I've successfully avoided posting anything about this day for the past five years. It wasn't because I was avoiding it or forgot. Heavens, no. Even if I wanted to, I could never forget this day. I simply have been wishing it never happened. That maybe I could turn back the clock. Maybe I could live life more fully knowing not all who live get the opportunity to live long...
Ten years ago: February 24, 2008. Leap year. Two weeks and one day until my birthday. Two months since Christmas. One month since my cousin wanted another get together. Sunday... I woke up, relieved that the pains in my chest only hours earlier dissipated and I could breathe easily. It was my dad who opened my door, he hesitated. He looked lost for words so I filled in for him. "Are we going out for breakfast again?" He shook his head and told me there was an accident. My cousin was gone. My words left and I remember hugging my dad for a long minute. One thing I've always loved about my dad is our unspoken language.
I didn't want to believe it. As the morning progressed, I watched my parents make phone calls and my brother wouldn't look at anyone. He sat silently in a chair with his hand by his mouth. We all wondered why no one called us earlier. Then, we picked my grandma up and began the drive to the ranch. My dad finally called my sister to break the news. I heard her shriek through the phone, my dad's hand trembling as he tried to remain strong. It's like my senses were hyper-aware and I noticed every detail of that car ride. My mom didn't show much emotion, my dad wouldn't stop talking, my grandma kept wetting her eyes with drops, and my brother never moved his gaze from its fixation out the left passenger window. All the while I couldn't get my mind off one memory.
Christmas. 2007. Flip phones were in and I thought phones were stupid. All my cousins got new phones that year and Coy was fixated on telling me all about it. I made it obvious I didn't care. I gave him short replies and frequently switched my attention elsewhere. In short, I was being a royal bitch to him. That memory played on repeat in my mind while I continued to pick up on the behaviors in the car. We pulled over at the accident site. Now, my mind began forming images of how the accident could've happened as my eyes tracked the tire tracks in the ditch to the asphalt damage, to the shattered glass in the opposite ditch. There are things I cannot see that I wish I never saw or even thought of.
We stopped and grabbed carts of groceries before finishing the two-hour drive. The house was packed. My uncle pulled out my cousin's phone and pointed out the single scratch across the back before playing the voicemail recording. And then the most dreadful thing happened. One of my family members brought up my upcoming birthday asking me what I wanted. I'm sure it was to change the mood, but it only reminded me that one day I was going to age beyond my dead cousin. And today was supposed to be about him, not me. Then, I started adding in a fixation of dates: the last time I saw my cousin, the last time he wanted to see us, and how many days until my birthday.
In the afternoon, we left the house for the funeral home. It was a moment for the family to view the body. I wanted to see him to make myself finally understand that he was gone because I couldn't believe it. The gray, waxy appearance didn't look like him. I waited until the last possible moment with him to touch his leg. The coolness sent shivers through me, but I still denied his death within me.
That night I worked on homework as if nothing happened. After all, I had class the next day and didn't want to use my cousin's death as an excuse for getting behind. Plus, my mom told me to do my homework and I was a child who obeyed.
It didn't hit me until Monday morning, 02/25/08. Choir hadn't started yet and I finally realized the person who guided me in the family and always looked out for me was dead. The person I always counted on to take me out to ride the horses wasn't going to be there the next time I got on a horse. I cried in the bathroom until the teacher came to find out the horror I went through the day prior--and yet, no one really understood the depth of impact that rainy Sunday had on me. I was so upset that no one in my family asked me how I was doing in light of the terrible news. And yes, I did get selfish because I was also smart enough to know people don't think kids understand what's going on. But I knew. I knew that my best friend was gone and all that I could remember was the horrible last memory where I was unkind to the kindest person I knew.
For the next couple years, I fixated on dates. I knew how many months since he was gone, since the last memory, months to his birthday, and years left until I surpassed his age. It was overwhelming, but I was afraid if I didn't fixate on these little details that I would forget little pieces of him.
I also began writing more after his death. It became a coping mechanism. I wrote 17 pages in a book before I had to stop. What was supposed to help me be happy began drawing the demons back out from the February days.
I cried every night for over a year. Then, one night I asked him that if there was a God then they needed to stop me from ever shedding a tear over him. It was time to forgive myself for the memory, and time to focus on the happy memories. Death is just a part of living. I didn't cry again for probably a handful of years? My grandmother died and I felt like crying, but the tears never came. It felt fitting to not shed a tear for a woman who lost her ability to make tears.
I stopped posting about my cousin's death when I realized that was the only time I shared about him. I don't think it's fair to remember someone only on the day of their death.
The reason I've chosen today to post is simple. I've wanted to live a full life for my cousin and go forth being a better person. Some days I do well with this quest, others I fail epically. My point is, ten years have passed and while it feels like not much has changed, everything is different. I think of my cousin often, but this year on the anniversary I acted like it was a regular day and that scared me. It scares me that one day the day is going to pass and it won't bother me. I overthink and rethink a lot of aspects in my life, especially this day.
The memory of my cousin has fueled my writing for the past ten years, and I can only hope one day a student will stop mid-sentence and be curious about the message written between the lines. The message has and will always be a testament to how you, Coy, have influenced my life.
