I hope I never do this again.
Rest In Peace Randy Craig Nason II
September 19, 1978 - December 28, 2005
I will not stand at your grave and weep,
You are not there, you do not sleep.
You are a thousand winds that blow.
You are the diamond glint on snow.
You are the sunlight on ripened grain.
You are the gentle autumn rain.
When I wake in the morning hush,
You are the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
You are the soft starlight at night.
I will not stand at your grave and cry,
You are not there, you did not die.
Dear Randy,
First and foremost I love you. I forgive you, though i'll never understand, for everything. I know you meant well, and it's all that matters to me. You taught me one of the most important lessons of my life, do you remember? I was 13 and in my "body glitter is all forms of makeup" stage. You told me to "wash that shit off my face" because I looked like "a three dollar whore". You asked me how I could ever expect a real man to respect me when I don't respect myself, and that respecting myself meant dressing respectable. I took that and formed it into exactly that. I kept my legs closed, and put men second to myself. I found a good man, and he does respect me, and it's because I showed him I resepct myself. I always say I love you. You always made it a point, and so do I. We know how important that is. Well, Ran, I'll look out for your mom, and your boys. Please say Hi to my dad, and tell him I love him. See ya when the times right.
Always,
Kim
I didn't expect to end my year or begin it the way I did.
Sitting in a Taco Bell drive through is not where you would expect or really want to be told that your cousin died. I didn't know what to do. I almost wanted to apologize to the girl who was taking our money for my mothers way to long list of shit. She surely doesn't get paid to watch grown girls have meltdowns.
I cried. and cried. and cried. I went home and slept for 17 hours. 17 hours wasn't long enough. 17 hours will never take away the pain that's in my heart.
My mom told me it's so important that we stay safe. We try our best to live our lives out. Not only for ourselves but because we mean so much. And it's so true. Every person I know completes my puzzle, and without them, it's not a puzzle, it's just a bunch of pieces of cardboard that fit together to form... nothing.
This was the year, and it still will be. This is the year things are going to be different.
Even if on the 2nd day I stood in a room where everyone i love is crying so hard they can't speak. All we can mutter is "i love you's" between sobs and gasps for air. Poems that my cousin wrote, though depressing, were displayed and passed around. Maybe to justify in our minds why he would live the way he did. On the edge. But that was him. His smile said it all.
The oldest of his two boys ran around with a smile on his face. Every glimpse of his smile hurt. He would never even understand how his smile could hurt so bad, because his father shined through with every tooth he exposed. He held on to his mother's hand. Just like his father.. the MAN... always there for his mother, the only one woman in his life. He would run his fingers through her hair and comfort her. Even at his young age he knew it was time he stepped up.
Little Brady, who's 5 going on 50, asks Karen, who sits there just shy of birthing her baby girl, comforting the love of her life through the loss of his brother, his best friend, "momma will Randy still be my uncle?"
"of course"
"YES!!"
He ran across the room to the woman who sits there, being comforted by her 10 year old, trying to think of what to do with two boys, and her boyfriend of 11 years laying in a casket behind the wall. "AUNT ANGIE, Uncle Randy's still my uncle, and you're still my aunt".
I was frozen. The scene from garden state where Zack Braff is still and the room is spinning and rushy. That's me. I sat there on that tacky undersized funeral home couch. I watched grown men sobbing in their mother's laps, their girlfriends holding their hands. Their boy is dead.
My Aunt Greta consoled her 23 year old baby boy. His brand new girlfriend sat there.
"These kids were more than cousins. They were brother and sister."
"Yeah, I tell him how lucky he is to have such a close family, I never even see my cousins"
"Not these kids. Brother and sisters."
It's true. When I told work it was like my brother died I fucking meant it. Cousin holds a different feeling for me than most people. I know my cousins birthday's, favorite everything, and all their past, present, and future girlriends, kids, friends names. They're not just my mom's sisters kids.
I thought about why.... how.... overhearing my aunt wonder what she could have said. Done. Anything.
"One Sweet Day" starts playing to the side of me. I stood up to see what it was, catching a side glimpse of what I knew was him, in the casket. We watch a video my cousin Lisa made. Pictures through the years. Smiles, all smiles. That was him. I sat down at the point where my eyes were so full of tears I couldn't see the screen.
Where's my mom I wonder. I was not okay with the open casket, but I knew I had to go in, and I wanted to do it while it was just family. Breathe. IN. OUT. I finally got myself up. My mom lead me hand in hand to the line. I held her hand so tight, I had to make sure she didn't ever leave. I stood behind my cousin Ricky. I waited my turn. I WAITED MY TURN to see my dead cousin. I started to lose it.
"I don't know if I can do this"
"You don't have to"
"Yes, I do"
I stood there for what felt like a million years and one minute. As Ricky stood up I took this biggest breath I have ever taken.
There he was. He was there. But not. I let the tears race down my face, I knelt on the over used and very worn bench. I touch, barely, my forehead, chest, and each shoulder.
"It doesn't look like him. It's not him"
"I know"
I said a prayer. I didn't know what else do do. I looked at the things people had put in his casket through my tears. Am I taking to long?
"Randy, I love you more than anything, and I will miss you. You're in my heart always and forever."
I couldn't do it. I got up and ran to the other room. It didn't look like him. That made it so much more unbearable.
It was now time for general visiting. People poured in. Great Aunt's I hadn't seen since I still wore white tights. Friends, friends, and more and more and more friends. Two black vans pulled up. "In Loving Memory of Randy" spray painted on the sides. The love for this kid was surprising. You couldn't NOT love him.
We decided to take our seats in the general room. I chose one, row two, last chair. I looked at all the people standing in the aisles. Grown men, finicking, shifting their weight. Through them I could see more cousins crying. Everyone so often cracking a smile. I sat there, tom holding my hand protectivly in his.
Man after man knelt down before Randy. Scruffy biker construction worker types. Sometimes in two's, sometimes alone, simultaniously, forehead, chest, shoulder, shoulder.
In the line I spot Uncle Sammy. Good old uncle Sammy, my Aunt Greta's second Husband from Cuba. I watched him. He took his turn, he spoke loudly to Randy. "Why Ran, Why. You a good boy. You too good boy" His broken english interrupted by the repeative kissing of his forehead. "I love you Ran...See you when i do".
He came into the row behind me. "KoOoOmBOLEEee!" I guess that's cuban for kimberly.
"Dis yo man?"
"Yah, Tom, uncle sammy, Uncle sammy, tom"
(Handshake)
"Ah, bery nice ta meet choo. Sad, huh"
"yeah"
As the ceremony started I had mastered my breathing. My eyes, mouth, soul was dry. The reverend was awful. The cellphones that kept going off were insulting. But we were all there. Faces coming together over tragedy. And then, it was over almost as soon as is started. Almost an ironic symbolism of randy's life.
I hoped people would share memories. But in better judgement, and the fact there was like 100 people there, they didn't. I was sad that it was so unpersonal. The reverend talked about god, and stupid things like some bridge in N.J. being a bridge to nowhere. I spoke with god about this. I told him that I loved him, but this was Randy's day not his. And he seriously needed to talk to this reverend and others about repsecting the dead, and not making it seem like another notch in the bible. However, besides dropping a few times about my cousins stint in jail, and the fact he himself contributed to his own death, the only personal thing he said that held water was the fact that my cousin would ALWAYS play a pickup game. ALWAYS. any occasion. The hoop was his home.
Exhausted I was, my mom, stepdad, boyfriend, and myself made our way to the after thing. I had no appetite. I guess seeing the people you care about most in their darkest hour, and desparetly trying not to stare at your shell of a cousin doesn't do much for the eating. I was just happy to see everyone smile.
On the ride back I looked out the window at the snow covered fields. I closed my eyes and forced the last image out of my head with a million more of him smiling. And I think now I will be able to live with the fact that sometimes you lose pieces of the puzzle. The puzzle still exists. It's still the picture on the box.
All I can say to end this, Love the ones around you. EVERYONE. Life is too short to "call them tomorrow". Let people know you appreciate them. You need them. I need you.