Ok. Here I go.
Ten years ago today, I lost one of the most important people in my life. My Uncle Michael, my mom's oldest brother. From the time I was about 6, to the time we moved back to Ohio from Louisville when I was 7 1/2 he lived with my parents and I. He was probably one of my very best friends in the world, I adored him. He indulged my ideas about fairies, and we would talk for hours. He told me stories about a little man named Napoleon, about a band called The Beatles (I totally thought he was talking about bugs...). He wrote stories, poetry, and songs, and little notes on the backs of envelopes. He read me Coraline, and would stay up with me on friday nights and watch So Weird, and Kim Possible, and when I was a little bit younger, we would watch The Worst Witch.
He worked at Target, in the back room, and would bring home little things he found on the floor, little pieces of toys and the like. And he would put them in a little box on my dresser, a little blue sparkly "fairy box", I had my own Guardian Fairies, if you will, Joyful and Ginger, who 'brought' me little presents every couple of nights. I remember squealing with joy every time I would wake up to a little surprise in the box.
My uncle was a dreamer, a thinker. He participated in protests, and was an avid political and cultural thinker. He loved Baseball and rooted for the Cleveland Indians. He loved music, and played the harmonica.
But he also struggled with an alcohol addiction, which eventually was part of what killed him. Early in the morning, on February 12, 2003 he was under the influence, and stepped out in front of a car being driven by someone who was also drunk, and was hit. He died a short while later at the hospital. He was living with my Uncle Kim in florida, having moved in with him when my parents and I moved back to Cleveland.
I can remember almost every detail of that morning in color. I woke up strangely early, and put a Punky Brewser VHS tape into the player and started trying to make valentines, because I was supposed to have a party with some of my friends on valentines day. A little while later my mom woke up, and was in the room in the back of our house when the phone call from my dad came. I heard her say loudly 'Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god', instantly I was worried. But I had no idea what was going on. I remember walking back to her when she was off the phone and trying to asking, she waved me off, telling me to go back to what I was doing, that she would talk to me in a minute. She called her best friend and then came to tell me.
I remember sitting on our couch, the same blue and white striped couch we have had practically forever, and she told me "Michael has been hit by a car" I didn't quite understand what that meant, and my first innocent 8-year-old thoughts were something along the line of "will we still be able to talk about fairies?" I remember crying, lots. And my Grandfather, my father's dad, who lived down the street came and sat with me on the couch, trying to comfort me. I remember how cold his jacket was from the crisp Cleveland winter air, as I snuggled against him, wrapped in my childhood blanket and cried. He brought me down the street to their house while my parents packed up so we could go down to my grandmother's house to be with the rest of the family. I think I played cards and dominoes while I waited with my other grandmother. I remember climbing in the backseat of our car, and reading almost an entire baby sitters club book on the two hour drive. One of the last chapters was named after a character named Michael-David, and I remember saying to my mom "Mom, look, thats the name of your two brothers!" Which only made her cry again.
I remember being very confused, not understanding why everyone was this upset if Michael was only in the hospital or something. Because, you see, no one had explained to me that Michael had died. I didn't know, that never occurred to me. The only people I knew who had died were very old, or sick. Then she had to tell me that my beloved Uncle Michael, who I adored, was dead. His remarkable soul was put out by something so tragic, and so quickly. All I remember after that on that day was crying, lots of it.
Grieving is a process, and everyone experiences it in a different way. For me, this loss took a long time to move forward from. I spent a lot of time being angry. Angry at the man who got behind the wheel of his car, angry that we moved, angry that my Uncle had this addiction that eventually was what lead to his death. I went to a grief support group for children, which helped incredibly, and was a beacon of light. As I have gotten older I have grieved anew, first as a child, then as a preteen, as a high-schooler, and now, around this tenth anniversary, I am beginning to grieve as an adult.
This is the first year I will not be around family on this day. I didn't bring his harmonica that I now have, or any of the "fairy" gifts, or any pictures besides the two small ones in the locket I received and proudly wore on my graduation day, and on this day. This is the first year I am away from home, in a different environment, and trying to process all that lost that day, and all that I have gained.
I lost one of my best friends, a kindred spirit. I lost one of the most important people in my life. But I gained an understanding of what it is like to lose someone, I gained an understanding of how addiction can impact someone's life, and the lives of those who love them. I gained strength, and maybe I gained a guardian angel. If there are angels, I know my uncle michael is looking down at me, and smiling.
I hope he would be proud of me. I hope he would love where I am going to school. I hope he would be proud of the person I have become, because of, and in spite of, the void left by his death.
I spend a lot of my year not really thinking about him, or his death, because honestly, even ten years later, it is still too much. It still makes me too sad, too angry. But whenever I hear a harmonica, or see something about fairies, or see that the Indian's won a game, I think of him, and I smile.
He wrote me this poem on my "second grade graduation", and it perfectly describes his love for me, and the unique relationship we shared.
"Might Be Mary Shelley" By Michael Allbritain
Might be Mary Shelley
or she might be Joan of Arc
Her mind lights
Faerie Kingdoms
in Kentucky
in the dark.....
might be Amelia Earhart
drawing circles in the sky
might be Helen Keller
seeing where she wants to fly....
might become a scientist,
might bring world peace,
may the good lord bless and keep her,
this miracle,
my niece
(By your uncle Michael Allbritain, for Katrina, Happy Graduation May 29, 2003)
Ten years later, and I still can't believe he is truly gone.
*Disclaimer, these events were ten years ago, so these recollections are how I remember and understand them.
