma had my uncle cremated. She separated his remains into four urns; one that she would keep, one for each of his two kids, and one to be buried. My Grandma thought it would be comforting to know that Mike was with Papa. So she had him buried in the same plot as Papa. Now, when discussing this with the cemetery grounds keeper, he said that it couldn’t be done. So rather than argue with the man, my uncle Donny went down either early that same day or late the previous night and dug a small hole himself at the foot of Papa’s plot. As we were gathered around the burial plot waiting for the preacher to arrive to say his final prayers, we all went up to the urn and said any final words we had. Some of us kissed the side of the urn as if it was Mike’s cheek.

A few minutes later, the preacher arrived and proclaimed that he had gotten lost. I wasn’t the only one who found this irritating. How could someone get lost with as long of a funeral procession as we had? I found this man to be extremely distasteful and amazingly inconsiderate. Mark, later, expressed his dislike for the preacher as well. I am certain that there had to have been others that found him to be inappropriate. However, he was the preacher that was there when my dad and siblings were growing up. He was the same man that baptized my uncle and my uncle seemed to like his services. I find it tremendously hard to believe that my uncle would have enjoyed that particular service though.

After the service, our family gathered for brunch. My mom, dad, brothers, and I all went down to the river. We had to cross two sets of railroad tracks to get to the river, I found this incredibly difficult. These are the same tracks that my uncle died on only north about seven or eight miles. We said our final goodbyes and threw flowers into the river in his memory. There is an embankment down to the river. We didn’t climb down it; we just threw our flowers from the top. It is no big surprise that when we threw the flowers, they didn’t go very far. My dad joked that even dead he didn’t want to leave that town. We then joined the rest of the family at the restaurant. Mark had a bite to eat and took me home because he had to get his parent’s car back before they got home and needed it.

The response from the community was incredible; those that were unable to attend (even some that did attend) sent flowers and plants. I was extremely surprised to see that the restaurant Bobby and I had worked for at the time had sent a very large and seemingly expensive bouquet of flowers and a very nice card. However, the shock is lessened by the fact that the owner of the restaurant also owns a flower shop. Regardless, the gesture was very touching.

When we got home, Bobby and I decided to split the flowers. He took a few and I took a few. We both dried the flowers and have them today. And so ended the longest week of my entire life, but not this story.

You see I had an extremely hard time coping with all of this. I bottled up my emotions and refused to talk about it. When someone would ask how I was doing, I would respond “Fine”. I thought I was fine. Except after that week, I didn’t really leave my house much, unless it was to go over to my parent’s house. I pretty much stopped going to Mark’s house, he came to see me on the weekends. I would go to work, go home, and lay.

That was the extent of my existence after this ordeal. I would like to say that I was in denial. The only way I really got through all of this was, this is going to sound very crazy, I talked to my uncle. He never spoke back, of course; I am not THAT crazy. However there was this extremely bright star outside my back door. I would step outside, sit on the steps, and speak freely to this star. I like to think that he could hear me. I would update him on things that were going on in my life as if I were just calling him on the telephone. I remained in this state for the next several months. That is, until August.

August marked the three-month “anniversary” of my uncle’s death. Mark had convinced me to come see him and he and I went for a ride. We ended up at a very beautiful park. It over looks the Rock River, but there is a set of train tracks there also. We were sitting on the tailgate of Mark’s truck when a speeding train roared by us. I seriously just broke down. I cried for hours that night and Mark helped me through those emotions.

After cutting myself off from most of the world, I lost a few very good friends. They thought it was selfish of me to keep myself contained for as long as I did when all they wanted to do was help me. Plans with these friends would be made and the time for those plans would roll around and I would break them. I used the excuse that I wasn’t ready several times. Looking back now, I think I was just trying to protect myself from the people. I didn’t want to go somewhere and have someone tell me how sorry they were for my loss; hearing people apologize and ask about him would only make it seem real.

After my breakdown, I finally forced myself to work through the feelings I had left bottled inside for such a long time. In doing this, I wrote a “blog”, a journal entry for all of you that aren’t technologically aware. I am going to include it in this so you can understand better. It is dated August 10, 2005 and entitled “I said the words, but didn’t know what they meant”, here it is:

When pain is all you have; what is your solution? When death seems to be the only means of relief, do you seek it? Who do you turn to when love is no longer enough?
Almost three months ago, my dearest uncle battled these same questions. To the entire families disbelief, the questions that seem so impossible to answer, came to an end. As did my uncle's precious life. It seems like just yesterday, I was so stricken with grief that I couldn’t even contemplate the answers to these questions. Today, I think I understand.
When your pain gets so unbearable, you don’t consider those you love... you wouldn’t dare pass this pain to them, you don’t want to seem bothersome or worry your loved ones. They probably wouldn’t understand anyway, right? The hurt you are dealing with is too tremendous, the only solution, the only way to stop this hurt... is to end it all.
We, as every family does, thought to ourselves "if only we had talked to him that day", "why didn’t he call me?” And I think the most troublesome to answer, "WHY?” Of course, it was painful and difficult to deal with; unexpected death is usually harder to deal with. We were extremely judgmental, but we... I shouldn’t have been. I had no idea the pain he was going through.
Now, as I sit here tonight, I wanted to make light of my realization. Death was the solution for my uncle, I saw what that did to the family and I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy. However, I now understand my uncle's and if it were bad enough to cause this pain to the family, it must have been pretty immense.
I just wanted to take some time and say to my uncle, I understand. I miss you, of course, and its selfish to want to relief my pain and bring you back... back to your life of tremendous pain. I love you and you will never be forgotten.

Shortly after my uncle’s death came an ex-boyfriend’s death. I only dated Jeromy briefly, about a month to be exact. While we were dating, he shot himself. Of course, he claimed it was an accident; that he had been drinking, went inside to get his gun to shoot some squirrels, tripped, and shot himself in the head. To his dismay and the family and friends relief, he lived. The bullet was lodged in his skull and never made it to his brain. When I found out about this, I tried my damnedest to get in touch with him. When he was in the hospital, he was staying in the psychiatric unit for monitoring. The hospital wouldn’t even allow his family to be in contact with him. After he was released, I went to his house several times and he refused to see me. He would claim to be too tired or not up for guests. His sister told me that he probably didn’t want me to see him with the bandages still on his head.

After several more attempts to see him, I wrote him a letter expressing my deepest sympathies and worries for him. I got no response. Things naturally ended between the two of us and we both moved on. However, I had heard a few months later he tried rolling his friends jeep to try to kill himself again. Tragically for him, he failed this attempt also. It was four years later when he finally succeeded. I do not know what exactly was happening in his life at the time, but I have heard a rumor that he found out his girlfriend at the time was pregnant with another man’s baby. I guess this was too much for him, he took his car and a shotgun out onto a back road, he parked his car, and shot himself again.

I didn’t hear of this until the day before the funeral. The owner of the restaurant I worked at said he was making flower arrangements for a guy in the next town over. He explained he had heard the guy killed himself and that he knew that he was 21 years old. I didn’t really think anything of it at the time. My mom called me two days later and told me that a friend of hers had heard that Jeromy killed himself. I felt terrible that I hadn’t put those things together. I felt even worse that I hadn’t attended the funeral or sent flowers or something.

It just seemed as though people that had been involved in my life were killing themselves randomly. Jeromy’s suicide coming a little over a month after my uncle’s death, seemed too coincidental. Because at the time I wasn’t even dealing with my feelings after my uncle died, I didn’t really deal with Jeromy’s death either.

Right around the same time (or shortly thereafter), I wrote that blog, I did the research to find out where Jeromy was buried and I visited his gravesite. I brought flowers and spoke to his headstone as if he were listening. I apologized for not attending his funeral, I apologized for not trying harder when we were dating, and I apologized that his problems were so bad. I referred to what was going on in my life and hoped that he was happier where ever it was he had gone. I am not entirely sure that this brought me any inner peace, but I am very glad I did it.

The rest of 2005 came and went for me. It was almost as if I stood still and the year passed me by. I thought I had finally gone through all the stages of grieving and was in acceptance of my uncle’s death. Little did I know, I was incredibly far from being a mentally and emotionally stable, healthy person. In February of 2006, my Grandma fell very ill. She was diagnosed with cancer of the liver. The doctors predicted that with as advanced the cancer was at that point; she had a few months to live. They scheduled a biopsy of her liver for the following Monday. My Grandma went into the hospital for a routine appointment and was admitted that afternoon.

The doctor then told the family that the cancer was shutting down her organs and that they would be surprised if she lived through the rest of the week. The doctors were right. The next morning, after my Grandma’s sons and grandkids had left to go shower and change, she awoke briefly, looked around, and then died. After a prediction of a few months, my Grandma lived five days. It was at her funeral that I realized I still wasn’t emotionally healthy. I loved my grandmother dearly, she lived with my parents after my uncle died and I saw her nearly every day. However, at the funeral, I could not show any emotion. I did not weep for her as I did with my uncle and my Papa. I did not cry a single tear.

I believe, now, that my “emotional system” hadn’t replenished itself yet. Because I waited so long to “deal” with my uncle and Jeromy’s death, I hadn’t built up enough emotions yet. That sounds better when I try to explain it aloud, it isn’t really something that translates well into written words. I honestly believe that my bottling my feelings up for such a long time may have caused this emotional health damage.

One would think that wasn’t much left to tell in this story, but the saga continues. Just as I thought I had passed my heavy emotions and into coping, I got a job offer. I was planning to move in with Mark and needed a job closer to the town we were living. I was on my way to the interview at the local steel mill, when I came to the railroad tracks. I cautiously and reluctantly crossed the first set of four tracks. I signed in at the guard shack, turned and crossed another set. I got down the road a bit and turned, where you have to cross five more sets of tracks to get to the administration building parking lot. Then when in the parking lot, there are two more sets of tracks that one has to cross to get to any parking spot.

After parking my car, I checked in with the receptionist and waited for my interviewer to come get me. I was told that the steel mill is a very good place to get your foot in the door at. They are very good employers and offer the most competitive wages in the area. However, as I sat and waited and even throughout my interview, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be able to conjure up the courage and strength everyday to cross twelve sets of railroad tracks. I thought seriously about declining the job after it was offered to me. In the end, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. I figured, at the time, that everyday I crossed those tracks was one day closer to being emotionally resilient again. When I took the job it was incredibly close to the “one-year” mark of my uncle’s death. I visited my uncle’s gravesite that day, on his birthday, and every so often just to “chat”.

I had spent so many sleepless nights wondering why my uncle decided to take his life that morning. I couldn’t fathom any particular reason why a person would choose to take his or her own life in such a gruesome and painful way. We were all told the day of his suicide that there was no note left behind. Now, I’m unsure if my grandmother told us all that to protect us or if our parents told us that to keep us from thinking poorly of Mike. However, I have recently been informed that it was untrue. He did leave an explanation. I am only partially certain of its accuracy, but this is what I was told.

Before my uncle died, I was informed, or overheard rather, that he was scheduled to see his ex-wife in court. It was a matter of visitation and custody; I just assumed that my uncle wanted to see his kids more often. As it turns out, they were going to court, but to possibly revoke my uncle’s partial custody of his kids.

Rumor had been spread that he had sexually abused them both. Those rumors were implanted into their mother’s mind by the kids themselves. I guess his daughter had gotten upset with him, and in school they had recently been discussing the wrongs of sexual abuse. The school obviously told them to tell someone else if they were being touched inappropriately or if they were being forced to do things, they didn’t want to do. My cousins, Mike’s kids, thought it to be a good way to get back at their father. They knew it would upset him if they didn’t go see him and that was revenge enough.

I guess they weren’t entirely aware of the consequences of their actions. Rather than have my uncle arrested, his ex-wife was just going to make sure he never saw his kids again. As I mentioned, my uncle would have done anything for his family, particularly his kids. For them to make such preposterous accusations is completely unfounded. My uncle couldn’t take the thought of losing his kids. And was informed that if he didn’t allow them to change the custody issue, he would be going to jail for sexual abuse of his own kids.

Therefore, rather than go to court and risk losing his kids or going to jail for something he didn’t do; my uncle thought the best solution for him was to go and lay on the train tracks behind my Grandma’s house. That was his decision to make and he didn’t want to bother the rest of the family. I am positive that if he knew of a better or easier way out, he would have taken it.

After the funeral was over and things seemed to go back to normal for the rest of the family, his son started making suicide threats of his own. He was drawing upsetting pictures and claiming everything was his fault. We, I, didn’t know about their claims of sexual abuse before, but it makes sense to me now. It makes perfect sense that his son would feel guilty. He didn’t have to go along with these accusations, he could have told his mother the truth, but he didn’t.

Everyone in the family knows those accusations to be untrue and the claims have since been revoked, but you can imagine that when I did find all of this out how hurtful it was for me. I didn’t revert to my old self by bottling this up; I spoke openly about it and my feelings with Mark. Although, I still to a degree blame his kids for our loss.

With Mike’s birthday recently passed and the second year “anniversary” rapidly approaching, I thought it a good idea to write this story. To try to heal any wounds that were left unhealed by time. When I started writing, I thought it would be an emotionally exhausting story to tell, but I have since found out that it has been slightly refreshing. I suppose I really needed to get all of this out of my heart and onto paper.

I wanted my loved ones to know the heartache I went through and still go through everyday. Since the accident, I have developed a desperate fear of trains and tracks. Although, I do pass over twelve sets daily, sometimes multiple times, it still takes extra courage on my part. The biggest part of my fear occurs when I have to stop before a train crossing. I sit there in awe and torment just staring at the passing wheels on the train. I am also exceptionally overwhelmed when a train stops before me on the tracks. It takes me back to that day when I first saw the train and then again to seeing it with such wonderment.

I have a few times been caught within the safety arms on either side of the tracks trying to get over them before the train gets too close. This panics me very deeply. When I see the lights start to flash and the arms starting to lower; I am never entirely sure what to do. On more than one occasion, I have first hit the brakes intending to back up and then accelerated through the gate before it closed. I hesitate only for that split second.

In the warmer months of the year, I walk at the park down the street from our apartment. There are two sets of tracks down there that I refuse to walk over. Driving over them seems different; I’m not so close to the tracks and am more protected from a train when I’m in the car.

However, since this entire ordeal I have learned many things. Things that may seem obvious, but it took me a tragedy to figure out. The first thing I learned being not to take your family for granted. Any chance I get to spend time with my family, I do. Even though I now live almost an hour away from my mom, dad, and brothers I still try to make it a point to see them every week. I am not close with any of the extended family on my dad’s side, but I don’t exclude them either.

Another thing I learned was to never be ashamed to ask for help. There were plenty of people who offered and wanted to help me get through my feelings after my uncle’s death. If I had only accepted just one of those offers; I’m sure it wouldn’t have been so difficult for me to get through it all.

I also became very aware that I should have never neglected my friends. Although most of the friendships I broke have been mended, it took me a very long time to realize it was my fault that the friendships were broken in the first place. I apologize to any of those friends that are still hurt by the things I said or did in my time of grief. I am also sorry that I shut you out. It wasn’t really my intention to do that, but I have realized since then that I did it to protect myself. If I talked about what happened, it made it real.

Never take your life for granted. Appreciate the things you have. Don’t obsess over the things you don’t have. Instead of frantically questioning things in life, accept them and move on. Everything happens for a reason, don’t suspect the manner in which they do. The people in your life have come into your life for you to learn from them; examine and take in every piece of knowledge they have to offer you. These are all things I have learned and accepted in my life since my uncle’s death.

Most importantly, love with your entire self all of the time. If you only give a fraction of yourself, you won’t reap the benefit of feeling love in return. Mark has helped me in more ways than he knows of. When he asked me to marry him, I knew the answer had to be yes. I knew this because he stuck by me, even in the times that I didn’t deserve it. A lot of people would get scared and run from a situation that took so long to rebound from, but Mark helped me all the way to the end of it.

Yes, I am still affected everyday; I don’t think that will change. Yes, I miss my uncle and think of him frequently; I know that won’t ever change. But through all of this I want everyone to know what a great guy he was. I don’t want him to be forgotten. He has made a huge impact on my life and I want my family and friends to know just how much.

So, if you would for me, return to the scenario of your family gathering. You have just realized that your favorite relative has passed away and won’t be attending the family gatherings any longer. However, don’t be upset. Your favorite relative’s seat may be empty and his or her presence may not attend, but remember: they are there with you always. They will continue to be with you at these gatherings in your heart and in your memory. So rather than be saddened by the fact that his or chair is empty, smile because you still remember. Know that it is important to speak about your relative because if you don’t, you and your family will lose those memories. It may be hard at first, but I assure you that you will not regret it.