The Sense of Loss:
a Memoir
Wednesdays are always extremely dull. Nothing exciting typically happens during the school day and after school I go to my dad’s house. Once I arrive at my dad’s house, I walk straight down to the basement to start my homework.
Here I am, working on my algebra homework in this quiet basement with no windows. The basement is quite depressing; the walls are painted in ivory, the carpet is midnight blue, the television does not work, and the faint odor of kitty litter floats in the air. I dislike my dad’s basement, especially when I am doing my homework in it.
Suddenly, I hear my dad walking around upstairs.
“Sam?” Dad calls.
“I’m downstairs,” I answer.
He walks downstairs looking as if he is in a fog; something must be bothering him.
“Samantha, get your stuff together. I am taking you home.” Dad orders.
“Why? It’s only five; you usually take me home at seven.”
“Your mother wants you home.” Dad says impassively.
My mom would want me home if something was wrong. Clearly, Dad is trying to hide something from me. I peruse my thoughts, wondering about the possibilities of what might have happened. Is my grandmother okay? After all, she is 89 years old. There cannot be anything wrong with my Uncle Fred. Fred has been mentioning certain problems with his health, but so far nothing has been diagnosed. My pulse is beginning to race; I really do not like thinking about this. I hope nothing terrible has happened.
I hop into my dad’s 2004 navy Chevrolet truck and roll my window down. The trip to my mom’s house usually takes about twenty minutes, but hopefully longer today. I fear what my dad is keeping from me; it cannot be happy news. At the very least, it is a fine autumn afternoon; the leaves are of many different colors. I see vibrant browns, yellows, reds, and oranges in hundreds of different shades; the sight is positively stunning. October is my favorite month because of the colors and the cool air. The cool, light wind feels wonderful against my skin.
About twenty minutes later, we arrive at my house. I tell my dad goodbye and hop out of the truck. I feel so nervous and my pulse is accelerating again. I open the front door of our brick, old-fashioned house and walk inside. My mom is standing by the oven in our violet colored kitchen. The look on her face sends my nerves in a panic; she looks as if she has been crying.
“Why am I home early?” I ask worriedly. I wait for her reply.
“Fred,” is all she said.
“Fred?! Well, is he okay?” I ask, feeling a stab of fear. What could have happened to him? Is he sick after all? Why is this happening? My thoughts continue to race inside my head until my mom started to speak.
“He-” she tries to start to say before I interrupt.
“Is he dead?” I ask, so surprised by the words that fell from my lips.
“Yes,” she says with a hint of a sob.
Everything freezes. How can this have happened, and so suddenly? I cannot even grasp the concept of dead; what does dead really mean? He is no longer in his body; he does not feel anymore. A man I was close to and who was once so full of life is now bloodless. I will never see him again, never talk to him again, and never laugh with him again. He is gone, forever.
“How? How did he die?” I ask as tears began to form.
“He killed himself,” she replies.
My entire body falls into a form of shock and I lose control. Ten minutes ago, I knew how to stand, how to focus, and how to hear, but everything changed in a flash. My vision is blurred, my ears are ringing, and I fall straight to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. I have no idea how to deal with this situation; I have never felt so upset in my life. I cannot seem to put my emotions into words, all I can think about is the pain from losing him. I cry for a long time. It takes me a while to calm down and gain control of my thoughts.
Fred killed himself with a shotgun during the morning. My Uncle Fred is gone, and the more I think about it, the more I realize how harsh and permanent the truth is. I will never see Fred again. The ivy hat and open-toed sandals he would always wear and the brown leather briefcase he would carry around are all gone. Fred and all his belongings smelled like Viceroy cigarettes; he was a heavy smoker after all. I had grown accustomed to the smell, and there is no doubt in my mind that I will miss that smell. Fred would often cough because he smoked so much and his voice was deep. He had a great sense of humor and an interesting laugh; it was impossible not to laugh with him. He was fifty-one years old and bald. Fred was an intelligent, interesting, and genuine man. I hope I will never forget any of his characteristics or physical attributes even though he is gone.
As I sit in the living room with my mother, I realize how different my life is but how untouched the world around me is. The sun is beginning to set outside, kids are riding on their bicycles while laughing with their friends, and some birds are softly chirping from the willow tree in the front yard. The world is still turning and the people and animals seem content. If the world was to feel what I feel like, then the day would be gloomy. The sun would be blocked by an eclipse. The people of the world would be still; motionless and silent. The willow tree would most certainly be weeping. The future would look miserable. Hope would be lost and the people would fall into a state of depression.
I already feel nostalgic for the days with Fred. I can sense that the months to come will be the toughest months of my life so far. I feel a lump in my throat and a tightness in my chest. My mouth is dry and the tears continue to slowly fall from my eyes. My nose is runny and my head aches. This repulsive aura around me is corroding my heart.
“What is going to happen?” I ask.
“We will meet with the detective and work things out tomorrow. You should try to go to sleep,” my mom encouraged.
“I am tired, but I doubt that I will be able sleep with this on my mind,” I replied.
“You should take some Tylenol. It should help you sleep,” she says, sounding exhausted.
I lie in bed, waiting to fall asleep. I have never felt so low in my life. Everything around me reminds me of him. I look at something and see memories of Fred. I see the couch, and I think of Fred falling asleep there after dinner. I see the television, and I think of all the shows and the movies that I have watched with Fred. Everything leads to memories of him. Then, I think of today, the memory I have of him, but not with him. I wonder how he was in his last moments. Was he crying? What was he thinking about? These thoughts make me feel sick to my stomach. He must have been depressed, and the depression must have been becoming worse for some time now. Nobody even noticed. I know it is not our fault for not seeing something that is not tangible. It just kills me to think that he must have felt so alone; in a world full of people yet isolated at the same time. Can you imagine all the things people could have done to help him, if only we knew there was a problem? I would have done anything to help him. I know many others would have too, especially my mother; Fred was not only my mother’s brother, but also her best friend. He was loved by his family and friends. Somewhere in the midst of my thoughts, I fall asleep.
I wake up by a beam of light shining in my face. I slept peacefully; I did not wake up at all in the night. Then, the events of yesterday suddenly hit me; Fred had committed suicide. I woke up feeling normal, and now I am back in the unfortunate state I was in yesterday. I know I will feel this way for a while. Time will do its healing and the pain will soon fade, or so I have heard. One thing is for sure, my life will never be the same. The holidays will be the worst because we always spent them with him. Now, they will only be reminders of his absence.
The little problems I had faced, that once were significant, seem so stupid and meaningless now. My uncle, whom I loved very much, was tearing up inside while I was distracted by the insignificant problems I regularly encountered. I am not the only one; everyone sometimes loses sight of their selves and the people that they love because they are absorbed with work, school, etcetera. Do not forget that the feeling of losing a loved one is excruciating. It is much worse to lose someone, especially by suicide, and feel that you were too distracted by small matters to notice their problems. Sometimes, we might not be able to help, but we will feel much better if we feel as if we tried to help. It is important to make time for our loved ones: to be there for them, to listen to them, to help them, and just to notice them. Think about the ones you love; you will be grateful for it.
The loss of Fred has opened my eyes. I wish I understood how much Fred meant to me when he was alive. I am devastated to lose him. Unfortunately, there is nothing I can do other than to learn from his death. In this small amount of time, I have learned that I cherish my family and friends and I should never take them for granted.
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