words shall channel through me…

I can honestly say that I have no idea how much humanity is left inside of me these days. I find that I am unable to attach to people anymore; that I have no real connection with most human beings these days; that I look at all the terrible, hurtful and hypocritical things that people do to each other and I really just want to play as little part in that as possible. I label it as strange, then, that the recent passing of two family members has left me feeling so emotionally wounded. For a someone who has grown so accustomed to considering himself a robot as of late, I feel unquestionably sad and undeniably regretful at how certain things in my life have played out over the years.

Obviously a lot of this stems from the fact that, for years, I felt no real connection with my family. Mum and I fought a lot and so I alienated myself, my sister lived in AZ for years, I haven’t seen my brother Todd in something like 8+ years, my father and I had a rocky handful of years where I resented him, and (until recently) my brothers Troy, Ray and I hardly ever spoke. Add to this the fact that, for a ridiculous 13 years or so, I had very little contact with the entire rest of my family in England. Mum and dad didn’t exactly have the money to fly themselves back for visits, let alone another ticket for me; I certainly couldn’t afford it, either. I am happy, however, that in the last couple of years I’ve been able to really re-establish relationships with people like my cousins Tara and James, as well as my aunt Tracy and the rest of my family. I will say, though, that I missed out on a lot of great opportunities to get to know Nan a lot better in the last of her years. I’m not really sure if it’s due to her shutting everyone out, mum trying to somehow protect me from Nan’s influence, or me just not trying – I’ll bet it’s a fair amount of them all, to be honest.

I am, as I was 4 months ago, faced with the responsibility of owning up to whatever circumstances lead to me this place; another page in an entire chapter that I wish to Christ I could rewrite.

Less than 2 weeks ago, my aunt Tracy was checked into the hospital in Guilford, Surry for some pretty extreme health problems. The root of these problems was discovered quite promptly; Tracy was not only diagnosed with advanced stages of lung and bone cancer, but thrust into the grim reality that she had less than 2 weeks to live. We got the call on Sunday, the 15^th of March and I instantly began making plans for a return trip home.

The first of many obstacles was the simple fact that mum could not afford to fly home at this time. I wasn’t about to deprive mum the chance at saying goodbye and showing support for her beloved sister, so I scraped the last of my money together and managed the funds for two tickets; something that lead to obstacle number 2: spring break was afoot, tickets were last minute and (due to this) flights were far from cheap. The only way to overcome this obstacle was to be obnoxiously flexible with our fly dates; instead of leaving the following Friday, we were forced to wait until Tuesday the 24^th.

I got the call on Thursday, the 19^th of March while on my way to work. We were too late; I was too late. Aunt Tracy had passed away and, for the second time in 4 months, mum and I were both left without the opportunity to say goodbye to someone we were both extremely close to and loved without a doubt in our hearts.

I’m left feeling totally helpless and somewhat responsible. Maybe if I had just bought mum’s ticket, she could have gone without me and gotten to see her lovely sis. Maybe if I had more money saved, both of us could have left earlier. Maybe. What if.

I feel guilty.
I feel slightly sick.

So money can’t buy happiness? In certain cases, I’m going to have to call bullshit on that one. Money would have allowed us the chance to be there for someone who needed us. Money would have allowed my sister to come back with us for the funeral. Blah.

As if my guilt over the aforementioned wasn’t rooted deep enough, there’s still the matter of a certain letter.

You see, upon the discovery of my Aunts situation, I had a very bad feeling that I wasn’t going to make it back home in time to say a plethora of things to her that I wanted to say. I began typing a letter to her. I wanted her to know how happy I was that I had reconnected with her. I wanted her to know how wonderful of a mother she had been; that she gave birth to 3 wonderful children I was proud to call family. I wanted her to know how much mum loved spending time with her; how she was the creator behind some of mum’s fondest memories of home. Most of all, though, I wanted her to know that she was loved and appreciated; that, as much as she had her problems, we understood why and that we wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world. I wanted her to know that all these years when she was seeking love from those closest to her, she had it all along.

But, you see, I never finished the letter in time. I missed the one small window of opportunity I had and I think about it practically every second that I’m awake; it’s consuming me.