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Goodbye, Cousin
On Christmas morning, I received a call from my sister informing me that our cousin Vic may or may not be dead. Rumors were crawling all over the Internet about Vic. You see, my cousin was a singer/songwriter from Athens for the last 20+ years. He had a gigantic following all over the world. So it would not be unusual to find rumors of his death on the Internet. This would definitely be a major story.
Unfortunately, my brother ran across that story on ajc.com on Christmas Eve. One should never have to run across a story on the Internet about a cousin’s possible death. What’s even more horrible is that my cousin’s situation was caused by an overdose. We learned later in the day on Christmas that my cousin Vic had indeed died. He committed suicide. Yes. That is what happened.
My cousin Vic was only 45 years old. There should have been no reason for me to lose my cousin Vic at such a young age. Vic had been in a wheelchair since he was 18 years old. He was in a horrible car accident on his way home one evening. He flipped the car. He was paralyzed ever since.
Vic found music early on. He used his music to express the deep darkness and sadness and pain that he lived through every single day. He quickly gained a following that would stay with him to the end…and beyond. In his music, Vic was his authentic self. Too many people are afraid to bear their sole as Vic did. He took his reality and openly shared that rawness with others.
Doug and I attended Vic’s memorial service on Sunday. The service was put together quickly, so it was not certain how many people would be able to attend on such short notice. The house was packed. Of course. When I first entered the funeral home, I was quickly taken aback when I saw my cousin Vic’s name on the marquee for the parlor where his family and friends were to gather. I didn’t want to see his name there; that meant it was really true. I wanted there to be a mistake after all. There wasn’t.
The service was beautiful. One after another after another, Vic’s friends went up to the microphone to share their sorrow, admiration and devotion to my cousin Vic. It was overwhelmingly evident that each and every person in that room would have gone to the ends of the earth for and with Vic. And he would have done the same for them. Story after story, I heard of how each person was touched by Vic’s truthful music, how they quickly connected to Vic when they thought no one else in the world understood what they were going through. Story after story, I witnessed the heavy pain that each of Vic’s friends and family will carry with them forever.
I have promised myself that I won’t judge my cousin Vic for the method in which he chose to leave us. I don’t agree with suicide, plain and simple. I also didn’t live my cousin Vic’s life. I wish all the authentic love and connection with every person touched by Vic’s presence could have been enough to keep my cousin Vic here. It wasn’t.
One of the speakers at the memorial service is a major celebrity in the music industry. Vic had been close friends with this man for 20 years. On any other day, I would have been thrilled to see this man. I would have given anything to have had no reason to see him on this day. It was extremely apparent that he would have given anything to have no reason to be there.
A close friend of Vic’s, through tears and broken voice, said, “Vic didn’t believe in an afterlife. He’s gonna get one anyway.” Through our grief, we all chuckled. Yes, Vic will have an afterlife in his music and in all the deeply personal memories everyone will carry in their hearts forever. That’s the most we can ask for at this point.
Damn.
