Heartbreak Hotel

My beloved uncle Karl took his own life on Friday. Why be honest about how he died? Why not just say, "my uncle died unexpectedly?" Because the truth signals that while all death is sad, this loss is soul crushing. 

Growing up, Karl was always a fun uncle. He made delicious food and pulled some epic pranks. However, Karl’s and my relationship really started when Paul and I sent Crosby half streaking through my mom’s memorial service.

I don't know if Karl also had a soft spot for baby buns in particular but he remarked, "You know, Joy and I would be happy to take Crosby for a weekend."

Six weeks later here we were:

Paul and I went away to Vashon Island for a night and a new annual tradition was born. I would like to point out that my motives for leaving Crosby with Karl and Joy were not entirely selfish. Yes, it was lovely to have alone adult time with Paul. But also, anyone who expresses interest in my kids is someone dear. For Crosby to be truly loved and adored was a gift for all parties involved. 

Whereas Crosby was a very relaxed kid around everyone, Hugo had a real case of the mamas. But when Karl was around, you wouldn't know it. From the first time they met, they were pals.

I was honored and delighted when Karl and Joy made the trip to Berlin in summer of 2019. Within minutes of arriving, Karl and Hugo picked up where they left off.

Crosby and Karl also had a great time.

Our most recent trip in April to Karl and Joy's was magical. Right before our arrival we had a lot of family drama. The four days with Karl and Joy were respite. The kids were so happy. Karl and Joy were happy. Family harmony was seemingly restored. I told Karl that we felt sort of forgotten in Berlin. He assured me that "we haven't forgotten you" and "we'll come visit again".

The last contact I had with Karl was to email him and Joy to thank them from the bottom of my heart for giving us the kids the "grandparent experience" I remembered as a kid. Yummy food, snuggles, quality TV programing, and more than anything the feeling of "Karl and Joy love us and want us to be here." I ended the email, as I usually do, with "Big hugs and lots of love".

And now we're here. I got to see the sweetest side of my uncle for the last eight years, and poof it's just gone. But the worst part about it, for me, is thinking how sad and lonely and desperate Karl must have felt in his last moments. I just want to scream, "The Beatles were WRONG. Love is not all you need." Karl had love from near and far and it wasn't enough.

I've found the conversations since his passing around suicide more or less unhelpful. Our current culture has little rhythms around mourning in general, and much less with a death from suicide. It's true all of us are left here holding different bags. Mine is much lighter than those closest to him - emailing Crosby's teacher to explain why he's having trouble concentrating in school; fielding very difficult questions; and trying to love my kids up, down, and sidewise in the fervent hope that they never find themselves in such a dark place of total despair. 

I am thankful that we got to spend the time we did with my uncle. But you know what? It wasn't enough. I want more. I wanted Karl to teach Hugo some guitar. I wanted them to cook together more. I wanted another Berlin visit. What we have now is broken hearts and bittersweet memories. I will forever be grateful to Karl for reaching out to me when my mom died. I am grieving that I didn't know that he was in his time of need.