Be Not Afraid

My mother was only 17 when I was born, and we lived with my grandparents and her siblings. My uncle Devin was 14 years old and a sort of big brother to me. He picked on me, played games with me and protected me. He was always there. My constant. My hero.

When I was five, Devin went into the Navy. I was furious. How could he have left me like that? I remember his letters being read to me and the phone calls from far away. He sent me toys and dolls from all over the world. When he was stationed in Japan, it was a crystal lamp with a shade, when the light was on, would spin to look like fish swimming in the sea. When he was stationed in Hawaii, it was a doll who's hair could be changed from copper to black. There was a beautiful doll in a seafoam chiffon dress who held a smaller doll in her arms and played a music-box version of a lullaby when you wound the key in her back.

The day Devin came home, I was upstairs playing. I remember him calling my name as he came in the front door. I felt a flood of emotions: Grief that he'd left, relief that he was home, happiness at the sound of his voice. I went to the top of the stairs and looked down at him, as he reached up as if to offer me a hug. All of those feelings inside me held me there, afraid to move. Wanting both to hit him or yell at him and to run to him for a hug. He was so hurt, so moved by the idea that the little girl he'd doted on would be so devastated that he wanted to do anything to make it up to me. He took me to a local department store and spent his entire discharge check, buying me anything I wanted there. There were four cart-loads of toys.

As I grew up, Uncle Devin was a constant. He was always honest, always there. When I need an ear, he was there. When I needed a kick in the seat of my pants, he gave it to me. At my great-grandmother's funeral he looked so beautiful: Black trench coat, black boots, dark shoulder-length hair. He was the only one who acknowledged me:

"Shannie, you always took such good care of her." And he hugged me, crying.

We moved to Connecticut when I was a Junior in High School. I loved it there, but decided to move closer to my extended family. I ended up moving in with my grandparents. Devin would visit and we'd talk or play cards. He had a great sense of humor and was always making us laugh.

Devin was gay. He didn't want me to know. He still treated me as though I was a child - which I didn't particularly mind, coming from him. After a few years I'd planned to be married. Devin was going to be there. The date was set for the end of November in 1996. My grandfather was very ill at the time. He had congestive heart failure, and was in a wheelchair. None of us was sure if he'd be able to walk me down the aisle. My back-up plan was my Uncle Devin. I looked forward to him sharing my day with me.

On a warm, sunny day in August of '96 I was puttering around the house. I'd gotten a feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was very wrong. I'd automatically assumed something had happened with my grandfather, so I called my grandparents' home to check:

"Grampa? Are you ok?"

"I can't talk now, Shannie, Devin's dead." Click. The line went dead.

I was dumbfounded. In shock. He didn't say that. I picked up the phone again and pressed redial:

"Grampa?"

"Shannie, it's Aunt Diana. I'm sorry, honey..."

"What did he say to me?! Tell me what he said!"

"Shannie, your Uncle Devin died..."

"No. Don't you lie to me. I'm calling him." I hung up.

I then called my Uncle's home. One of my cousins was staying with him. Uncle Devin was something of a philanthropist. He gave just about everything he had away. He had taken in my cousin Christopher, and was trying to help him build a better life for himself. Christopher answered the phone. He told me that he'd found our uncle that morning, and that the detectives were still there. I told him I wanted to know what happened. He started to refuse, but I insisted. Demanded. He obliged - in great detail.

It was Tuesday, and Christopher had been away at his girlfriend's house since that weekend. He'd come home and didn't see Devin around. He looked for him, and went to open Devin's bedroom door. There was a rope tied to the handle on the outside that went up over the top. He thought this was odd and decided to check it out. Something was blocking the door. He pushed. Pushed harder. He was able to move it far enough to get a glimpse into the room. He found Devin lying on the floor with the other end of the rope around his neck.

It was determined that Devin had died a day or more before. It was the middle of August and very warm. Devin had been strangled. It wasn't pretty. Christopher went into detail about that part, too. I asked to speak with the detective who was there. He was very nonchalant in his report to me. Very uninvolved. I, however, was still in shock. I had ceased to feel anything. I had banished the reality from my mind. It never happened. I would wake up and it would all be a nightmare.

I was in a daze and don't recall much until the day of the funeral. I was quiet and shaky. My husband-to-be and I drove the two hours to the funeral home in silence. Every once in a while he'd lean over to touch my hand. I would tense up, knowing that every sensation I experienced made what was happening more of a reality. We stopped to eat at a little place off the highway, and I couldn't speak to order. I really wasn't all that hungry, anyway.

When we entered the funeral home, I'd expected a hall or outer room to pass through first. But we'd come in through a side door. We passed a curtain and I instantly saw the casket. Devin was bloated. His body looked a lot bigger than he had been in life. It didn't look like him at all. It felt as though the air was suddenly forced out of my lungs. I couldn't breathe. I had to go into the bathroom, wheezing and gasping for air.

Devin was buried in one of the veteran's cemeteries in Milwaukee. He had a military burial. I watched them roll up the flag that was draped over the casket with a sort of wistfulness. It was somehow a part of him. I watched them hand it gently to my grandmother. All I wanted was to hold it. One last hug. Just one. The chance to say goodbye. Gramma let me hold it. But Devin didn't come back.

For two weeks after the funeral I slept with the lights on. I had these horrible visions that were a combination of Christopher's details about how he'd found Uncle Devin and the image of my uncle in the casket. I would imagine Devin coming into the room all bloated, tongue hanging out, eyes bulging. It was terrifying. I hardly slept.

One night, I'd had enough. This is not how I wanted to remember the man I respected and loved more than any other I knew. I pleaded with God:

"Please don't let me remember him like this. I want to see him beautiful again."

I fell asleep with the lights out. I had a very vivid dream that night. Devin was sitting on the sofa in my livingroom, looking just as he had at Great-Gramma's funeral. He was so handsome. I was curled up with my head on his chest, crying:

"Please don't leave me. I miss you. Please come back."

Devin stroked my hair and said gently:

"It's ok, Shannie. You don't have to be afraid anymore."

I never had the nightmare again.






I'll Be There

Over Mountains
Over Trees
Over Oceans
Over Seas
I'll be there
In a whisper on the wind
On the smile of a new friend
Just think of me
And I'll be there
Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight,
To be with you
Because I'm on your side,
And I still care
I may have died,
But I've gone nowhere
Just think of me,
And I'll be there
On the edge of a waking dream
Over Rivers
Over Streams
Through Wind and Rain
I'll be there
Across the wide and open sky
Thousands of miles I'd fly
To be with you
I'll be there
Don't be afraid, oh my love
I'll be watching you from above
And I'd give all the world tonight,
To be with you
Because I'm on your side,
And I still care
I may have died,
But I've gone nowhere
Just think of me,
And I'll be there
In the breath of a wind that sighs
Oh, there's no need to cry
Just think of me,
And I'll be there

Sung by: The Escape Club
Written by: Steel/Holliday/Christo/Zekavica