My Uncle’s Gift
How His Death Made Me Appreciate My Family

Illustration by Felicia Lankford| VOX Staff

By Lauren McEwen
VOX Staff

When I got the horrible news about my Uncle Edward’s death, I was volunteering at a camp. It was almost the end of my day, and I was tired. I reached for my phone and realized I had missed three phone calls and had a voicemail. The message was from my cousin Jessica* who I hadn’t spoken to all summer.

“Hey, I was just calling to tell you Uncle Edward died this morning,” she said bluntly. Her voice showed no hint of emotion. She seemed dull and dry, as if she were trying to get the message over with.

This has to be a really cruel joke, I thought to myself. Jessica must be playing. My cousin’s personality is not very serious so even if this was true, I wouldn’t expect her to be the bearer of bad news. I was upset and called her back, hoping the message was a really bad joke. But it wasn’t.

“Jessica, are you serious? Are you serious?” I kept asking in disbelief. I just couldn’t come to grips with my uncle’s death. Trying hard to fight back the tears, I called my mom to see if what I’d heard was a rumor. To my sincerest disappointment, she confirmed that my uncle had died. Even though she tried to comfort me, the sadness I felt was still overwhelming.
It wouldn’t dawn on me until days later that I needed to start showing more appreciation for my relatives.

My Favorite Uncle
Uncle Edward was shot in the head at a gas station on July 20, 2007. I don’t know why; the motive is still a mystery. What I do know is I miss him dearly. He was my favorite uncle, and I loved him so much. I admired his cheerful personality and great sense of humor. But at the time of his death, I was a little distant from him. He didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just that over the years my family grew apart.
The last time I saw my uncle alive was last year at my Sweet Sixteen birthday party. My parents were fighting over child support, so, unfortunately, having both sides of my family at the party was uncomfortable. I kept my distance from everyone, including Uncle Edward, my dad’s brother. I greeted him with an awkward hug, made small talk, and spent most of the night dancing and talking to my friends. I didn’t think that six months later he wouldn’t be here.

Uncle Edward made all our family functions memorable. When all of us were together on holidays, he was the one singing loudly and telling lame jokes.During a Christmas party about three years ago, my uncle and his seven siblings had to sing a song. The song could have been so boring, but he cracked us up. singing in a deep, loud voice. I liked that he could always make me laugh. He used to call me stupid names, like “Bunga Tuffy” and “Chubby Checker,” mocking my voluptuousness. He was a family man who loved his wife and kids more than anything and worked so hard to make life better for them. Just a week before his death, he was baptized and life was really looking up for him. He just couldn’t be gone.

The Journey to my Uncle’s House
I hadn’t spoken to my dad all summer, and I didn’t expect that the next time we would talk to be under such terrible circumstances. I was angry with him for unrelated reasons, but I knew he was hurting because of the loss of his brother. So I put away my pride and called him.

As the phone rang, I wondered how my dad would react to my call — if he would even answer at all. I wondered if he was doing fine and what I could say to comfort him. I should have known better. My dad has this way of making everything seem OK. Even when things aren’t, he never lets his feelings show. He answered as calmly as ever and asked if he could call me back.

I called my older brother next, and he offered to pick up my sister and me from camp and take us to my uncle’s house to be with the rest of our family. Despite how I felt about my father and his side of the family, I knew I had to be there. Although I was a little nervous — and looked a mess — I wanted to go out of respect for my uncle. I wanted to be around the people who loved him most.

The ride to my uncle’s house was uncomfortable. I tried so hard to hide the fact that I had been crying. My sister and brother appeared as though they hadn’t shed a tear. They were being so brave, and I didn’t want to bring them down by being a crybaby. My brother made attempts to lighten the mood by telling us how big we had gotten since the last time he saw us at my party. Then he put on some jazz music, and I turned to look out the window. It hurt not to cry and express the anger and sadness I was feeling.

Reconnecting with my Family
At my uncle’s house, his three young kids were playing in the front yard. I envied how oblivious they were to what was happening, and for a brief second I wanted to be like them. I wanted to feel nothing but happiness — not knowing what had happened to my uncle.

I walked through the front door feeling anxious and awkward, ignoring the eyes of family members staring in my direction. I greeted my grandmother first and told her I was sorry. Then I noticed a large framed portrait of my uncle on the floor in front of the living room window. My heart sank. It was a photograph that our whole family had signed for one of his previous birthdays. Staying in the house was becoming too suffocating. So instead, I went outside and reminisced with Jessica about the sweet and funny memories we had of our uncle Edward. We laughed and cried and talked about everything that was going on with us.

A few days before the funeral, my aunt tried to liven up the house with music and dance competitions because she thought my uncle would have wanted us to be happy. It reminded me of the old times. That’s when I realized how much I’d missed everyone. I had been spending so much time dwelling on what my family wasn’t doing that I hadn’t taken time to reflect on the fun times we shared.

Unfortunately, we can’t choose what family we are born into. As dysfunctional as mine is, I know now that I just have to accept them with all their flaws — because through the drama and controversy, at the end of the day, they are still my family. And like my uncle Edward, I don’t know the day or hour they could be gone.

The writer is a junior at a DeKalb County High School.

*Name changed