Chapter 1: The Deaths
Growing up I lived a normal mid to upper class lifestyle. My parents came from nothing, and bettered themselves to have better for my brother and I. My brother and I, along with my mother and two out of her three brothers, all have a rare genetic kidney disease. Growing up we were told that my parents had actually asked the doctors if it aaa possible for their children to have the disease. At this point in their lives it was important in deciding on having their own biological children or not, since they watched my moms brothers suffer so much. The doctors told them their children would not get it, but at the time the disease wasn't known about so everyone was misdiagnosed. Flash forward a few years later and here my brother and I are, having some minor kidney problems and being genetically tested confirming the findings of the disease. Now my parents had considered adopting twins instead of having us. And knowing that we now have the disease, does this mean they regret having us? One very deep question I've always wanted to know the answer to.
Moving on— starting when I was young, death has become a natural part of our lives. I've seemed to accept it more than many others have. Michael Z died very early on in my life, and while I never remember knowing him the event of his wake and being around family I've never met before played a big role in my life.
From there a few years went on and lots of sickness later I lost my Uncle John. He was always my favorite uncle, and I have some great memories with him. When I was very young and my parents were busy with their business, I remember him taking us out in a convertible and buying us lemonade and juice. I felt so so cool! I was hanging with the cool uncle! He changed the lyrics to a song to, "a little bit of lem, a little bit of juice" because that's what we had! He also took one of our kittens when I was real young. He was black, so as a child I named him Blacky. He renamed him Timmy. We had him at my house and he slipped out of our garage and never came back. I think the reason I love black cats now is because of that. But anyways, the way my Uncle John died in the very end was never really explained, although I knew it was due to the kidney disease. One of the major things I've always regretted was telling my parents I wanted to see him before he died and they thought it was too hard for me, so they wouldn't let me go. Little did they know, that was my way of making amends with the situation.
Next came my grandfather from my dads side. After many years of sickness, I had such a bond with that man it was crazy. I never had anyone call me pretty as much as he did. We talked often through email especially. I'd say a lot of my writing skills came early on by practicing formulating conversations with him. The day he died, no one even told us he was sick and in the hospital. I remember walking out of school and seeing my cousin Taylor and her asking if I was going up to the hospital. She told me he was dying, and I was so angry my parents didn't even tell me. What were they going to do? Wait until he was dead to tell me? This time I fought to go up there. I wasn't letting that feeling of regret happen to me again. Before I went I remember actually praying. I had contemplated religion so many times, but this was one time I begged God to save him. When I went up there and I remember walking in the hallway of the hospital dreading yet eager to get to his room. When I saw him, it all became real. As I fought back the tears, I was counting the seconds between his breaths. I knew it was coming soon, but apparently so did my mom. I begged to stay five more minutes, knowing what would happen. My mom wouldn't let me, and I regret every bit of that. She told me he died a couple minutes later, while we were at a drive thru getting some fast food. Because food was always the way of solving the pain.
Another death in the family was my Great Uncle Dohla. We he passed, I was almost relieved because everything about that man had always creeped me out. I feel bad saying that, but we were always forced to give him hugs and kisses and it use to gross me out so bad. Sometimes he wouldn't even have his teeth in, and as a younger child it would really frighten me. No matter how many times I told my parents that, out of respect to him I was always made to do it.
When my neighbor Mary died, I was the only one to show up at her wake/funeral from my family. I remember leaving school to go, and I had begged my parents to come with me. I'm not sure if it was due to support, or just wanting them to help me feel the closure that was needed from previous deaths. I walked into the funeral home and sat in the back row. There weren't many people, and the ones who were there were all older. I remember feeling like I didn't belong, but Mary would have appreciated it. The only people who came to talk to me were a relative and a home aid. She knew all about my animals and their names. She always called my dog Cookie even though that was my cat's name. Mary over the years took good care of us whenever my parents weren't home and we had to sit at her house for a few minutes or even an hour. Her house smelled so bad of old lady mixed with cat pee. It was loud in there since her big tv volume was all the way up because she couldn't hear. However, she always had little snacks for us. The next couple of holidays after her death were hard on me, because I actually enjoyed going over and giving her cookies for Christmas, flowers and an Easter egg for Easter, and trick or treating for Halloween. She was like another grandparent. I still visit her gravestone to this day. I leave little trinkets on there, just as I do with my own family.
One of my saddest deaths was a man named Finn. It was so unexpected, and he was close, like an uncle to me. I could open up and we could talk, telling each other everything! This man was so genuine, and his laugh was so recognizable. I remember when my mom told me he was dead; my first reaction was to laugh and say no he's not. It didn't quite register in my head, and I still feel horrible to this day that I did that. He died in his home, found by his nephew Jacob. Something with sugar and a diabetic comma. That also wasn't ever really explained well, but I guess it's because no one knew he had those problems. Not even himself. I must have blocked out his wake, since the only part I remember from it was standing in line waiting to walk up to his casket and seeing Jacob in the back of the room. I knew from that moment on, we were going to be the only two to talk/bond over this when he was ready. Since then, he has come to the cemetery with me numerous times. Although he doesn't have a stone, I know about where he was buried. I wasn't there for his burial but afterwards I did show up. We've talked about the situation, and about great memories we've had with him. I still treasure a polka dotted blanket and the Prada sunglasses he gave me for my 16th birthday. We use to go camping every year, and as an outcast not being able to fit in, we always bonded. Camping was never the same since and it's hard for me to even go anymore. Especially alone.
Another death that has greatly affected my life was my cousin Sam. We were very close, and not many people from my side of the family really knew it. When he had his seizure, he vomited in his mouth and ended up choking on it. The lack of oxygen to his brain caused major damage, putting him in a permanent vegetable state. After telling my parents, they almost seemed happy like it was revenge on his mother for the things she went through with my Uncle John. You see, he was his step dad, never having any biological children of his own. I asked my parents to bring me up there, a four hour drive me as a new driver really could not do. But they refused. I begged my boyfriend at the time, but he could only stay one day. I walked into his hospital room holding hands with my ex. When I saw Sam laying there with tubes all around and all inside him, my grip must have let go because I remember my ex tightening really hard. His wife, and his mom was in the room at the time. They hugged me, and talked about him. The problems my family had with his mom at the time, just melted away at that moment. It was a very long day, and I didn't want to leave the hospital that night. But I needed to get some rest. I remember watching all of his stats go up and down, as we talked to him they would go up a bit more. His brother victor kept saying we would wake him up and that's what it was. I truly believed he knew we were there. One of the hardest parts was when we told him to move, and his hand jerked really hard as I was about to hold it. I freaked out, but looking back I shouldn't have. When the machines attached to his head showed the brain waves, I didn't even believe it. You could tell from the tests they did, half his body was paralyzed. I remember even watching them put a catheter in with his wife. She didn't even seem to care, and couldn't really answer any questions. Especially about the ones with what kind of drugs he was taking. I recently found out she was happy he died, so that she could move on with her life as she didn't want to be with him anymore. But anyways, my ex boyfriend had to work so I went back home. Before I left, I told him I would be back. I promised him. I don't ever break promises. No one would take me back up, and he laid there for days, maybe even over a week off the machines. His body was alive, but they weren't feeding him so of course he would die. Nobody visited him, and I found out he had passed through a Facebook message. I never made it back, and that was a huge regret of mine. His body was cremated and I never got any ashes. His celebration of life party was at his mother's house and nobody would go with me for support. I guess they didn't realize how close we really were. That man knew everything about me. And he always checked up on me. His death still hurts today.
Most recently, my mother's second brother passed away. This was when I lost all hope for God. Now he had a little girl who was 5 at the time. Such a daddies girl, with one little dimple on her cheek when she smiled. Now biologically she wasn't his, but that was a decision they made together so there would be no chance of getting the kidney disease. When he died, it was rough for all of us. I visited him in the hospital so many times, and I prayed and prayed. I think he was holding on for his little girl. The night he had passed, I didn't know it was that bad. I fell asleep early and woke up at the moment he died. I remember going to the bathroom late at night and my dad telling me. I couldn't comprehend what was going on since I just woke up. He told me I needed to get dressed quick and go get his daughter so they could head up to the hospital since they were trying to resuscitate him in time for them to get there. I was so focused on her, that I didn't focus on his death until afterwards. I got a phone call from my Aunt telling me I didn't have to go. When I asked her what was going on, she couldn't even tell me. It was at that point it clicked in my head. Hearing stories of his death put pictures in my head almost as bad as if I was there. I think he was sitting up, then all of a sudden just stopped breathing and couldn't catch his breath. He fell back and that was it. Wondering what was going through his mind at the time always will haunt me. His wake and funeral were really hard. It was like going through my Uncle John's all over again. Only I became much closer to my Uncle Michael. He was not only my god father, but my sponsor for church, and so much more. I have many childhood memories playing with him as a kid, and coloring. His daughter's life is forever changed and that's the hardest part for me.
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