When I was young my great aunt passed away. My sister and I were very close to her. I was only maybe seven or eight when she passed, but I can still remember the exact moment my mom told me she was in the hospital. At the time it was just me and my mom. My sister was still living with my dad. We were living in Fox Chase apartments at the time and I was in my mom room jumping on her bed watching tv. My mom came in with a worried look on her face and she broke the news to me. I don’t think I really understood the full extent of going on, but I remember seeing my moms face and I instantly became sad.

I don’t remember anything after that. I don’t remember going to the hospital. I don’t remember if she passed right away or if I got to see her again. I don’t remember her funeral. I don’t remember that I had to go to counseling because I had a hard time dealing with the loss. I don’t even remember having a hard time with it.

I do remember how she smelled. I remember that she was the one who taught me how to Đọc kinh (pray in Vietnamese). I remember the way her Thịt kho tasted. I remember that the reason I love the smell of moth balls is because her house always smelled like them.

I wouldn’t have to deal with death again until my early 20′s when my grandpa on my mom’s side passed. To be honest, I wasn’t very close to my grandpa. I rarely saw him and we never really talked when I did. I was sad for sure, but more so sad for my family. My uncles, my cousins that were close to him, my mom. I was sad for them and about the fact that I didn’t know how to comfort them. All I could do was be there. Then one Wednesday a couple of weeks ago I get a phone call from my uncle at 4 in the morning. I didn’t wake up to it. Then my dad calls me a little later and I half woke up, but my dad calls me at random times all the time so I thought nothing of it and decided I would call him back after I woke up. Then my mom calls me. The fact that she’s calling me this early I already knew something was wrong. When she answered the phone my heart dropped. When she told me about your passing, I broke. I didn’t know I could sob so hard. I don’t know how long I was kneeling at the foot of my bed crying in disbelief. I’ve never felt such a deep level of despair, I just couldn’t grasp the idea that you were gone. 

When the tears finally stopped and I could breath again, I just sat there. I called my family members, they all insisted that I either go to my uncles or go to work to stay busy. I couldn’t call your brothers, I couldn’t imagine the pain they were going through and I know that I wasn’t strong enough to handle it. My uncle had a class and my aunt was at work, so I decided to go to work. I couldn’t focus, I randomly had mini break downs. So I left after only a few hours of being there. I had no idea what to do. So I went to church. I went to the chapel, sat in the back and just cried. I remember my cousin posting something about how when we had a scare with her brother and his surgery she went to the same chapel and cried, and others who happened to be there just sat next to her and held her hand while she cried. I wanted that. I wanted someone to just sit with me, with out any questions, let me cry and just hold my hand. But no one ever did. I guess that’s the difference between seeing a young girl and a grown man crying. Everyone just avoided me as I sat in the back trying my best to not disturb their prayers. I prayed and I cried and I felt so alone for hours.

I got no comfort sitting there praying. I was lost. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. How was I supposed to feel? I didn’t want to be alone, but I don’t want to be around anyone. I called a couple of my friends, but what was I supposed to say? I called my friend Jon Jon to see if he wanted to grab some coffee, but he was having lunch with a friend. He invited me to lunch but I declined, and we decided to meet up after his lunch. So with no where to go I just sat there in my car. I felt numb, alone. I knew everyone in my family was trying to be strong and put on a brave face, and I wanted to do that as well. But I didn’t know how. I didn’t know how to process my emotions. I didn’t know how to handle the emptiness I felt. After some time Jon Jon finished his lunch, we met up and grabbed some coffee. I told him what was going on and as I did I just broke down again. There are only a handful of people who I’ve ever cried in front of. That didn’t help.

That night I picked up my aunt, took her to my uncle’s house and we just sat together and talked. None of it felt real, I still couldn’t come to terms with the fact that all of this was actually happening. I told my aunt about how I just talked to you that Saturday. How you wanted to go see a movie the day before but I was busy, and how you wanted to get dinner on Sunday but I was busy. I felt so guilty. On the night you passed I was literally down the street from your apartment Chris. I should have been there for you. I fucking always talk about how much I love my family and how lucky I am to have such an amazing one, but I constantly get caught up in my own shit and take for granted what I’ve been given. I didn’t even get to see you again. I was right fucking there. I could have walked to your house. I should have come over. I should have invited you out. I should have told you how much I love you. Growing up always feeling like an outcast, you always made me feel like I was your brother. You stood up for me, and you were the first person to say I’m proud of you. I felt like such a failure in the family’s eyes, a huge disappointment. But you were the first to see how hard I was working, and how proud I was of myself for what I’ve managed to accomplish. And where was I when you needed me most, two fucking blocks from your house getting drunk.

I saw your baby brother the next day, your parents and him flew out to Houston to start the process of collecting your belongings and bring you home to Jacksonville. I held your weeping brother trying to keep it together for him, trying to be strong for him.

I wouldn’t cry again until I saw your casket. I couldn’t cry at your funeral or the many prayer sessions that were held in your name. What the fuck is wrong with me. The only time I could cry was when it was just the family and you.