My Uncle Mike

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Cries muffled in the background as I wake from my sleep. I turn to look at the tear stains caressing my Mothers face, her rosy cheeks flushed and marred with black strips as I try to regain my consciousness to ask what was wrong. 2

I sat up looking confused at my hysterical Mom, trying to see past the pain burning through her ice blue eyes. Lost I asked her what had happened, she’s speaking but I cannot make out the words. I stressed the question twice. Finally after a third try I get it out of her. Screaming at the top of her lungs she fell to her knees ‘Uncle Mike is dead.’ Not knowing what to do, I grabbed my Mom and hugged her, I didn’t cry. I just sat there in shock trying to process what I was just told. Those four powerful words felt like they were shaking the inner walls of my body and I didn’t know what to do. I sat there in a daze, not crying, not speaking, only sitting there holding my breath counting every heart beat surging through me. 3

I knew it would happen one day, because everyone dies in the end. Everyone lives their lives and then they fade away into the darkness. Unknowingly his had to happen without any warning. 4

For as long as I can remember my Uncle Mike was an alcoholic. Drinking heavily when he was younger until he finally admitted he had a problem. Learning to cope with it, he went to an alcoholic recovery unit where he completed his program. Everyone was so happy for him when he finished because we all thought he was better then, than he had ever been. He stayed sober for four years afterwards, until he had a relapse and began drinking.  5

He lost all control over everything, giving into the pressure of the internal buzz that lets you feel nothing. I guess he started to become depressed and the only way he knew how to deal with the pain was to drink again. But, deep within his heart he knew it was wrong. Drinking heavily every night and day guzzling down whisky until he drank so much in a matter of weeks it made him sick. Knowingly he needed to stop he signed himself in at another alcoholic recovery ward where he completed his program in six months. Daily, after he became sober he went to AA meetings, the slowly started to drift into only going drifting once or twice a week, and then only going once and month until he finally didn’t find the urge to go at all.6

Uncle Mike was sober for months, and we all thought he was finally recovered. We were fooled nonetheless, shortly after those few months had passed by we found him in his apartment drunk where he would binge for weeks at a time. 7

When I was fourteen I had finally gotten the courage to walk into his apartment instead of sitting out in the car when my mom would come and check on him when he would start up again. The air conditioner was leaking water across the sidewalk up to his door, as I stood there in the heat my Mom fumbled for the keys to unlock second story door.  Walking through that bland colored opening and seeing him lying on the couch smoking his cigarette is a memory that will forever stay embedded into my mind. 8

The smell of smoke and cheap whisky filled the air as I stood there while my Mom took the liberty to wash his dishes and bring him the Orange Soda and food like always. He tried to talk, but only slurred his words. My Mom was so angry with him for choosing to fall into the path he had so many times before. I stood there in a daze as if I was a stranger from another lifetime. Everything seems to slow down, every action seemed played out as every word spoken seemed to feel fake.  I could only stand there and watch my Mom fighting to hold back tears, and I could tell she just wanted to scream at him for what he had done.  9

We walked from his torn, musty apartment and the sun’s rays seemed to burn as the touched my skin. I felt so helpless. My Uncle Mike, the one person who would do anything for another soul, was laying inside on his cigarette burned couch puffing away at another one lingering between his fingers. Intoxicated by the one thing he hated most. 10

And I knew Uncle Mike hated drinking, if he didn’t he wouldn’t have tried to give it up so many different times. He would have lost the courage to put the bottle back down after so easily picking it back up again. Uncle Mike would have kept drinking if he thought he wouldn’t hurt anyone. But, he knew he was and that was what gave him the strength to stop except for his final dance with the bottle. 11

The sky seemed grayer as I put on my black dress and walked to the car. Driving for thirty minutes just to get to the funeral home. Walking through those doors seemed like a distant dream I had forgotten to remember. The pews were filled with tear stained cheeks as his favorite songs played in the background. Ever colorful flower was placed perfectly in the their stands and he looked so peaceful as I looked from afar. 12

The preacher talked and told us about how the last couple of days before my Uncle Mikes death he prayed and talked with the preacher that had just moved in his apartment complex. Uncle Mike would cry and beg for God to stop him from drinking. And I can still hear the sobs resounding in my ears for every person in that emotion filled room as his talking lingered on.13

I wouldn’t walk up to the casket during the whole service until it was time to say our final goodbyes. My Mom walked before me, and I could tell it was the hardest thing she ever had to do. He was her best friend, always there to talk when she needed someone. Mom had always been close with Uncle Mike, and as I touched her arm to let her know I was here for her I could feel her tremble with every dreadful step. 14

Slowly I walked up there peering in on his face and how it looked distorted and jaded from all the make up caked to his cheeks. And I thought I was doing so well, being so strong, but when I took those last few steps right beside his casket something came over me. It was as if I wasn’t me anymore, and I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer. They poured out of me like the rain dripping down a broken windowpane and I couldn’t stop them. Everything had hit me at once. I was starting to realize that my Uncle Mike, wasn’t there to make me goulash anymore, he wasn’t there to goof around with. And most of all he wasn’t there to be the one person I knew my Mom could count on.15

Before he died my Uncle Mike would give the best advice to any problem or question you would ask him. It seemed as if he knew exactly what you were going through, as if he had been in the same situation you were currently in. Only if you twisted the scenario around where he was the person receiving the advice and not dishing it out he wouldn’t take it. Yea, he would sit there and listen to you acting like he was draining it all in, when in reality he would let if fall past his ears never grasping a single word. I guess he was one of those hardheaded people who have to learn things the hard way and for as many times he was in the same situation I can honestly say he never learned his lesson. For when you have to learn things the hard way it seems to permanently stain a memory into the back of your mind, letting you know how to over come the same situation. My Uncle Mike, never grasped the memory of pain and agony he felt after coming off of that buzz he called life. 16

The only thing I can take away from this is to be able to say that I loved my Uncle Mike for who he was and the amazing person he was. Caring in every way imaginable and he would have done anything for you if you asked him. I can take away with me the courage to stop myself from any situation where I wont take the advice given from some one who cares. I can take away with me the strength to allow myself to look into that broken mirror and say ‘I’m happy just being me.’ I don’t think Uncle Mike was ever strong enough to say those five little words to himself when he looked in the mirror I think he only saw deformity deep within and a life full of regrets and that’s something I’ll never allow my self to see. 17