Death

James Holly (1940 - 2017)

2 years ago my grandfather died. I didn’t really know him. I mean I knew he loved me, but I had only seen him in person maybe three times in my life. When I went to help my mom clean out his house after the funeral, I saw a glass cupboard filled with my school photos and dance recital pictures, and a Harvard hat. He knew everything about me, and not once did I try to get to know him.

My parents didn’t even tell me he was dead. I just got an email with plane tickets to Alabama and a text telling me to bring a dark suit with me. At first, I was more concerned with my college applications, then I realized there was only one reason the whole family would go there. When I got in the car my dad told me to change and that his funeral started in an hour.

The last time I talked to my grandfather was years ago. I don’t remember what I said, I couldn’t even tell you how old I was. All I know is that he’s my mom’s dad, he never left Alabama, and I hadn’t gone down to visit him in 15 years.

Terence Waldon (1958 - 2018)

12 months ago my uncle died. He was sick for almost ten years, so I forgot what he used to be like. But 18 months ago he got worse and never got better. I missed his funeral. The reason doesn’t matter, just that I never got to say goodbye.

I remember the first time I really processed my uncle being dead. Four days after my dad told me the news I was wasted on Vodka, sitting on a bus and I just started crying. I couldn’t stop for hours until my head was pounding and all I could do was sleep. The next morning I acted like nothing ever happened. But something did happen. He’s dead and he’s not coming back.

I don’t remember the last conversation I had with my uncle. But I do remember him. He was my dad’s older brother, my favorite uncle, and a man who loved his family more than I could ever understand. We always talked like we had never been apart, no matter how long it had been since we had last spoken. I helped his granddaughter with her homework because he asked, and because his walls were covered in family photos I don’t remember taking. He’s just like my dad in ways that they would never admit. They were best friends, the only sibling my dad ever felt a real bond with. He loved comic books and is one of the reasons my dad took me to see Iron Man when I was 8. He’d been on dialysis for 10 years, but it was liver failure that took him out. My trips home from school aren’t the same since I can’t visit him anymore.

Faye Waldon (1944 - 2019)

Fifteen days ago my Nana died. Her funeral is next week.

The day after my uncle’s funeral my Nana had a stroke. Four weeks later on his birthday, she had another one. It was too much for her and she spent a year in the hospital. 12 months where she kept getting better and worse. Some days she couldn’t speak, just looked at us with pure frustration that we couldn’t understand. Some days my dad and her were able to talk. I was too scared to see her like that. The day before she died I had just flown home for break. My mom asked me if I wanted to see her one last time before she died, and I said I was too tired and we would go in the morning. Twelve hours later she was dead.

I know exactly what my last conversation with my Nana was. Over a year before she died, two weeks before her second stroke, we got into an argument over my little cousin. My dad agreed with me and the argument got far too heated too fast. My other uncle tried to calm things down but we were too far gone for that. The last words my Nana ever said to me were yelled in anger and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget that.

Next week is my Nana’s funeral. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to wear the suit I wear for interviews to sit for two hours in uncomfortable church pews. I don’t want to sit in the front row next to her dead body. I don’t want to hear everyone talk about how great she was. I don’t want to hear or see anyone else crying. I don’t want to see my dad sitting next to me, stone-faced after losing his big brother and mom in less than a year. I don’t want to hear my mom act like a bitch because she has no capacity for other people’s emotions and because she never really liked my Nana. I don’t want to see my little cousin and try not to blame her for the last words I ever said to Nana. I don’t want to go to some stupid memorial for the immediate family. I don’t want to see her be dropped in the ground. I don’t want to remember that she spent her last days on a feeding tube, all alone. I don’t want to remember that she’s gone.

If I don’t go to the funeral I can pretend she’s still alive. I can listen to the only voicemail I have saved of her and remember what it was like when we watch Green Lantern together. I can remember her fish tank and how much she loved those ridiculously expensive fish. I can remember how we used to sit in silence for hours, just watching TV and enjoying each other’s company. If I don’t go to the funeral, I can keep pretending that she’s not dead. That my uncle’s not dead. That when I go home next week I can go over to his house and she’ll be there, slippers on, portable heater on full blast, complaining about how cold Minnesota is. If I don’t go to the funeral she’ll be at my college graduation, she’ll see me get married, she’ll meet her second great-grandchild. Seeing her lying there will make it real, and I’m barely keeping it together as it is.

Sophie Waldon (2000 - present)

The last thing I learned about my family was in their obituaries. I was too busy worrying about whether or not my boyfriend was cheating on me, or if I was going to fail my next quiz to ever ask about their lives.

I don’t deserve to be here. Not over them. They lived life and loved it. Found people they love and something worth living for. I barely tolerate life. I don’t really want to exist in the first place, so why am I still here when they’re gone? I don’t want to live like this anyway. Constantly walking a tightrope I forget I’m on. Every once in a while I trip, and it’s getting harder and harder to regain my balance. I don’t know what the other end of this rope is fastened to and I hope that I never find out.