JUST A FRAME

An ordinary afternoon can become something irreplaceable. Neither man could have known I'd still be carrying that moment decades later. It’s almost like a single photograph in my mind. In Brownsville. My Uncle washing his car. My dad talking to him. It feels like the memory is a lie. It’s all I have left. Just a frame. My Uncle Donald was murdered before I could go to school. Decades later, death called Terry. But he was dead to me well before that. Now I’m the only person with that memory. 

I learned early on that there are many ways to lose someone you love. I learned early on that there are many ways someone who loves you can leave you. In both lessons, I never got to say goodbye. This is just a fraction of the grief I experienced, but it’s been with me the longest. It haunts me. I never had a sense of normalcy. When I got older, I realized that was just the beginning of a life where sadness and happiness are as inseparable as inhaling and exhaling. Breathing with pain that doesn’t require medical attention didn’t make me stronger. It made me realize that this is forever. I can’t choose to stop breathing. I can’t choose to stop feeling. Sometimes pain just builds endurance, and endurance is exhausting. 

The older I get, the more it happens. I stay with the memories. They don’t leave, and that is the part that hurts as much as it feels good. I do remember the Sun bathing us. I don’t remember a sponge or a bucket. I just remember, and apparently that’s been more than enough. I’m still holding onto the only memory I have of him while trying to forget the only other person present.