Loss is the most painful thing of all. The loss of a loved one is a pain so deep that it never fully heals. It will be forgotten temporarily, but never completely gone. Loss is difficult when someone is taken by the dark ends of life. Death does not ask for permission. Someone should have taught it some manners.
I was attached to the hip with my uncle. He lived with us and his room was right next to mine. I would always be a pesky little kid trying to hang out with him. He was very young so it didn’t feel like he was an uncle to me, but like a brother. My mom had me young so he was around 12. He would always bug me and pour cold water on my head. I’d always fight him and tell him mean things that a little girl thought were the best come backs. I always called him Dumbo like the Disney Elephant because it had the word, ‘dumb.’
He was like a cruel older brother. He told me that whenever I was mad I had no one to blame but myself. So he taught me to slap myself when I was furious. He would obviously push my buttons so I could go off the deep end, and yes, slap the fuck out of myself. When I caught on to the joke I was so angry, but now that I think of it, it’s pretty funny. I most probably looked psycho. We would always play pranks on each other. We became inseparable.
My parents divorced when I was five years old so I would only see my dad every other weekend, and my mom was working in retail at the time and the hours took a lot of home time. My grandma and grandpa looked after me as well as my uncle. In a way, to me he was my mom and dad as well. We just spent so much time together. He would play video games with me, help me with my math homework, watch movies, order in pizza when grandma made food that was about to talk to us… we bonded. To me he was Albert Einstein. He was the first person to introduce Einstein to me and he just became… Einstein. My uncle was a math whiz. He was such a smart guy, but even when I was little, I always knew he was a bit sad inside. But never mind that. I respected him. He spent time with me and talked to me. He knew my favorite EVERYTHING. More than what my parents knew. He communicated with me. I relied on him for so much and he would always tell me he was not going to be around forever. That was impossible to me. Little did I know.
The last day I was with him I was in a bad mood. I wish I wasn’t. I didn’t talk to him enough that day. The last words he ever told me before he left the house were, “I’ll be black.” Meaning he would be back later. He was a jokester. A guy with a good sense of humor. I loved that about him. I still remember the last look I got from him. He never came back, though.
I woke up around the time of his car accident. I woke up that night and thought of him, and I still believe it’s because of the close connection we had. I don’t care how cheesy it sounds… I WAS ATTACHED TO MY UNCLE. It’s like I felt it. I loved him. Love him. I went back to sleep with no idea what was waiting in the morning. No idea that cops were going to come and shatter… everything. I was only 12 and losing the best person in my life to me. Someone I was attached to. I can’t stress it enough. We lived together. I saw him everyday.
It feels like 2006 on certain days. Sometimes, I forget he’s not here. In my mind, I think that he’s going to help me with my math homework like he always has, but then I remember. I HONESTLY forget. I remember our movie nights, and how he was the only person to play video games with me. I can’t eat a brownie without thinking of him because he had an obsession with them. A week before he left he told me he was going to buy me this chocolate fudge ice cream. It torments me that I still don’t know what ice cream he was raving about that he was never able to buy, and I was never able to try.
I didn’t cry because my dad couldn’t make it to my 15’s party. I cried because my uncle couldn’t see me turn 15. Dancing in the arms of my grandpa, I couldn’t believe he wasn’t here. I forget. All I wanted to hear from him was, “Happy Birthday, shortie.”
When I was small, and I watched a movie where someone died, I never understood why someone would be so affected by how they spent their last moments with their lost loved one. I would think they were stupid for not taking account ALL the moments they spent with that specific person while they were alive. But, honestly, it’s hard. I think of all the amazing moments me and my uncle had when he was alive, but I always wish that I spent more time with him that day. Why? I don’t know. It just hurts. Death kills the person in the accident. Death kills the people affected by the accident, but still keeps them alive. Trapped with a small wound that can be bandaged, but won’t stop the seeping. Appreciate everyone in your life. Show them you love them. Be grateful.
I love you, Payito. You’d be 31. Happy Birthday.
daily glass of Mardini 