Life Between 0 and 1

On February 13, 2020, my nephew took his own life.

That’s a day that I’ve played over in my head like I used to play out a cassette tape when I was younger. There are a hundred what if’s that have gone through my head, but none of it will change the brutal truth, he’s never coming back home.

We were getting ready for bed when I took the call from my father-in-law. The words are as clear in my head now, three years later, as they were when I first heard them. Thinking back now, I had an odd reaction. It was as if reality disconnected and I was now guiding my physical body to do things, watching from outside while my commands were complied with. We all drove to my in-laws house, not sure why, because there was nothing we could do at that moment. I could barely process what happened on my own and I’m now around others that were having a significantly more difficult time than I was, but nothing was processing for me. I’m not convinced that I ever process any of this.

There was no funeral, at least in the traditional sense. His mother saw to that in, what I believe, one last dig to the family that she was in control. There was no burial either, his ashes are sitting in a closet at his mother’s house. I get it, it’s her choice, but others in the family have much stronger opinions. The lack of a funeral or burial robbed others in the family of some perceived closure, which is illogical since he’s not coming back.

He made the choice. We didn’t have any control over that. There were no signs despite us desperately trying to find even one. Some of us haven’t moved on. I will never understand how something can get so horrible that this choice is the only logical choice in their opinion.