“Why don’t you write about your grandpa?”
That’s what my husband suggested when I told him about this prompt. Prior to me telling him about it, I had quite a post written in response to this. It was quite snarky and dark. I’m not very fond of my family right now. I don’t have much of a relationship with any of them except for my two oldest sisters.
My husband had also previously asked me if it could be someone who died. I told him we pretty much take any and all creative liberties with these prompts, so really, any family member will work.
But I did dismiss his idea of my grandpa. Only because I’ve written about him before, about 10 years ago actually. Dreaming of Grandpa
However, I do have two other family members that have passed on that I don’t believe I’ve mentioned before.
The first is Uncle Ricky. For context, my mother has two brothers and two sisters. I can never remember their birth order, but I do remember that growing up I sometimes had a hard time remembering who was my actual aunt/uncle and who married into the family. As it turns out, the ones who were blood relation all had the same initials. The boys all had names with an R–Uncle Ricky and Uncle Rob, and the girls had names with an L–Aunt Laurie, Aunt Linda, and my mother, Lucinda.
Uncle Ricky was always my favorite. I never saw any of my extended family much because they all lived in Cleveland, and still do, mostly. My parents and I moved to Georgia when I was 4. I saw Uncle Ricky on visits to Ohio and on the rare occasion he came down to us. But he was so fun. Such an energetic spirit. He seemed to always have a smile and jokes to go with it. I was young and because of the short visits, I never got to know Uncle Ricky like my other cousins did. When he passed, I was in my first year of college. When my cousins and I gathered the night before his funeral, there were drinks and other substances being consumed and that’s when I heard the stories. It’s also important to know that I am the second youngest cousin. Everyone else is at least 6 years or more older than me.
That night the older cousins told stories about Uncle Ricky, most of which started with something similar to, “Remember that one time we got high with him and…” or, “This one time we got so drunk with him and…” It was honestly very shocking to hear that our beloved Uncle Ricky did stuff like that. Obviously there’s nothing wrong with imbing like that, but I only had childlike memories of him. What they were describing was a much more mature version of my favorite uncle.
After we laid him to rest, our family changed. We quickly learned that it was Uncle Ricky that had been holding us together. He was the one who insisted on family get-togethers and staying in close communication with everybody. After he was gone, we all went our separate ways and became a family that only got together for weddings and funerals. Which brings me to Little Joe.
“Little” Joe was my oldest cousin. Each of my aunts and uncles had two kids, except for my mother who had three. Joe was the first born. So nicknamed “little” because he was a junior. His father, who I actually never met, was Joe also. His mom, Aunt Linda, was divorced from his dad long before I was ever old enough to have met him.
I don’t know much about Little Joe. I remember going to his wedding the summer after the 5th grade. That wedding was a huge deal. He was the first of the cousins to get married. They did a thing where you could pay a dollar and dance with the bride or groom, and I was so nervous to dance with him because I didn’t really know him. I loved their wedding cake though. It had a little fountain with running water in the middle of it. Kind of like the cake in Goodfellas actually.
But after that, I just don’t know much about him. I know more about his wife Sheryl actually. She became another cousin and was as close to us as anyone else. Long after his death, Sheryl still comes to family events. They did have two children and those kids are family so she definitely still is too.
One thing I do remember is that I always thought his mustache made him look like Freddy Mercury. I guess he was not a fan because I told him about his resemblance one time and he took a joking kind of offense to it.
Little Joe was also one of the cousins who had a ‘getting drunk with Uncle Ricky’ story to share.
I have other family members who have passed. Uncle Rob died just a couple years ago. There was a weekend just prior to his death that we all gathered together to say one last goodbye to him when he was in hospice. Like I said, weddings and funerals.
I also have a grandma that was a big part of my life growing up that I could write about. But I chose Uncle Ricky and Little Joe because October is World Mental Health Month. September was also National Suicide Prevention Month. Both Uncle Ricky and Little Joe comitted suicide.
I don’t know why they did. Uncle Ricky had just separated from my Aunt Kathy, and Little Joe was separated from Sheryl at the time. I know that Uncle Ricky was an alcoholic, or so I was told. But also, we just don’t know why. They didn’t leave notes. All anybody truly knows about suicide is that the people who complete it, or even attempt it, are deeply unhappy and perhaps feel hopeless.
It’s hard to imagine Uncle Ricky ever being that unhappy. It reminds me of how shocked everyone was when it was discovered that Robin Williams had committed suicide. So happy on the outside, but deeply disturbed on the inside. I don’t know enough about either of my family members to know if there were warning signs. I only know how heartbroken we all were afterwards. I’ve since heard Sheryl talk about how angry she was at times that Little Joe left her to raise their children alone. How he could leave their two boys without a father. I know Aunt Kathy visited Uncle Ricky’s grave every day for at least a year. People tried telling her that it wasn’t healthy to do that. She felt guilty and somehow responsible for his death. She felt that it was her leaving him that upset him enough to do what he did. But honestly, we’ll never know. And knowing their reason won’t bring them back. I can only pray that both of their souls are at peace. My Catholic faith led me to believe that people who end their own lives don’t end up in heaven. But I refuse to believe that Uncle Ricky and Little Joe are anywhere other than there. My heart makes me hope that Uncle Ricky was there to greet his brother Rob when he passed from cancer.
My heart also hopes that mental health care becomes more easily available to people who need it. And that those who need it reach out for it, defying the stigma that exists around mental illness, and begins to heal from what is making them think of ending their lives. Everybody deserves happiness. Or at least to live a life free of questioning whether they want to stay alive in it. It’s why I will never be silent about mental illness. The more we talk about it, the more awareness there is.
Awareness for everyone, including Uncle Ricky and Little Joe.
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