The excerpt above is from E.E. Cummings’s “Since feeling is first,” which has always been one of my favorites. It is a love story; however, it came to mind when I started to consider writing about David and what his death encompasses for me. Cummings advises, “Life is not a paragraph and death [i] think is no parenthesis.” As we interpret his brilliance, we have to ask ourselves how can we even try to comprehend David’s life if we are currently only able to focus on the destruction that his death has reaped. The excruciating pain of his choice and the devastation that it has caused all of us may, for a while, overshadow the beautiful paragraphs of his life.
I am personally trying to focus on the latter, although there are times that I am screaming at him, so filled with rage and wishing that he was here just so that I could slap him and make him feel the hurt that he has caused each of us. I am making a conscious effort to return to the poem. It explains that love is the most precious thing of all: It is the seed of everything and binds us to each other in life as well as in death. If you are unfamiliar with this poem, please take a moment and discover the beauty of its meaning.
When my grandmother passed away, I found comfort in another one of E.E. Cummings’s poems titled “I’ll carry your heart.” I framed this poem for my grandfather and provided a copy to my cousin when her son passed. I later recited it to my husband when I knew that he was “the one.”
Coincidentally, my sister also stumbled across this poem when my Aunt Elaine passed away. It is funny how this poem seems to be a reoccurring character in my life. Since I cannot replicate the simplicity of either of Mr. Cummings’s poems, I will borrow both for the purposes of this blog.
I was the first girl born after three very precocious boys. My childhood years, my early “paragraphs,” would be filled with attempting to follow in their ever-moving wake. My constant goal was to somehow infiltrate their tri-pod connection. Only later did I finally realize the impossibility of my desire and accepted that my relationship with each one of them was something special and indefinably unique, all by itself.
When I was born, my mother—David’s godmother—was watching David. From the beginning of my very existence, David was my protector. His role began by simply retrieving my bottles and diapers, or merely alerting my Mom that I was awake. Some of the best photographs of me and David are during my early years, when my adoration for him was acutely visible to the camera’s eye.
In 2001, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. At that time, this was the worst horror that my family had faced. Her diagnosis affected my cousins deeply. On one occasion, David visited her at the hospital and broke down sobbing in the elevator. The possibility of losing her was unimaginable. She was a fighter circling an invisible opponent, and none of us knew how to cope with the possibility of a knockout. I believe that it was the complexity of their relationship that David later had to come to terms with when he decided to end his life.
After her release from the hospital, David stopped by unannounced. My mother had purchased a wig to conceal her illness. We named this wig “Francis.” Mom didn’t have a chance to retrieve “Francis” before David entered the room. Her embarrassment was visible. The first thing that David said was, “Aunt Bet, you have a perfectly shaped head!” Jason and David then continued their brotherly banter, stating that Jason had not inherited Mom’s flawless skull. Since her diagnosis, it was the first time that my mother was able to accept her baldness, and “Francis” disappeared as her constant companion. My brother and I just recalled this memory, and I am so grateful that their joking ways brought her even a moment of happiness/relief during such a turbulent time.
Tim once mentioned that he couldn’t define my relationship with David. It was so personally unique to the two of us. Somewhere along the line, my relationship with David began to morph… it probably started to occur when my friends were no longer “jail bait.” During our very-private conversations, David became my sounding board. He was the first person that I would confide in. Although our four-year age difference varied our perspectives, he took it upon himself to educate me about the obstacles I would face as my relationships began to mature. My best friend once told me that our family was “abnormal” and that this type of open relationship with a cousin was not the norm. If that is the case, then I am truly blessed to have been given a big cousin whom I could discuss life, love, sex, and death with so openly and with such regularity.
As our lives began to diverge and our “paragraphs” differed so immensely, we didn’t have the opportunity to see each other as often, so our relationship continued via telephone. We experienced each other’s relationships and our heartbreaks over the phone. We would depict whoever was currently in each other’s lives in a way that only family feels obligated or entitled to do. He would always tell me to stop analyzing his every move. I would always tell him to stop being such an “ass.” Before my grandmother passed, we spent hours comforting each other over the phone. This specific conversation will remain one of my best memories of David. His unwavering love for Grandma and for me was indisputable. He made me feel so loved, and I hope that I gave him at least a fraction of the comfort he provided me. I would end every call with, “I love you,” and he would reply, “I love you, too, Becca-Boo.”
My relationship with my cousin will not end with his untimely death. His death will not remain in the small confines of a set of “parentheses.” His life will overflow into all of our future family dinners, holidays, potential weddings, and baptisms. His heart will “remain in my heart” as I inhale the sweetness of the seasons and exhale the bitterness that life has dealt my family. I will continue my “telephone conversations” with my beloved David, and I will live my life just a little bit more knowing that David is experiencing each new moment with me. His memory, and my love for him, will forever be eternal…
