Tag Archives: family

I kind of feel like a bad person for it.

When I was growing up in New York, aside from my parents and my brother, my only close family was my uncle. He was, hands down, my favourite person in the world. The cool uncle that didn’t actually take on any responsibility. The fun one. I had no problem with his man-child lifestyle until I’d grown up a bit. After moving to Canada, we still managed to hold onto that bond we had. He’d find out that I’ve got a new hobby and buy the best of whatever it was I’d needed that particular month. He’d never missed a birthday. I’d get called or texts every week, just to catch up. He started to tell me things he wouldn’t ever dare tell the rest of my family. We were friends. He was probably the first person to start treating me like an adult. He’d ask for my advice regularly. He’d even take that advice.. every once in a while. Cutting him out of my life was probably the first real decision I’ve had to make in my life.

So, my uncle had been having a few health issues for a while. He was living alone, drinking excessively, smoking constantly, and probably not eating very well. The health problems were specifically with his heart, but there’s not a doubt in my mind that it could all have been completely preventable if he didn’t have such a shitty lifestyle. When he’d call, he would keep up this front for my family. He’d go on about how things were looking up and he was making all these great lifestyle choices that were sure to improve his health in no time. As soon as it was just the two of us talking, though, all that went away. He’d sob and vent about how he’s probably never getting better. He wouldn’t say it outright, at first. I’d kept it to myself for the most part because I didn’t want him to feel betrayed. It was nice to know that he’d felt comfortable enough with me to be honest about his life. I wanted to hold onto that for as long as I could, because I knew it wouldn’t last forever. Our last conversation was the summer I’d turned seventeen. We were on Skype and he’d been showing me around the coffee shop he’d owned at the time. The conversation went on like usual – he vented about how shitty he thought everything was, blaming the world for things he mostly brought upon himself. What got to me about this particular call, though, is that, towards the end of it, he said to me: “When I’m gone, just forget me.” That’s a white flag. I don’t do white flags. I chose not to wait ‘til he was gone to take his advice. From then on, every call was missed, every message was left unread. I’m not sure what it was, but one day I decided to listen to one of the voicemails he’d left me. It ended up being the last voicemail he would leave me. In it, he told me to consider him dead; to never bother trying to contact him again. Well, that was a bit unnecessary. I found out shortly after that he’d been complaining to my parents about my ignoring him. He kept suggesting to them that I was doing drugs. I’m not entirely sure how he’d come to that conclusion, but eh. That set my dad off, though – how dare someone say something like that about his daughter?

Anyway, he’d been trying to get back into contact with me for a couple of weeks now. I’m not entirely sure why, and I’m still deciding whether or not it’s worth calling back to find out. At the very least, I know he’s alive and well enough to blow my phone up. I’m content with that, for now.

When I was 10, my cousin molested me.

It’s whatever now, really. It was the first time I’d ever been to Bangladesh, where my family are all from. This guy was supposed to be like a brother to me. Instead, he would shove his hand down my pants. It continued the next time I visited, when I was 14 or so. That time, he’d gone on about how he was in love with me. I don’t know if I have the energy to get into the details tonight… I’d written about it in high school – I’ll probably throw that up here sooner or later. It’s not the experience that bothers me, now. I’ve gotten over it. Over the years, I’d been going over how I’d tell my parents, in my head. I figured they would want to know if something like this went on, especially considering how much trust they have in him. Eventually, I’d decided that I’d keep it to myself until I’d actually be going to Bangladesh. I was planning a trip at the end of this year, if I could afford it. I didn’t see the point in telling them now – what would they do? Sound super fucking angry in a phone call? I wanted to see the guy get his ass kicked. I wanted to be the one kicking his ass. No, I’d wait until we were all within ass-kicking distance.

Change in plan – my parents are going to Bangladesh next week. So, I guess I won’t be going anytime in the next few years. Do I tell them? Do I want to send them off to live with this piece of shit for a month?

The worst part of this is how fucking much my mom loves him. He might as well have been her child. I’m sitting in the kitchen with her the other night… out of nowhere, she starts going on about how “nothing he does could ever make [her] hate him.” No matter how much he fucks his life up, she’ll find a way to look past it and care for him like her own son. How do I drop a bomb like this on her? Will she still love him, once she knows that he’s tried to shove his tongue down her daughter’s throat on multiple occasions? That he’d taken advantage of a ten year old girl? I can’t put a burden like that on my mother.

No matter what he does, she’ll always love him.