[This story is based off of a true event, although not through my eyes, but through my uncle's. I wrote this not too long after my uncle died, as a way of grieving. Part of the end gets a little graphic, so if this bothers you, I would suggest not reading it. Criticism is welcome, just don't tell me it sucks. I wrote it to relieve pain, not to win an award.
]
Your Love.
I suppose growing up in a family with thirteen children can be pretty crazy, especially if youâre the oldest, and especially if your mother doesnât really know how to express her feelings. But we did, we survived those grueling years, and for a time we were close, real close, closer than youâd think seven brothers could be considering the number. But we were. I suppose thatâs why you took it so harshly when one by one we started our own families. In a way, I guess you could relate to mom in the way that you were never good with showing your emotions.
Talking about it now, Mom says that you got the worst of the stubbornness, next to our sister. The great family trait, just like Dad. You never were one to let things go. You would bottle things up, dwelling on them, letting it eat you from the inside out. But I never saw how much it took a toll on you. Not until it was too late. I remember it so vividly, I donât know how Iâll be able to get over it, the images are burned into my eyes like red hot pokers.
I was the last of the brothers you kept in contact with. At least until a couple months ago. You didnât bother to let any of the others know where youâd moved. Over the years, it seemed as if you had slowly cut off almost everyone. For some reason or another, you held a grudge against them, that they had decided to leave you and choose a family life over being a bachelor, living together and getting smashed every night. I guess you never realized how much this hurt everyone. No matter what you may thinkâ¦or thought, they loved you, but they knew that they needed to be their own person. You could just never see that.
Looking back on it now, I can see clearly how you planned it all out. The paperwork, the organization and thought that youâd obviously put into it, to make sure that nothing would go wrong. I can remember that youâd mentioned it several times over the years, and it had us all worried, but we never actually thought, or considered that you would go through with it. I suppose thatâs our fault. Maybe we could have gotten you help. But then, you wouldnât have accepted it anyway.
I can see it all now, our argument, which might have been the final break. I canât help but blame myself for it. If maybe we had never had, you just might be here with us today. It still hasnât sunk in, and I donât think it will for some time.
It was late at night, or very early in the morning. I donât know of the exact time. Around one oâclock or so. Iâd been exhausted from work the day before, so it took a couple of calls before the ringing of the phone finally kicked into my sleep driven brain.
When I picked up the phone and murmured a hello into the receiver, I now recall your voice so clearly. Letting your words sink into my still dream ridden thoughts, I quickly became alert. Quickly getting out of bed, I didnât even care to keep quiet as I ran down the hall into the bathroom.
âW-wait, what are you saying?!â I couldnât even try to keep my voice down. I had to make sure that what Iâd heard was wrong. That it was all just some misunderstanding.
âI canât handle it any longer. Itâs too much. I wanted to call you to let you know that before the cops and investigators haul off my stuff you need to take the briefcase. Itâs sitting here next to me.â His voice was clear, and determined. But somewhere underneath it all I could still hear the sadness. My heart was beating against my chest, almost too where it felt like bursting. My breathing came out in haggard, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded.
âYou canât be serious, come on, just hold on a feââ
âI love you little brother.â I heard the line go dead. Panic filled every fiber of my being as I raced back to the bedroom. My wife was sitting up staring at me questioningly. I couldnât even get the words formed in my head let alone on my tongue so I just left her there. Pulling on my pants quickly, I grabbed the car keys and cell phone.
Turning the key in the ignition, I wiped the tears away viciously, in an attempt to clear my vision. I roared down the highway as fast as possible, not caring how much over the speed limit I was going. Pressing three numbers into the phone, I held it up to my ear, and after only one ring heard a voice on the other end.
â 9-1-1, what is your emergency?âIt angered me to no end to have this female voice sound so calm and emotionless at a time like this. I canât even begin to understand how people could work like that. But then I vaguely recalled that I had been like that, when Iâd been in the Army.
âY-y-yes. You h-have to h-help me. My b-brother, heâs going to k-kââ I couldnât even form the words. Hot tears were pouring down my face as I tried to explain what was wrong. When I was finally able to regain a little control of myself I forced myself to speak the words I dreaded most to hear. I handed over his address, and the emotionless voice on the other end told me an ambulance and police car would be dispatched immediately. I knew that she had already figured it would be too late to save him, but I wasnâtâ¦I couldnât give up so easily.
It seemed that no matter how fast I drove, time still slipped by quicker. A knot had tied itself deep within the pit of my stomach, as I pulled down your street. My eyes were glued onto the location where I knew your apartment was. Ripping the keys out of the ignition, I slammed the car door before racing up the flight of stairs. In the distance, I vaguely recall the sound of sirens in the background.
Coming up to your landing, everything seemed to be in slow motion. You only lived on the second floor, but it felt as though Iâd been climbing a cliff hundreds of feet above me. I saw you before I even hit the last stepâ¦or rather I saw what was left of you.
The back of your head was gone, completely demolished by the bullet that youâd fired. I could see a hole in your mouth that revealed the remnants of your brain and skull splattered across the pale beige stucco, the crimson consistency shining in the neighboring apartment porches. Resting on the ground next to you chair was the gun, your hand hanging limply a few inches above it.
It didnât sink in. It didnât seem real. There was no way this was you, my older brother, the one I remembered from my childhood. But it was, and when I finally realized it, my world came crashing down. I barely contained myself from throwing myself on your body, to shake you in hopes that maybe it really was just a nightmare, something Iâd wake up too and be rid of in no time. But it wasnât. It was reality. The burning sensation in my throat was becoming overpowering as I turned to run back down the old worn steps.
Iâd hardly reached the bottom of the stairwell before I couldnât hold back any longer. The burning forced its way up into my mouth as I let the bile and remnants of food burst passed my lips and into the bushes next to me.
When the cops arrived a few minutes later, I was sitting on the bottom step, crying uncontrollably but without a sound. I could hardly stand to look them in the eyes when they surrounded me and asked me where the body was. Numbly, I got to my feet and led them up the stairs, to your porch. Right before they excused me, they asked if Iâd touched or moved your body, and I just turned and walked back down the steps. What else could I do. I couldnât get the image of your lifeless eyes out of my head, they were burning the inside of my mind, along with the visage of your brain and bone in a gruesome display.
I was responsible for telling the others about what had happened. I didnât know how I could. To call Mom and Dad at two oâclock in the morning to tell them that you were dead. I didnât know if I could bear it. But I somehow managed.
The next day I returned to the apartment. One of our brothers had convinced me to help him clean up your apartment. The neighborhood youâd decided to live in wasnât the best place to be. Especially if you had valuable belongings. When I got to your platform, I froze. We truly did have to clean up everything. Your brain tissue and bone fragmentsânow coagulated and driedâclung to the rough surface of the wall like a parasite.
It took a couple of hours before weâd finally finished cleaning up the grime. During the entire thing, the image of your lifeless body haunted me. To the point where I had to excuse myself and relieve myself in the bathroom a few times. I probably lost a couple pounds that day.
We packed up your stuff, the state government officials came by and took your badge and documents away, as well as your car. You didnât have much, which wasnât too surprising. Your body was released a couple of days later, and we had your memorial a day after that.
The briefcase you told me about was released with your body. I guess that you had it sitting next to you when you did it, but I didnât even notice it. When I first got it back, I couldnât even bring myself to open it. But I did finally force myself. There was a letter in there for me. I suppose it was the closest thing to your will.
I thought you should know that everyone was there. All twelve of your siblings, their spouses and even some of your nieces and nephews. Mom would have been there too if she wasnât so sick. Dad made it too. I want you to know that we all shed tears for you, that you werenât alone after all. You never were. You only believed yourself to be. But itâs alright; because no matter what you did during your life, we still lovedâ¦love you.
Iâm going to carry out your wishes. I will spread some of your ashes in Ireland, the home of our ancestors. There, maybe you will be at peace, and maybe someday I will be again too.
R.I.P. Kevin Waters 2.26.08
Your Love.
I suppose growing up in a family with thirteen children can be pretty crazy, especially if youâre the oldest, and especially if your mother doesnât really know how to express her feelings. But we did, we survived those grueling years, and for a time we were close, real close, closer than youâd think seven brothers could be considering the number. But we were. I suppose thatâs why you took it so harshly when one by one we started our own families. In a way, I guess you could relate to mom in the way that you were never good with showing your emotions.
Talking about it now, Mom says that you got the worst of the stubbornness, next to our sister. The great family trait, just like Dad. You never were one to let things go. You would bottle things up, dwelling on them, letting it eat you from the inside out. But I never saw how much it took a toll on you. Not until it was too late. I remember it so vividly, I donât know how Iâll be able to get over it, the images are burned into my eyes like red hot pokers.
I was the last of the brothers you kept in contact with. At least until a couple months ago. You didnât bother to let any of the others know where youâd moved. Over the years, it seemed as if you had slowly cut off almost everyone. For some reason or another, you held a grudge against them, that they had decided to leave you and choose a family life over being a bachelor, living together and getting smashed every night. I guess you never realized how much this hurt everyone. No matter what you may thinkâ¦or thought, they loved you, but they knew that they needed to be their own person. You could just never see that.
Looking back on it now, I can see clearly how you planned it all out. The paperwork, the organization and thought that youâd obviously put into it, to make sure that nothing would go wrong. I can remember that youâd mentioned it several times over the years, and it had us all worried, but we never actually thought, or considered that you would go through with it. I suppose thatâs our fault. Maybe we could have gotten you help. But then, you wouldnât have accepted it anyway.
I can see it all now, our argument, which might have been the final break. I canât help but blame myself for it. If maybe we had never had, you just might be here with us today. It still hasnât sunk in, and I donât think it will for some time.
It was late at night, or very early in the morning. I donât know of the exact time. Around one oâclock or so. Iâd been exhausted from work the day before, so it took a couple of calls before the ringing of the phone finally kicked into my sleep driven brain.
When I picked up the phone and murmured a hello into the receiver, I now recall your voice so clearly. Letting your words sink into my still dream ridden thoughts, I quickly became alert. Quickly getting out of bed, I didnât even care to keep quiet as I ran down the hall into the bathroom.
âW-wait, what are you saying?!â I couldnât even try to keep my voice down. I had to make sure that what Iâd heard was wrong. That it was all just some misunderstanding.
âI canât handle it any longer. Itâs too much. I wanted to call you to let you know that before the cops and investigators haul off my stuff you need to take the briefcase. Itâs sitting here next to me.â His voice was clear, and determined. But somewhere underneath it all I could still hear the sadness. My heart was beating against my chest, almost too where it felt like bursting. My breathing came out in haggard, and I was beginning to feel lightheaded.
âYou canât be serious, come on, just hold on a feââ
âI love you little brother.â I heard the line go dead. Panic filled every fiber of my being as I raced back to the bedroom. My wife was sitting up staring at me questioningly. I couldnât even get the words formed in my head let alone on my tongue so I just left her there. Pulling on my pants quickly, I grabbed the car keys and cell phone.
Turning the key in the ignition, I wiped the tears away viciously, in an attempt to clear my vision. I roared down the highway as fast as possible, not caring how much over the speed limit I was going. Pressing three numbers into the phone, I held it up to my ear, and after only one ring heard a voice on the other end.
â 9-1-1, what is your emergency?âIt angered me to no end to have this female voice sound so calm and emotionless at a time like this. I canât even begin to understand how people could work like that. But then I vaguely recalled that I had been like that, when Iâd been in the Army.
âY-y-yes. You h-have to h-help me. My b-brother, heâs going to k-kââ I couldnât even form the words. Hot tears were pouring down my face as I tried to explain what was wrong. When I was finally able to regain a little control of myself I forced myself to speak the words I dreaded most to hear. I handed over his address, and the emotionless voice on the other end told me an ambulance and police car would be dispatched immediately. I knew that she had already figured it would be too late to save him, but I wasnâtâ¦I couldnât give up so easily.
It seemed that no matter how fast I drove, time still slipped by quicker. A knot had tied itself deep within the pit of my stomach, as I pulled down your street. My eyes were glued onto the location where I knew your apartment was. Ripping the keys out of the ignition, I slammed the car door before racing up the flight of stairs. In the distance, I vaguely recall the sound of sirens in the background.
Coming up to your landing, everything seemed to be in slow motion. You only lived on the second floor, but it felt as though Iâd been climbing a cliff hundreds of feet above me. I saw you before I even hit the last stepâ¦or rather I saw what was left of you.
The back of your head was gone, completely demolished by the bullet that youâd fired. I could see a hole in your mouth that revealed the remnants of your brain and skull splattered across the pale beige stucco, the crimson consistency shining in the neighboring apartment porches. Resting on the ground next to you chair was the gun, your hand hanging limply a few inches above it.
It didnât sink in. It didnât seem real. There was no way this was you, my older brother, the one I remembered from my childhood. But it was, and when I finally realized it, my world came crashing down. I barely contained myself from throwing myself on your body, to shake you in hopes that maybe it really was just a nightmare, something Iâd wake up too and be rid of in no time. But it wasnât. It was reality. The burning sensation in my throat was becoming overpowering as I turned to run back down the old worn steps.
Iâd hardly reached the bottom of the stairwell before I couldnât hold back any longer. The burning forced its way up into my mouth as I let the bile and remnants of food burst passed my lips and into the bushes next to me.
When the cops arrived a few minutes later, I was sitting on the bottom step, crying uncontrollably but without a sound. I could hardly stand to look them in the eyes when they surrounded me and asked me where the body was. Numbly, I got to my feet and led them up the stairs, to your porch. Right before they excused me, they asked if Iâd touched or moved your body, and I just turned and walked back down the steps. What else could I do. I couldnât get the image of your lifeless eyes out of my head, they were burning the inside of my mind, along with the visage of your brain and bone in a gruesome display.
I was responsible for telling the others about what had happened. I didnât know how I could. To call Mom and Dad at two oâclock in the morning to tell them that you were dead. I didnât know if I could bear it. But I somehow managed.
The next day I returned to the apartment. One of our brothers had convinced me to help him clean up your apartment. The neighborhood youâd decided to live in wasnât the best place to be. Especially if you had valuable belongings. When I got to your platform, I froze. We truly did have to clean up everything. Your brain tissue and bone fragmentsânow coagulated and driedâclung to the rough surface of the wall like a parasite.
It took a couple of hours before weâd finally finished cleaning up the grime. During the entire thing, the image of your lifeless body haunted me. To the point where I had to excuse myself and relieve myself in the bathroom a few times. I probably lost a couple pounds that day.
We packed up your stuff, the state government officials came by and took your badge and documents away, as well as your car. You didnât have much, which wasnât too surprising. Your body was released a couple of days later, and we had your memorial a day after that.
The briefcase you told me about was released with your body. I guess that you had it sitting next to you when you did it, but I didnât even notice it. When I first got it back, I couldnât even bring myself to open it. But I did finally force myself. There was a letter in there for me. I suppose it was the closest thing to your will.
I thought you should know that everyone was there. All twelve of your siblings, their spouses and even some of your nieces and nephews. Mom would have been there too if she wasnât so sick. Dad made it too. I want you to know that we all shed tears for you, that you werenât alone after all. You never were. You only believed yourself to be. But itâs alright; because no matter what you did during your life, we still lovedâ¦love you.
Iâm going to carry out your wishes. I will spread some of your ashes in Ireland, the home of our ancestors. There, maybe you will be at peace, and maybe someday I will be again too.
R.I.P. Kevin Waters 2.26.08
