The Dead Don't Blame

 So, I will start off with saying that this is something I have been avoiding for fifteen years; writing about this subject. The day my cousin died has had an everlasting effect on me. It changed nearly everything about my world in one fell swoop and I am still dealing with the aftermath after all these years. The events of that day have been a river of strife for me that I still seem to be crossing. I am hoping that in writing this, that I can relieve some of this depression and grief that I’ve been holding onto for what seems my whole adult life.  

I’ve been known to wear my heart on my sleeve sometimes and this is one of those times. 

A couple days before my cousin passed away, my wife’s grandmother also died. The night before the funeral, she stayed with her dad, aunt, and uncle while I stayed home with my cousin and his wife. My cousin didn’t stay in long because he went out to party with his other cousins. Which pretty much led me to just hanging around in my room all night and smoking pot. I had recently been let go from my job slinging sandwiches because of an injury that didn’t allow me to be around the heat of a bread oven. In short, I was young, newly married and my life had little direction at the time.  

I woke relatively early the morning of. Around 7. I had to put together a nice outfit for the funeral, shave, etc. When I first came out of my room, my cousin was just sleeping on the couch. Sawing logs, as one would say. Hell, the sound of his snoring used to make me tired. We had been rooming off and on together since I was 16. Anyway, I took my shower and shaved, returned to my room to get dressed. I was smoking a joint and getting dressed when I heard a series of coughs from the living room. This was usual. My cousin (yes, I’m not using names. Deal with it.) was a heavy smoker and I’ve heard him cough in his sleep a thousand times. This cough, though, was a little heavier than usual. I did ask “Are you alright?” through my door and he did respond. He said “I don’t know.” and there wasn’t an urgency in his voice. I’ve asked him a million times before the same question and have gotten the same answer. So, I thought nothing of it. 

That was my biggest mistake. When I came out of the room, he was sitting up on the couch, chin down. I thought he was sleeping and I went to touch his shoulder. It was cold. Very cold. He wasn’t breathing. I shook him and nothing. I yelled for his wife, who came out and we pulled him to the floor to give him CPR. There was no response. I tried again as she called 911. Soon, an ambulance was there and they carted him off to the hospital. They got him breathing again, but it was too late. His heart had given out and he had been deprived of oxygen for too long. I never found out the real cause and while I have some ideas, I won’t voice those out of honor of the dead.  

I should have checked on him immediately. I should have acted quicker. I blame myself every day for not jumping to. I blame myself every day and there is rarely a day that I don’t at least think of the man. 

What commenced from there was me aging ten years over the course of a few weeks. He left behind a delivery business that paid the bills and put food on the table. I had to assume his role in said company, taking over that day. I did what I had to do. I went to the contracted pharmacy and did the job. In the middle of the day, I went to my wife’s grandmother’s funeral. Everyone there had heard what happened that morning and many asked what I was even doing there. I was only doing what anyone would do; be tough and be supportive of the people that just lost a family member. Later that night, after I finished with deliveries, I came home to a very drunk wife and even drunker cousin’s wife. There was no place for me to grieve and why should I even get the chance, right? I deserve this grief. 

For weeks, people asked what happened to him and all I could say is that he passed away. I started losing hair in those weeks. More than I was already losing anyway. I was also losing my mind. While I did my best to keep a professional face, at home I was a wreck. I got lost in video games, booze, whatever felt good, and I treated everyone around me like trash. All I wanted to do was sleep and be numb. 

The day of his viewing, at least a hundred people came out to pay their respects. Friends and family that I hadn’t seen in years poured into the building that I didn’t get much of a chance to go in to. Maybe I was subconsciously avoiding going in. I did, though, but I couldn’t stay long. Back to work. Another excuse to not have to deal with it.  

The day of his actual funeral, it was a small event. Only close family. It was me, his wife, my wife, his mother, and a couple of his cousins. It was cold and rainy. I still can’t listen to November Rain by GNR because of it. Guns N Roses was his favorite band.  He was 39 years old.  

I used to go up to his grave all the time and talk to him. It’s been some years since the last time I did. Maybe I am overdue for a visit. Or maybe I should let him rest in peace. I have to learn to let it go and not blame myself. If it was his time, what could I have really done? It’s time to quit killing myself over it. I don’t think he would blame me. I don’t think he would want me feeling the way I do. But I do blame me and I feel it all the time. 

 Someday, this feeling might weaken. Today isn’t that day.