The last time I saw my baby cousin we were all in my mother\u2019s backyard. My dad had set up one of my mom\u2019s sun lounger chairs in front of the fire pit and under the tarp for him, my<\/p>\n\n\n\n
cousin. We had it set up, so he was half sitting and half lying in case he threw up. Everyone else, my grandmother, aunt, uncle, mom, dad, and I, sat on red Adirondack chairs in a sort of circle<\/p>\n\n\n\n
around him, my cousin. The backyard was nice, and everyone agreed that Solomon enjoyed it. The fresh air would be good for him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My baby cousin was only three years old. The last time I saw him was on June 4th, 2021. It was hard seeing him. A month before, no one would have never thought anything was wrong. He wasn\u2019t wearing his backpack anymore, the one with his medicine, the one that was heavier than he was. But even when he had to wear his backpack, the one with the tubes that came out of the side and snaked their way under his shirt, no one would have never thought anything was<\/p>\n\n\n\n
wrong. He was always full of life, running and laughing all the time. Whenever he\u2019d come over, he would always greet me with the biggest, brightest smile before running over to hug me. But he didn\u2019t the last time I saw him. He couldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My baby cousin was only two years old, maybe one, when he was diagnosed with cancer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He had a tumor in his brain. My mom texted my dad about his diagnosis. I was in Encinitas; it was later in the night. I was in my room, calling my girlfriend. My dad came into my room; his expression made my heart sink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSolomon has brain cancer.\u201d He said it softly. Abruptly. He was crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A week or so after I saw him, my cousin, for the last time, my mom sent my dad a text. It was later in the night. I don\u2019t remember what we had planned on doing. I was making popcorn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
2<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When he got the notification, I asked him if it was my mom. She was in Yosemite. He didn\u2019t answer immediately. I watched his face; his expression made my heart sink.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSolomon\u2019s gone.\u201d He said it softly. Abruptly. I thought I misheard him at first. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, you guys.\u201d I hadn\u2019t misheard him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I don\u2019t think I said anything. The microwave was beeping, so I walked into the kitchen, and I cried.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Life is neither fair nor unfair; it just is. But the night that Solomon passed, I couldn\u2019t stop thinking about how unfair it was that my three-year old baby cousin died; that he was diagnosed with cancer and died a year later. I couldn\u2019t stop thinking about how my grandmother told him that people she knew and loved would be waiting in heaven to take care of him after he died. I<\/p>\n\n\n\n
couldn\u2019t stop thinking about how my aunt told me one night in my mom\u2019s kitchen that she<\/p>\n\n\n\n
wished she could hear him say \u201cI love you\u201d just once before he died. I couldn\u2019t stop thinking about how unfair it was that Solomon, my three-year old baby cousin, died.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On June 20th, 2021 we held a service for Solomon. My uncle called it a celebration of his life. We were all in another uncle\u2019s backyard on the patio of his house on the hill. There was a table with benches on either side where my aunt\u2019s friends and some of our family sat. There was an island with some bar stools where my uncle\u2019s friend and his family sat. There was a couch<\/p>\n\n\n\n
where an old man no one really knew slept. There was a table in front of that couch where some other seats surrounded it in a sort of circle. There was a string where photos of Solomon hung. It was hard seeing him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
3<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first time I saw my aunt after Solomon passed was about two days before his service. We were all sitting at my mother\u2019s dining table. My aunt sat at the head of the table, clutching a plush baby doll. She was crying.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSolomon picked this doll,\u201d she wept, \u201cI feel like he picked it for me.\u201d She held onto the doll the entire time she was over. I didn\u2019t see her put it down once.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the service, my sibling and I stood off to the side in one of the patio\u2019s corners. I\u2019m not good with people, at least not in the context of large gatherings. My aunt approached us. She looked tired and we could tell she had cried, but she smiled at us. It was a real, genuine smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHave you guys had anything to eat? Are you hungry?\u201d She always makes sure my sibling and I are taken care of. We told her we were okay and that we would get food when we did get hungry; she joked about how small our appetites are. We asked her if she was alright.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The baby doll laid in the sun.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"template":"","meta":[],"genre":[28,26],"year":[44],"class_list":["post-143","writing","type-writing","status-publish","hentry","genre-essays","genre-writing","year-44"],"acf":{"contributor":"Riley Buell","bio":"I haven\u2019t written something personal in a long time. I wrote this a couple of weeks after my cousin died. It was cathartic; I cried a lot while writing it.","text":"","contributor_page":null},"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/dekonstruktr.com\/tidepools\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/writing\/143","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/dekonstruktr.com\/tidepools\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/writing"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/dekonstruktr.com\/tidepools\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/writing"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/dekonstruktr.com\/tidepools\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=143"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"genre","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dekonstruktr.com\/tidepools\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/genre?post=143"},{"taxonomy":"year","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/dekonstruktr.com\/tidepools\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/year?post=143"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}