at around 6:30 pm, my dad called me and I looked at the phone, shrugged and picked up. My dad calls a lot these days, he lives in Alaska and he constantly calls us to check up on us. “Hey!” I answered, usual tone, expecting the usual conversation. “Chelsea? Chris… Chris is dead.” He managed to choke out.
My world came to a crashing stop. Instantly, I started crying uncontrollably, “No.” I said, “no,” I kept repeating. How could that be? He had just posted on my dad’s picture for Father’s Day. I knew he had a constant battle with drugs but I never pictured this. He was 35. He was a father. He was a brother. He was my cousin.
Instant regret flooded through my being. About 6 years ago, when he was kicked out of our house, I had stopped talking to him. Back then, he was struggling with his addiction, and he screwed my dad, my mom and me over for the last time. Since then, I’ve held a grudge against him. I rarely spoke to him, and when I saw him at family gatherings, I kept interactions at a minimal level.
And now… he’s gone. Just like that.
It’s been a blur since then. Having to call my cousin, who was at work when he received the devastating news that his brother just died almost 18 months after his mom passed, then the rest of the family.
I hate to make this about me, when it’s so much more than that- it is… but it’s just so hard. I harbored so much resentment to him, so much disgust and hatred, and now he’s gone… and I don’t get to reconcile with him or tell him that I love him. I don’t get to hug him or see him again. It’s just so hard. …I may have not liked him, but I love him. And it’s going to be so hard to tell his baby’s mother when she comes back vacation that her baby’s father is dead.
Life is so fucked up.
I can’t even handle this right now.