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To Say Goodbye
Dear Carl “CD” Kearney
Dear Carl “CD” Kearney,
The last time I seen you was a couple of weeks before I got that dreaded phone call from my father; your brother. We had fought over something so stupid, and the last things I said to you were “I hate you!” and “I wish you were dead!” For the rest of my stay in Pekin, I didn't talk to you. I went home without saying goodbye and that I loved you.
I didn't think that those would actually be my last words to you – Or at least, words you could understand.
After I started school again after my winter break in Pekin, I got the phone call from dad at eleven at night. He was crying, and I knew something was up. “Guess who's in the hospital,” he had said, and I just sat there, scared to death, thinking that my dad was crying because something had happened to Grandma.
Boy, was I wrong.
You had been drunk, dad told me; Drunk and on methadone, which you overdosed on. You were in the hospital, still alive, but barely breathing.
Days seemed like months, and I missed a lot of days of school because I couldn't stop crying.
I remember when dad drove three hours to come and get us, and then three hours back just so we could see you, because the Doctors said you didn't have a likely chance of living. Dad told Whitney, Dustin, and I not to cry as we put on scrubs and masks – It felt like like you were some kind of monster, the way we had to put on all of this protection.
But I couldn't help it – As soon as I walked into that dreaded ICU room and seen you laying there like a vegetable, I starting sobbing, and I couldn't stop. You were so skinny that the bones in your face looked like a skeleton with skin. Though you couldn't speak or move, your eyes were open. They looked so pained, like you wanted to be put out of your misery.
I never told you I was sorry, and I regret that the most in life.
The worst day of my life came when I was back in Quincy. 11:53 p.m. Tuesday, January 2, 2007, dad told me that he got there about ten seconds before you passed away. I had never heard a man so broken.
What I'm trying to say, Uncle Carl, is that I'll never forget how much you loved Whitney, Dustin, Dad, and I. I'll never forget how you came to see us more than dad ever did, and how you always told him “Shut up, you old man. They're kids, of course they're going to be hyper.” You always stood up for us when dad was being a dick or picking his girlfriend over us.
I'm sorry I never got to come to your funeral; Dad said that it was the most loving, heart wrenching funeral that he has ever been to. I'm sorry I waited almost five years to tell you this, but I'm so sorry for those horrid words I said to you. I don't hate you, and I couldn't; Not even for a second. I love you, Carl Dean.
This is my goodbye, the one I never got to say to you.
Your niece,
Remy Jean.
The last time I seen you was a couple of weeks before I got that dreaded phone call from my father; your brother. We had fought over something so stupid, and the last things I said to you were “I hate you!” and “I wish you were dead!” For the rest of my stay in Pekin, I didn't talk to you. I went home without saying goodbye and that I loved you.
I didn't think that those would actually be my last words to you – Or at least, words you could understand.
After I started school again after my winter break in Pekin, I got the phone call from dad at eleven at night. He was crying, and I knew something was up. “Guess who's in the hospital,” he had said, and I just sat there, scared to death, thinking that my dad was crying because something had happened to Grandma.
Boy, was I wrong.
You had been drunk, dad told me; Drunk and on methadone, which you overdosed on. You were in the hospital, still alive, but barely breathing.
Days seemed like months, and I missed a lot of days of school because I couldn't stop crying.
I remember when dad drove three hours to come and get us, and then three hours back just so we could see you, because the Doctors said you didn't have a likely chance of living. Dad told Whitney, Dustin, and I not to cry as we put on scrubs and masks – It felt like like you were some kind of monster, the way we had to put on all of this protection.
But I couldn't help it – As soon as I walked into that dreaded ICU room and seen you laying there like a vegetable, I starting sobbing, and I couldn't stop. You were so skinny that the bones in your face looked like a skeleton with skin. Though you couldn't speak or move, your eyes were open. They looked so pained, like you wanted to be put out of your misery.
I never told you I was sorry, and I regret that the most in life.
The worst day of my life came when I was back in Quincy. 11:53 p.m. Tuesday, January 2, 2007, dad told me that he got there about ten seconds before you passed away. I had never heard a man so broken.
What I'm trying to say, Uncle Carl, is that I'll never forget how much you loved Whitney, Dustin, Dad, and I. I'll never forget how you came to see us more than dad ever did, and how you always told him “Shut up, you old man. They're kids, of course they're going to be hyper.” You always stood up for us when dad was being a dick or picking his girlfriend over us.
I'm sorry I never got to come to your funeral; Dad said that it was the most loving, heart wrenching funeral that he has ever been to. I'm sorry I waited almost five years to tell you this, but I'm so sorry for those horrid words I said to you. I don't hate you, and I couldn't; Not even for a second. I love you, Carl Dean.
This is my goodbye, the one I never got to say to you.
Your niece,
Remy Jean.