A Letter for the Dead- Valentino

Dear Valentino,

It’s been 18 years since I stood in front of your casket.

Eighteen years since death stopped being just a word and became something I had to feel. Something I had to carry.

You were my favorite cousin.

I didn’t understand what was happening at the time. I was just a kid. But I knew something was off. The last time I saw you was at Nanny’s house. I remember you brought your girlfriend, Jessica. She was beautiful, with her long, dark hair. I remember wondering how in the world you had someone like her on your arm. And then I looked at you. You were sitting across from me at the dining table. I remember your body trembling. I didn’t know what withdrawal looked like then. I just knew something was wrong. You were quiet. You looked tired. And I didn’t know what to say.

I was around 15. I felt awkward, unsure, helpless. I didn’t know how deep into the drugs you were. I didn’t know how hard you were fighting to be okay, especially around family. If I had known… I would’ve said something. I would’ve hugged you longer. I would’ve looked you in the eye and told you I loved you. But I didn’t know. And I hate that I didn’t know.

You were wearing a red SnapBack, turned sideways like you always wore it. Baggy jeans, boxers showing. Abuelo told you to pull them up, like he always did. Before dinner we played basketball in the driveway. That ball is still with me. It’s falling apart now, but I can’t let it go. Just like I still have your turntables. They’re outdated, but they’re yours. And I can’t get rid of them either.

You were always the one who showed up for me. When I was a little girl and the boy next door refused to have a tea party with me, I ran home crying. You walked right over to his door, knocked, and told him he was going to play tea party with me or else. And he did. You made sure of it.

I remember the pink electric guitar I got one year. I sat on the fireplace trying so hard to figure it out. You sat down next to me, strummed a few chords, and tried to teach me. Music just came naturally to you. I used to tell my friends in elementary school that you were better than Tupac. And I believed it.

You’d send me your mixtapes and graffiti sketches. I called your drawings “Tino girls.” I made little comics with them. You inspired me before I even knew what inspiration meant.

I miss you.

More than I ever say out loud.

I’ve carried so much pain and even resentment over the years. I was angry that you weren’t here during some of the worst moments of my life. I know if you had been, you would’ve stood between me and the pain. You would’ve protected me. Maybe too much. Maybe in ways that would’ve gotten you into trouble. But that’s who you were. You didn’t let people hurt the ones you loved.

Standing up at your funeral to read my poem to you, I couldn’t get the words out. My dad stood up next to me to hold me as tried my best to read what I’d written. I’m almost positive no one could even understand what I was saying as my was shaking and tears and snot poured out. I knew in that moment my life would never be the same. I never got to say goodbye. I remember waking up in the middle of the night hearing my mom in her room screaming “NO!!!! NOOOO!!!!” And I was frustrated because she’d woken me up from my sleep. I hate that memory of that night. And I love you but I’m still so mad at you. I’m mad at your friends who never took care of you or cared that that lifestyle ripped you away from us.

Tonight, I cried for you. My daughter Savannah wrapped her arms around me and told me maybe one day I’ll see you in heaven. I hope she’s right. But sometimes I wonder… if people who lived the way you did still get to go there. I wonder if those of us still alive, if our prayers and tiny mustard seeds of faith, are enough to ask God to reach you, even now. To hold you close. To forgive you. To bring you peace.

I haven’t been to your grave by myself since you died. That day changed something in me. Seeing your body, it didn’t look like you. I don’t know who I was looking at, but it wasn’t my cousin. It wasn’t the boy who made tea parties happen and taught me to strum a guitar. When my brother passed years later, for the same reason, I couldn’t even look at him. I’ve avoided death ever since. But I think about you often. I’ve tried to expose my own children to death, having farm animals who have died. It’s the only way I know how to prepare them for their upcoming future….

I think about what it would be like if you were still here. I wish you could’ve known my kids. I wish they could’ve known you. I wish you were still around to help Abuelo. His memory is fading now, and with him go stories and pieces of our family I’m scared will disappear forever.

You would’ve loved my husband. He’s a southern boy from Pine Bluff, Arkansas. Kind. Steady. The two of you would’ve laughed for hours. I wish so badly you could’ve met him.

You were a rare kind of soul, an artist in every sense. With your hands. With your music. With your words. You left a mark on everyone you met. And you left a hole in those who loved you.

I believe in spirits. I believe in the in between. And if you’re anywhere near me… if you can still see me… please, show me. Just for a moment. I need to know you’re still with me somehow.

I love you, Tino. I always have. And I still carry you with me.

Forever,

Brittny