At the end of 2021, I swore to myself that 2022 would be good. I proclaimed it. I was good, finally furnishing my home the way I wanted, left the last toxic job. I told myself that I'd finish my book on Black women and spirituality, the one that I started while spending my weekends with Andrea last year. I was ready. Things were flowing.
That's when I got the call from my cousin Kendall that his brother, my cousin Ali, was headed home to go into hospice. His cancer had spread and he didn't have much more time. I remember the feeling of utter disbelief. My cousin. Ali. Not Ali.
Ever since I was a little girl, Ali had been my favorite cousin. When he lived out of state, whenever I saw his father, my Uncle Tippy, I'd immediately ask about Ali. Where was he and how was he? Ali was my person. My own son bears the middle name, Ali. When I needed advice, Ali was my person. Ali?
I called Ali's wife to check in and she told me that he'd already been brought home. She told me that of course I could come over. I drove over and walked immediately into the bedroom to see him. My massively tall, 6'4 cousin, was practically a skeleton. I couldn't believe it. No my cousin. Not Ali. I said to him that it never occurred to me just how much I loved him until I saw him like that. He gave me a quizzical look. I'd never thought about how much I loved him because I never had to. He as always there. Even though I'd known that he was sick, saying goodbye simply never occurred to me.
Just a few days previously, we'd been texting about me visiting him in the hospital, which I ultimately did not do because I was waiting for his wife's negative Covid test, as I'd spent time with her and the kids just days prior.
And then it was time. The end. Kendall eventually made it into town from Denver, in addition to our other cousin, Maya from Baton Rouge. We spent a lot of time laughing between our tears. That and eating. God bless the people that fed us the good stuff during that week.
Ali died that Thursday night. I wasn't there. I got the call just before 4am, and rushed back over to their home. He lay there in the bed. Those heavy breaths were no more. He was so thin. I grabbed his hand and told him how much I loved him and how much I would miss him. I thanked him for loving me, even when I was difficult. I thanked him for giving me a family. I told him that I loved him. Ali is dead.
The aftermath is what it was. I ended up leaving my job. I'm blessed to have some money saved up in addition to some money coming in. I'm thankful to not have to work at the moment. I want to just be alone and hide. Ali is gone. It's been a month now. It's not supposed to be this way. Ali isn't here.
In the meantime, I decided that I'm finally going to finish the book that I'd started writing while I was spending weekends with Andrea. I put out a few resumes and I was surprised to see that I'd gotten responses from nearly everywhere I applied. But I don't want to work right now, plus I'm not really sure if I want to go back into clinical social work. At least not in Georgia. The red tape and bureaucracy is just too much.
I got a new car to replace the one that was totaled in December. It's an SUV and I love it. It's great for allowing me to have those long, mindless drives that I'm having lately. Plenty of mountain driving on the horizon. I found a cute little downtown area to hang at in my area. I like it because no one here knows me. I don't have any friends here and I like it that way. I just want to be alone.
I can't help but to compare my grieving of my cousin to that of my grieving of Pete and Andrea. I realize that with Pete, I felt lost because it seemed like there was so much more that we had to do. We were supposed to spend more time, and he was supposed to answer the questions I had about him. Andrea and I'd had plans, but her loss hit different because she was the closest female friend who was willing and able to join me in all of my weirdness. In our very short time together, she was an absolute rider. My time was short with both Pete and Andrea. But I'd known Ali my whole life. I've never been without an Ali until now, and I really don't know how to do this.
Coincidentally, Pete died March 5th. Last year was the first year that the anniversary of his death came around and I was not an absolute mess. I was happy about that. And then Andrea died, the day after his anniversary. And the year before that was the death of my Aunt Sister. She died in February, right by Ali's birthday, which also doubled as the day of his funeral. 2.22.22.
I remember how when Pete died that March, I spent a lot of time outside, taking in the springtime weather. I recall the smell of freshly cut grass and flowers and pollen. That smell came to symbolize my time of grieving him. And then, 2 years later, my Aunt Sister died. And then Andrea. And now Ali.
All of them died between a late January and an early March. So within a small window of about a month and a half, I've lost 4 people that I loved, 3 of which I saw and engaged with regularly over 5 years. Spring used to be my favorite season. Watching people slowly emerge after a long winter, especially since the mess known as Covid was a thing. But now spring seems to be my season of grieving. I spend these warm days just wishing my loved ones were around me. It just doesn't seem fair.
As a Buddhist, I don't really subscribe to the idea of "fair" and "unfair" because the fact is that life will throw you a kick in the teeth. Ali went into hospice the day before his son's 13th birthday and was dying the following day, on his anniversary. His youngest son was 2 years old. I don't really wanna hear shit about fairness.
In the meantime, I have decided that with my free time, I'm going to finish this book once and for all. I'm working on a book about spirituality and I want to write about some other things I have experienced as well. I'm thankful for the time. I'm currently in a coffeehouse and since I picked this back up, I've added nearly 3.5k words. I'm almost done. Just gotta add more to it. I'd rather have my cousin than to finish this book though. Unfortunately, I don't have that as a choice. Ali is gone.
