Growing up in the same town my parents grew up in proved to have some advantages. My mom’s brother, my Uncle Fred, lived close by, and he always paid attention to me. Sometimes he would even give me rides on his three wheeler. When I got a little older and had a small four wheeler of my own, Uncle Fred would take it to his friend and have it fixed for me if it broke down. He would come to my house, eat cauliflower and watch NASCAR races with me. He would tease me sometimes. Sometimes he drank too much beer, but he was never mean, so I usually loved having him around.
One morning, everything changed. It was May 19, 2006, and the day after my 13th birthday .When I awoke that morning, my mom was sitting on my bed. She told me she had some very bad news to tell me; my Uncle Fred had killed himself. I asked her “Why?” She said she didn’t know why but was sure he didn’t do it to hurt me because he loved me. At that time I didn’t believe that. I was so upset all I did was cry for hours lying in bed. I didn’t even want to get up. I remember my heart beating so fast that I thought it was going to just stop.
The night of the wake was the hardest. I didn’t want to go, but I knew that it would help me realize that he was really gone for good. When I got to the wake, I couldn’t go in the room where he was lying in the coffin. I didn’t want him to be in there; I wanted him to be standing there with me hugging me. I decided when there weren’t that many people in the room that I was going to go say my finally goodbyes.
When I saw Uncle Fred’s face, I started to cry. I wanted to make myself stop crying, but it didn’t work. I fell to my knees and said a prayer to God. I wanted to know that he was okay and happy. I remember my mom saying, “It’s okay. He is with grandpa now in heaven where he is happy.” I wanted to believe that, but it took a while to think that he could be happy without me. Now, I realize that I will see him again one day.
Since my Uncle died I haven’t ridden a four wheeler. It’s hard sometimes in school, because sometimes in class we talk about Suicide, and it brings back the whole experience again. That is one thing that some people don’t understand. They don’t know how to act when I start to cry, and they don’t know what to say to me.
I have a lot of pictures of Uncle Fred in my bedroom on a bulletin board in my wall. I also have a lot of his things: a ring, a necklace, and a few other things. After my grandmother died, my mom gave me his high-school diploma. I like to hold on to these things even though having him here would be so much better. I miss him very much, and he will stay in my heart forever.