| Noose... |
My uncle was the greatest person in my life. He never tried to be anything more than a friend to me, but I always saw him as a father figure. The first PC game I ever played was King's Quest with Russell and Uncle Russ. He had brought it back with him from Illinois when I was just a child. He helped me buy my first computer from his friend, Toby, whose house we used to visit to play Baldur's Gate over LAN. I worked as a dishwasher with my dad as the cook, except that everyday I went home to my aunt's house, while my dad was living with some other woman and her three boys. I spent as much of my time as possible over at Uncle Russ' apartment with my cousins. It was always we three and Uncle Russ. We played the shit out of Warcraft II and had a blast doing it. We played Baldur's Gate and Heroes of Might & Magic, and progressed into Civilization and Command & Conquer. We played DDO and RPGs and everything else we could get our hands on. We did everything we could to distract ourselves from everything around us. We gamed deep into the night, night after night, and we had a great time doing it. None of the bullshit mattered because we were having fun. Pure, legitimate fun, and there was no one there to stop us.
.
He helped me find work throughout high school. We worked together as salesmen, techs, and general laborers. He wrote my first letter of recommendation. We hung at work and afterward. And somewhere along the line, I grew up. I moved away to Seattle. He wished me the best at UW, saying it was a good school and I deserved it. I spent time with him before I left; just him and me.
.
After my first year, due to UW getting "one of the digits read incorrectly" on my FAFSA, I had to drop out of school because I no longer had the scholarships and grants I had when I got there. When I came home, I had a daughter, an ex-girlfriend, and nowhere to live. While I was in away, my dad had lost his home for drug abuse with an infant in the home since his third wife had left him. He was living with his mom, as well as my half-brother and half-sister (my dad got around). My mom was living with her new Mormon husband and family. Nobody had room for me, but I asked Uncle Russ if I could stay with him in his spare room, and he just asked me why I was even asking. I lived with him for about a year.
.
I eventually moved out to live with some friends, which didn't work out very well at all. Finally, after being physically assaulted by a roommate for telling him not to mess with my networking equipment (he was trying to replace my WRT54-G with an Apple Airport on a network running only PCs), I basically went crawling back to the mother of my children, who was in a college dormitory at the time.
.
We moved out of the dorm into an apartment with another couple. Her parents were raising our daughter and had been since she was born, primarily because I never got my shit together. I love my in-laws, but it never sat right with me that I had to rely on them so much when I barely even knew them. I don't like relying on anyone; period. Eventually, instead of moving into a bigger apartment, I bought my aunt's trailer as she was already selling it and it was literally adjacent to my grandmother's house. We got a great deal and it had an extra room. While he had stayed there with us for a while, Uncle Russ also eventually moved out of his apartment and visited his family in the mid-west. We went through some roommates in the time that he was gone, but when he returned, we had an open room for him and were glad to have him home. I honestly think he was glad to be back as well.
.
And it was like he never left. He got a job at as a tech with a small company. Shortly after, he got me hired on as well. We also got fired at the same time about a year later. I was fired for working hard enough to make my peers look bad. My uncle found out about it, and walked into the VP's office to vent his frustration at their decision. He had my back and I didn't ever ask him to. They fired him about a week later. From then on, more than ever, that man was not just my friend; he was my hero.
.
My mom died. I never got along very well with my mother. It was both our faults. We tried to patch things up near the end, and we were making really great progress, but her breast cancer came back for Round II. I remember being so mad at her for not trying harder to fight it the second time. It wasn't her fault; I'm just mad at everything all the time. We were making such good progress. We were talking regularly. She had taken my daughter to the park, the aquarium, and a few other places, simply to spend time with her. I was a bit jealous, but honestly, I was glad my mom was finally trying to spend time with family instead of chasing after another husband. But she got hit with cancer, and while we thought she beat it, I guess she didn't beat it hard enough the first time. I remember standing in the hospital room. My mom's head was completely bald; tears streaming down her face, and she just kept repeating, "I don't... want... to die." I wanted to say everything I never said all at once, but for some fucking reason, I couldn't say anything at all. I couldn't move my mouth. All I could do was clench my fists and jaw. I don't know what the fuck my problem is. I just clench up; perhaps bracing for the inevitable. I'd give my left nut just to be able to go back and say, "I love you. I'll take care of everything. It's all going to be OK." I didn't get along well with her for most of my life, but I was devastated. I remembered sitting in the hospital room with my mom while my sister was on a breathing machine. My mom was trying not to cry, and to avoid facing the situation, she instead wanted to talk about my sister's toenail polish. We buried my sister a few days after that. And here I was; it was happening all over again, but this time, there was no one to distract me. We buried her next to my sister.
.
Uncle Russ was the first person I talked to about it. He told me it wasn't my fault and that I did everything I could have. I really didn't believe it until I heard it from him. I really did just have to let her go. We used the money from my mom's life insurance to move into a real home. I didn't want to be there anymore. We made sure to get enough room that Uncle Russ could come with us. We loved him, and quite frankly, I needed a friend. A good one.
.
Just after we moved in, my fiancee told me that she was pregnant. At first, I was scared, like the last time, but I realized I didn't have to be. I had a home and we weren't poor anymore. We had room, plenty of resources, and most of all, someone willing to help out when we needed it. Uncle Russ loved my girls like they were his own granddaughters, and they both adored him. My second daughter was born, and I finally felt like things were going to be alright.
.
Shortly thereafter, my dad died. It had been about a year since my mom passed. My dad had done some fucked-up shit in his life, and it took me a very long time to get close to forgiving him. I'm not sure I ever fully will. He had heart trouble for a large portion of his life. I remember being about 14 when I first started hearing that nobody was sure how long he would live. But my dad was tough. He pushed on, and he kept working, spending 6 10-hour days a week in sweltering kitchen over a hot grill for just over minimum wage. I never once heard him complain. His heart finally gave out on him. He was forced to stop working. He started visiting the doctor more and more as his health slowly deteriorated. He had buried his daughter, and now, his ex-wife; his first wife. During one of his last surgeries, he had developed a staph infection in his heart while a pacemaker was being installed. They performed surgery again to replace the pacemaker, removing the old one, and allowing him time to recover before installing a new one. He died on the hospital toilet with my half-sister in the next room. They told me it took 27 minutes to get to him because he had locked the hospital bathroom door. Why the fuck are there locks on bathroom doors in hospital rooms? After we had to pull the plug, I just wanted to go home. When I got to my house, Uncle Russ was in his room, so I went to talk to him. I told him to start exercising and to take better care of himself because I couldn't do that again. From then on, he did. He made a point to eat right and try to exercise more by taking walks. He took it seriously and I was proud of him. He was proud of himself.
.
I wasn't ready to lose my dad. That one really hurt. I had a lot of mixed history with my dad, and we never really got to talk about it at length. So much was left unresolved with both of my parents. I couldn't deal with it. I was falling apart at the seams and there was nothing I could do about it. I buried myself in my work. I know I was working hard. 16-, 18, 24-hour days - I didn't care. I just wanted to work. Anything to distract from myself. I went from project to project, and by god, I was handling them. I was getting shit done. I was starting to feel good about myself; like I might actually do something that fucking matters before I expire. But, as all things in my life, that came to a head. Causing fights with my peers, my fiancee, and even Uncle Russ, I had worked myself raw. Too many days without sleep; too many project requirements left unfulfilled. My little box of escapism was starting to tear itself apart.
.
I switched gears. Uncle Russ and I starting talking about running servers for apps out of the garage for passive income so we could work on projects together at home. He had been working on getting his CCNA for years and finally passed the test. I had just graduated with my AAS in Web Development. We had plans and we were working toward them. We were going to do what we had always done well doing; work together. We were just saving up to get a decent server rig to get ourselves started.
.
We found him behind the door of his room when we went to tell him he was going to be late for work. His alarm was going off, but we didn't hear him getting ready. We thought he had just slept through his alarm, as he often did. It took both of us to push the door open enough for me to squeeze in and begin CPR. I was a boy scout, and I got my First Aid merit badge, but I had never actually had to use CPR. I did my best, but I wasn't getting any response. After what I'm positive was an eternity, the paramedics arrived. They moved him to the living room and began trying to resuscitate him. After about 30 minutes, they stopped trying. A good man had died, and the world is sadder for it.
.
I have lost my uncle, roommate, peer, mentor, and best friend all in one fell swoop. This is a cut that cannot heal. I no longer fear the reaper.
.
.
.
Dear Diary,
I miss you.