Everything is like it should be. I kept saying this to myself on the ride to Portland, Connecticut. But, this cannot be true; this is not how it should be. Andrew, my cousin, should not be getting buried today. Those were my racing thoughts as my family and I traveled in a cramped car, just driving in silence. With the knots in my stomach tied tight, I was not sure how I would began to process the next week of my life, if that was even possible for me to do. With the sun barely risen, and the crisp morning air leaving goose bumps on my skin, the drive began, along with another horrifying day.

As we arrived, I happened to look up at the state welcome center, with its green incandescent sign and white letters spelling out, “Full of Surprises.” Although this is the state motto, I wonder to myself if someone purposely put that sign there upon my arrival like some terrible joke. Throughout the ride, I remember my palms sweating, falling asleep and waking up to Radiohead playing through my headphones. “How could this have happened?” I murmured. The last time I saw Andrew was a week before his death, when he came to visit my family for a week. We got the call that Wednesday that he had been swimming at the local quarry and had drowned. Everything about this was odd in some sense, calling this a strange tragedy would be an understatement if I were to sum up that day of my life. The entirety of the ride my focus went to my uncle, and wondering how he was coping, if he was even coping.

It took nearly 3 hours to arrive to Portland and when we pulled into the funeral home parking lot, it did not seem to feel real to me. It was supposed to be the first day of my senior year and I was saying my last goodbye to one of my favorite family members. I distinctly remember the moments of that day, the weather, scents, the horrified look on everyone’s faces, and the way we could not fathom that this was real and this was happening. My family sat in the funeral home in silence, waiting for the priest in order to proceed to the mass. I kept myself semi-dry eyed in the funeral home, but when sitting in church I could not even bare to listen to my uncle, his pain coming in sharp waves. “He was too young” my uncle proclaimed during his eulogy, “26 is too young to be taken from us all.” The smell of incense crowded the church and I was not capable to look over at my crying mother and father for more than a few seconds. While I was sitting in this unfamiliar place I began to have faint visions of Andrew and I or Andrew and my family spending time, whether it was the family reunion, where I’m positive he felt most alive. Whether it was playing poker, watching movies with us, or golfing with my father on a Sunday, I knew I could categorize these moments as his best ones.

While I was walking out of the church, tears came to me like a rainstorm in the summer. We then had to burry Andrew, an idea that seemed morbid but real. At least, no one wanted it to be real. I watched this all happen and disassociation began to take over. I felt like I’ve been living outside myself watching this horrible event occur. The vivid green grass in the cemetery caught the sun in such a brilliant way that it did not appear believable. I, myself am looking at my cousin being put into the ground. In that moment I grasp the idea of things changing within the blink of an eye, with no control of our surroundings or no external force stopping them.

After the burial, my family went to the after service to eat and spend time with one another. Cousins and family members from all over had been there, some I could not even recall their name. We didn’t discuss anything light nor heavy, we were just together and that was enough for now. While eating with my family, I felt this warm sensation just to be around them, their comforting touches throughout the day making me feel loved. I enjoyed every single second of being with them, just not in that situation.

The day flew by and I recall seeing the article of his death in the paper like a bad dream. I took a lot from that weary, tiresome, heartbreak. I reasoned that this is life and things change quickly and life doesn’t stop. Therefore, I now understand how important family can be and how much the simple phrase of saying “I love you” can do. Just being surrounded with people is like an anticipated gift on Christmas.  As much as a terrible thing this was, I believe I grew and learned the significance in appreciating the people you love, the places you love, and the simple happiness in things.