The Story Behind Never Fading and Butterfly Wings
This story begins on Monday, November 11th, 2017. I called my Uncle Rick for his birthday, to say hi. Despite being my godfather, I’m not close to him. He moved away when I was young, and has moved around since. He came to a point where he realized how distant he’d become from his family, and wanted to reconnect.
Friday, I found out that he’d had a stroke. We don’t know when it happened, but it must’ve been within 24 hours of me talking to him. I still remember him having a funny moment where he couldn’t remember my brother’s name. I chocked it up to him getting old. My dad, Rick’s brother, agreed, and reminded me that it wasn’t my fault.
Over the next several months, the family worked to get him the care he needed. He lived in Texas at the time, while most of us lived in New York. We thought it best to move him here so we could better watch over him. My parents said it wasn’t a good idea for me to visit him yet; he still wasn’t himself. So I waited.
Flash forward to Sunday, August 12th, 2018. I saw the move Grave of the Fireflies, and, as I’ve said before, I would later describe it as having “no happy moments, only slightly less sad moments.” From this, I learned what foreshadowing is like from the perspective of the characters.
The following day I received news that my mom’s brother-in-law, my Uncle Tommy, had been hospitalized. They’d had to operate on him twice, and he’d been put under.
On August 18th, I went to see one of my friends perform. I remember another friend asking me how my uncle was doing and responding “which one?”.
The following weekend, August 19th, I went to visit my aunt in the hospital. I was at an art festival near by, and thought I’d check in while I was there. Until I got there, I figured everything would be fine. Every step I took closer, it felt more real. My cousins and aunt are some of the strongest people I know. I’d never seen them upset about anything before that day. When I saw them struggling to keep it together, it hit me that this was bad.
Over the next week, my Uncle Tommy showed signs of getting better. He hadn’t woken up, but he was responding.
That Saturday, August 25th, I went to a writing workshop. It was on erasure poetry. Despite knowing that I was in a workshop, my mom gave me a call. We were doing free-write, so it wasn’t a problem for me to step out. I knew something had happened. I tried preparing myself for the bad news of Uncle Tommy. But that wasn’t why my mom was calling.
Uncle Rick had passed away.
I returned to the workshop, looked at the source material I was supposed to be using, and ignored it. I couldn’t focus on that anymore. Instead, I wrote the first draft of what would later become Never Fading.
From the workshop, I got in my car, and gave myself the time it took to drive to the hospital to clear my head. Being there wasn’t about me; it was about my family, and they needed me more than I needed them.
The following Friday, I took the day off and went to visit my aunt again in the hospital. Up until then, it seemed like he was doing better.
I found out when I got there that he’d taken a turn for the worse. We were gonna lose him.
The following day was my Uncle Rick’s funeral. I drove 30 minutes to the hospital, sat with my aunt for about 15 minutes, then drove 45 minutes to the funeral. I read the final draft of Never Fading.
Sunday, my last remaining uncle held a gathering at his house, a sort of celebration of Rick’s life. Once again, I drove to the hospital to sit with my aunt and cousins, then drove an hour to my uncle’s house.
Monday was Labor Day. Everyone had the day off anyway, so we all gathered at the hospital and took Tommy off life support. I stayed until 9 that night, after my parents and brother had gone home. When she came out, my aunt asked what I was still doing there. I replied “This is where I’m needed”.
While my aunt was sitting outside the hospital with one of her friends, she said a butterfly had flown around them and landed on her hand. After it flew off, she said “That’s Tommy”.
Tuesday, I went to the hospital again. While sitting in the waiting room, I wrote Butterfly Wings. I wrote the last line in my notebook, then my cousins’ friend ran in and said something had happened.
Uncle Tommy passed away.
I took the rest of the week off from everything. I didn’t trust myself to work, and I couldn’t focus on writing. That was one of a handful of times that I didn’t post a chapter of Girl in Red on Saturday morning.
Uncle Tommy’s funeral was September 15th. There wasn’t much; my aunt didn’t want a big ordeal. I read Butterfly Wings.
I post my poems after I read them locally. I go to an open mic every Monday, and Tuesday when I can make it. I posted Butterfly Wings on October 29th of this year, Tommy’s birthday, after I read it. Likewise, I posted Never Fading on November 5th, reading it as close to his birthday as I could.
As hard as that was to go through, it taught me something valuable: writing helps. I already knew, but not to the extent I do now. More than that, it helps other people.
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