My First Time Seeing a Lifeless Body.
My Relationship with Death
When we’re young, we don’t think of it much: the reason for our existence. Tragic events in the lives of others, including our loved ones, are very minor as they rarely have any direct impact on our ability to receive love, and nourishment. When we grow into young adults, we can hardly recall said events ever taking place as our minds are already filled with experiences, skills, and lessons that we’ve learned along the way; memories of our own.
When I was 2 years old, my family lost my great grandmother, Deloris. Being so young, I can only recall fragments of her funeral. I can remember a large church (or it only appeared to be large because of my toddler body), bright lights, and a red carpet down the aisle. I can also recall hearing one of my uncles (my mother’s brother) crying really badly, but nothing else. Prior to, I remember an older woman that lived with us as she used to share pickles and cans of Pepsi with me. I was able to tell that something was off with her health back then, but the memories of her are always really warm, so I assume that it was how I felt when I spent time with her.
After the funeral, that I didn’t know was a funeral, I didn’t see her anymore. I didn’t cry, and I cannot say whether I missed her or not because I don’t believe I fully understood who she was. My mother referred to my dealing with the situation at the time as “out of sight, out of mind”. I was only told stories of our interactions years later after my consciousness had grown stronger, or “kicked in”. There was a photo of her that hung on our wall in the living room, taken in her army uniform. It intrigued me. I asked the adults in my home questions to find out more of who she was, and was somewhat saddened that I did not have the opportunity to speak with her. I never will.
As I had gotten older, the goal was to have fun, and learn as much as I possibly could to one day become the man that I had dreamt to be. The topic of death didn’t cross my mind often at all since all there was to think about was school, romantic interests, and how I spent my downtime when I made it home. The only thoughts of death had come from my mother’s mentions of her “not always being here”, which she had used as a form of motivation for my sister and I to become more self-sufficient in her absence. Tears had come to my eyes every time at the thought of my mother passing, and leaving us here, alone, was the worst thing that could ever happen. I knew for a fact that not being able to speak to her again, see her smile, make her laugh, inhale her scent when I went to give her hugs and kisses, and eat the food that she had made for us would break me. Why could we not live forever?
During my college days, I started to hear news of former classmates from my high school losing their lives, which no one would ever expect. They were very sad occurrences and upon hearing the news, I would recall memories of my interactions with those individuals. Death had not hit me as hard then, but the concept had become more frequent in conversation as we ventured further into adulthood. It wasn’t until a close friend of mine, the first friend that I made upon coming to the university, had lost his life in a car accident in 2016.
I had planned to see him around that time as the Spring semester was coming to an end. During the night that I discovered the news, my mind wandered:
“Where did he go?”
“How did he feel?”
“I will never see him again”
I cried really hard at the thought that I met someone that was really similar to me, and he and I would never interact again, during this lifetime. There’s never really a time in life that you get over loss, or forget that you’ve lost. There is only a point in time that you learn to live with it, and hope that another doesn’t come to anyone close any time soon.
I recently lost my uncle to Covid-19. My father’s first brother, Keon. He passed the morning after Christmas, Dec. 26th. The last conversation that I had with him ended with “I love you”, thankfully, about 3 – 4 weeks prior to his death. I hadn’t had the closest relationship with my father’s side of the family, but I did connect with his brothers and a few cousins, uncles, and aunts at different points in my life. I couldn’t make the funeral due to work occurrences, but I was sure to make the viewing for support where I met my cousin, Keon’s son, for the first time.
January 11, 2022 — I could feel his son’s energy the most, upon entering the space. There was sadness all over, but the heaviest emotions had come from my father, my father’s youngest brother, and him. He stood over the casket, watching his father’s lifeless body for the entire time that I stayed as if he was waiting for him to wake. I put myself in his shoes. “He lost a piece of himself”, I told my father. Thinking back, this is technically the case for everyone, but it was a much larger piece for him. He suggested that I console my little cousin, but I chose to give him his time with his father, uninterrupted. I knew how much this would mean to them.
I hugged him tightly when he finished, and faced to turn us. I felt a connection with him, of course. We were both named after our fathers, and the first born of our siblings. I told him that everything would be okay as I felt his breathing pick up. It was quick, and not as deep. I could feel his pain more as I held onto him and rubbed his back. I wished that I could take it all away. My father then walked to the casket again before we left the place. He laid his head on what was once his brother, and expressed wanting to stay there forever. His breathing had gotten deeper as he started to once again take in the fact that his first sibling was no longer with us. He cried after he let go once we were told that the building was closing for the night.
This was my first time seeing a lifeless body. I was much calmer than I originally thought I would be. This was probably because I felt the need to be stronger for everyone else. I’ve never really had to go to funerals and preferred not to, but I showed for my father and my late uncle. I touched Keon’s arm, and stared at his face for a while before I turned to the exit with my father. I thought about how I’d never see him open his eyes again, and how the trio, my father and his brothers, was now a duo.
“I couldn’t protect him. I couldn’t save my little brother!”, my father said as I held him. I expressed that it wasn’t his fault. There was nothing that you could’ve done. “We cannot save everyone”. “We are only one person. We cannot be everywhere at once”. These are things that I have to constantly remind myself of with my savior complex being a factor in my life. He agreed with me. We stayed around, outside, and caught up with family for a bit before leaving.
When I made it home, I was able to relax. I laid in bed and took everything in. Everyone’s energy had gotten to me, and the photos and videos of my uncle on social media didn’t make it any better. They were appreciated though. I enjoyed seeing the moments that he shared with others that I was not present for. They were all joyful, humorous memories: the things that make life special. I cried before bed, releasing the energy that I had picked up from the viewing. My crying was not as hard as it was when my friend had passed years ago, but the thoughts were the same.
Death is getting closer. Death is the only thing in this life that is absolute. Some people have their religious values to fall back on regarding where we go, and maybe come to realize a purpose for this as well. However, I see no true purpose in the suffering of or pain to others. If I could save everyone from despair, I would, in a heartbeat.
With my greatest fear being losing the ones that I love, is “life” just a game for me in which I have to conquer this? What is the true meaning in experiencing this? What will this ultimately accomplish? Unfortunately, these answers will not come to us as we are. We will only “possibly” learn these things as we transition onto the next life.
Rest in Peace, Uncle. ❤
I love you.
