Late October, 2018

Death. What an ominous, gloomy word, oozing with a dark permanence. A word that fills most with fear and dread. But not me- at least, not until my uncle died. It was late October, 2018, just a few days before Halloween. Uncle Jeff was a healthy, happy, kind man, living his life well and full. His death was a shock to all of us, but it never really sunk in until the day of the funeral.

It was late October, 2018, a few days after Halloween. My first funeral. The wind whipped through the dying trees which wilted for the mourning family. My grandmother---I call her Nana---couldn’t bring herself to enter the room in which her twin brother lay on display. I stayed with her, partially for her comfort, but mostly because I didn’t want to go in there myself, to see him lying there, so alive yet devoid of life. I distinctly remember staring at him from the very back of the showroom, afraid to go any farther, but also unable to take my eyes off of him. I stared so long and hard that I could’ve sworn I’d seen the tiniest twitch of his cheek or the fluttering of one of his eyelids. I stood frozen for what felt like hours, not particularly because I was sad or afraid, but because I was just captivated. While the rest of my family and his family so easily walked up and held his hand, kissed his cold skin, I stood in the back of the room, too much a coward to greet my dead uncle. Thinking back, I only ever made it halfway into the room.

It was late October, 2018. The memorial service had begun. Many people took the chance to share about my uncle Jeff, all of them incredibly fond of him. This was the moment which I realized a heartbreaking fact: I barely even knew Uncle Jeff. He lived down at the Jersey Shore, so I’d only see him every other Christmas. I didn’t know what he did for a living, or how he liked to dress. I didn’t know the things in which he was most interested, or the way he liked to greet people- everything that I know now about Uncle Jeff I learned from the memories of other people. I learned for the first time that he owned a business dedicated to recovering the environment when one of his employees spoke about him, his words glossed with a grieving adoration. I learned that he loved to listen to The Beatles when my grandmother broke down as the pianist played the joyful introduction to Here Comes the Sun.

It was late October, 2018. Uncle Jeff was gone forever. Underground. Above him, I walked with a flower in one hand, the other clutching my grandmother in a cradle of comfort. In a somber line of black we trudged, coughing and sniffling along the way. When we finally got to the front of the line, I gave Nana a nudge. I knew that the sooner we said our final goodbyes, the sooner we could begin to heal. Finally setting the purple flower upon the upturned dirt, I tried my best to apologize. Whether to Uncle Jeff or to his memory or to myself, I apologized for never taking the time to get to know him. This was when I cried for the first time during the funeral. For some reason, his burial was what marked his leave from the world most blindingly. I couldn’t hold back the torrent of feelings it gave me, the permanence of it all so painfully evident. Nana and I cried together.

It was late October, 2018. I’d said goodbye to a man whom I’d never bothered to say hello. It is a shame, really. At family gatherings, I never had any real conversations with him; I knew his name and what he looked like, but I didn’t know him. Looking back, this fact is my biggest regret. So if there’s anything you take away from this, remember to get to know your family members, and I mean really know; spend quality time with them. Because when they’re gone, you’ll have missed out on an amazingly beautiful person.