Marquette University Intimations Project

Anonymous

I remember the last time I saw him during the spring semester of 2020. I was working at  the register, greeting people as they came through in search of cloth or anything else offered at  Joann Fabrics. They hadn’t warned me they were coming, my Uncle Tommy and my Auntie Lena.  I recognized his hat, his striped shirt, the shape of his body, even his eyes—I can’t recall if he was  wearing sunglasses, he might have been, and it frustrates me that I’m not sure.  

There wasn’t a line of customers at this point, so they were able to come right up to me.  We all had our masks on, and there was a plastic divide between us. I was very happy to see them,  as I wasn’t seeing a lot of my family at this time. My Auntie Lena, like many of my aunts and  cousins, were excited that I got a job at Joann Fabrics, because it meant they could take advantage  of my employee discount. It made me feel good, being able to help in this way, even if it was to  save them all a couple bucks on yarn. It became obvious that my Auntie Lena was looking to shop  and was dragging Uncle Tommy along—not that he didn’t happily take his wife wherever she  wanted. I encouraged her to pick out what she wanted, and when I got on my break, which would  be soon, we would figure out how exactly her items would be paid for.  

Eventually, I found them in the aisles. Auntie Lena had already got some material cut, there  might have been other things on top of this. Not wanting to make it any more troublesome, I  suggested that she leave her things with me, that I would pay for them, and she could pay me back  when possible. I was going to my cousin’s baby shower after work, so it wouldn’t be too hard to  get her things back to her through some family member that lived closer to her, I explained this.  She agreed, making sure I was certain in initially spending my own money, and left the items with 

me. Like usual, me and Uncle Tommy were goofing around, giving each other a hard time. He was  very interested in the new hand sanitizers by the registers, and I told him to buy one, but he didn’t.  Sometimes I wish I would have bought it for him.  

When they left, we exchanged quick farewells, and I’m not sure if I told him and Auntie  Lena that I loved them, even if it was in passing. I really hope I did. It’s extremely painful to even  consider that I didn’t. 

After however much time passed, we were informed that they both tested positive for  COVID-19. I remember my alarm being mild, although there still remained a measure of alarm,  considering I had just lost an uncle at the end of the fall semester of that same year. I remembered  praying to God, urging others to do the same. In the beginning, we were completely hopeful.  Unfortunately, that hope began to wane once he made it to the hospital. Still, we all tried to keep  morale up, getting updates from Auntie Lena, who was doing well in comparison. The last thing I  texted him, besides the birthday text he never saw, on Christmas Eve, was this: 

Hey Uncle Johnny, it’s your niece Marina. Just letting you know if you  need me to watch your Charger for you, let me know, I would be happy to keep  your seats warm. Love you.  

This text would have reached his phone minutes before he was put on a ventilator. He may  not have even seen this message. I can imagine his phone must have been buzzing from phone  calls and messages, because Tommy Martinez was not one to be left alone, even if nobody was  allowed to step foot inside the hospital.  

When we all realized how bad it was getting, all my ma kept saying was that it ain’t over  till it’s over and we can’t mourn someone who isn’t gone.

And just like that, he was gone. His body was just too tired from fighting for so long. He  didn’t want to go, but he was ready to.  

I walked into a shift at Joann Fabrics. At this point, we were waiting for the news. The  music was extremely weird that day. I was admittedly spooked, having the occasional thought that  people were talking to me through the radio waves. While cleaning up the aisles, I heard, ‘we’re  all dust in the end’. On my drive home, a song I had never heard had these lyrics on repeat: Oh  darling, I’m with you.  

It was my brother and sister who told me Uncle Tommy had passed away while I was  helping people purchase cloth. One of the most important father figures in my life had died while  I was helping a woman figure out how to brighten the screen of her phone so that I could scan the  coupon she was trying to use. 

And just like that, he was gone.  

Yes, I cried at first, but it didn’t feel real. So, in a way, my tears felt foreign, an unwarranted  response. Usually when someone important in your life dies, you can see their shell for the last  time, have a funeral, achieve some kind of closure—really mourn in the traditional sense. My  family, like millions of families, was not given that opportunity. The most we got was a socially  distanced church service, where some of his ashes were brought along.  

Nothing about it felt like reality. The world was a place of insanity if I was supposed to  believe that Thomas Martinez was taken from this world so swiftly. And the thing is, the world  didn’t care about my disbelief, because it continued, as it does. I did the same, not sure what else  I should be doing. I do this strange thing, I’ve noticed, when I lose someone. I feel this purposefully  evanescent grief. For instance, when I was in my third year of high school and my childhood friend 

was killed in a car crash, I insisted I was okay and went to school the very next day to listen about  US history. When my grandma passed away the following year, I reacted in a similar fashion,  walking to my ceramics class at eight in the morning. When it came to Uncle Tommy, as a family,  we all collectively were in a shocked state of mind.  

With the spring semester of 2021 arriving only weeks after his passing, I rushed to confront  and bury myself in my new responsibilities as a resident assistant, and my more familiar  responsibilities of school, work, and friends. For the first month, I was successful in using this  coping mechanism, but the success was short-lived. 

All it takes is music. A movie. A joke. A smile. Any little thing that reminds me of him. It  all comes rushing back to my horror. The aching in my heart becomes painful all over again. I am  overtaken by anger with the world, with God, with myself. I am constantly left with unanswered  questions. Did he see that text? Did I tell him I loved him as he left Joann Fabrics?  

The tears come even now as I write. The burn stretches across my eyes and the tops of my  cheeks, which I have rubbed too often and harshly. I become devastated in an instant, realizing  that I will never be able to bother him again, tease him again. I won’t be able to look him in his  eyes, watching them crinkle as he releases that famous Martinez laugh. I won’t be able to listen as  he sings ‘If I Were a Rich Man’ from Fiddler on the Roof for the millionth time. We’ll never start  that tamale business we always talked about. I won’t ever be able to try and convince him that he  should let me take his Dodge Charger out for a joy ride every chance I get.  

It’s still fresh. It still hasn’t sunk in. Maybe it never will.  

Losing him made me regret ever complaining about not being able to go outside, not having  in-person class, complaining about the comforts I lost without knowing that true loss was on its 

way. Sitting in a restaurant without a mask or needing to have social distance was no longer a  priority. I would gladly do it all again, the isolation and boredom, if it meant I could just have him  back, to hold him close, maybe so close that no one, not any force would dare take him away.  

There are certainly lessons to be learned, but to be so near to this experience makes it hard  to thoroughly reflect. 

Yes, I’ve grown, adjusted, suffered. So have many others.  

For honesty’s sake: after having given you my story of loss, I’m not confident in saying  what exactly I have learned from it. It doesn’t feel right to be reflective on it in this moment.  

So, I’ll give you a list of what I have come to know:  

• There are a lot more clueless people out there than I realized. 

• There are an equal amount of intelligent and caring people who combat the clueless,  thankfully. 

• If there is no justice, there is no peace. 

• Having the mentality ‘it happens to everyone but me’ is one of the worst forms of  self-sabotage, and probably one of the reasons why this pandemic has lasted so  long. 

• People cannot be illegal. 

• Yes, it is possible to spend hours upon hours doing something while doing  absolutely nothing.  

• The world is scary, spinning. 

• Being in a place where you are experiencing growth while simultaneously  experiencing a decline of some kind is normal, even if it is a paradox.

• Slogans on grief suck. 

• Saying the phrase ‘it is what it is’ does not actually help in the slightest. • The struggles of those with any kind of mental illness should be destigmatized and  treated with equal regard to the treatment of a physical ailment. 

• Surprisingly, it is possible to survive the end of the world.  

And so, I’ll just leave this here as my conclusion: 

I love my Uncle Tommy, aka Tommy Boy. I think you would have too.