Uncle Kermitt,

I don’t know where to begin. You were in my life for 16 years, and in a split second, you were gone. There’s that saying that says time heals all wounds. Well whoever said that must not have had a very big ‘wound’, because even i know that’s not entirely true.It’s been almost eight years since you took your own life, but when I close my eyes and think back to that time, it feels like just yesterday. The world made perfect sense up until that point, and most days I didn’t have a care in the world. Something changed within me when you died. I grew up, and I realized that the world makes absolutely no sense, that people die at the drop of a hat, or the pull of a trigger, and nothing or any amount of time will take the grief away. The grief comes in many different forms. Sometimes it’s tears, sometimes confusion, every once in a while it’s anger, occasionally it’s a numbness, but most of it is a hurt so deep inside my soul that I literally feel physical pain from it. Only this type of physical hurt doesn’t have an over the counter remedy, or a ten day treatment plan. It’s a hurt I have to ride out and hope fades away after a while.

So much has changed since you left. Parts of our family aren’t as close as they once were, while others that weren’t close before, are inseparable. In a way, many of us were brought closer after your death, but none of it replaces the part you played so well in our family. You had a big heart and loved all of us so much that I think you may have loved a little too much. You were easily disappointed by the actions of others, and I think overtime you lost hope in a lot of things and in a lot of people. You treated me like your own daughter, and you were definitely like a second dad to me, always so encouraging and impressed with me when it came to volleyball and my grades in school. You were like that with everyone, though. It’s hard to believe that we have all lived the last eight years without you being a part of it, and it makes me sad that you’re missing out on so much.

If I had the chance to talk to you, even if for a second, the first thing I would say is I’m sorry. I’m sorry we let you down. I’m sorry I hung up on you when you called a few weeks before your death, looking for the wife that I was supposed to say was not at our house. I’m sorry you felt so alone and abandoned that the only course of action you could take was to commit suicide. I’m sorry that I or someone else was not there to tell you how important you are, loved you are, and that no matter what you were facing, you would get through it and find the light at the end of the tunnel.

I would also tell you how much you meant and still mean to me. How much it meant when you complimented my hair, my grades, or the dives I took on the volleyball court. How much it meant to me when you stuck up for me when my dad and I would argue. How much it meant that you’d offer to take me somewhere if I needed a ride. How much I appreciated when you’d stop by our house just to chat, but you always brought us a sweet treat like a candy bar or ice cream. And how much I loved when you sang “All Brianna wants for Christmas is her one front tooth” even though it embarrassed me most if the time.

Above all else, I’d tell you that I love you and let you know how terribly missed you are.

I know one day when we meet again, none of what I would have said will matter, because I’ll be happy to see you again, and so overjoyed that those words won’t be important. But for now, these are the words that help me grieve your loss, and cope with the fact that you’re no longer here. 

Love,
Brianna, age 24