The Bold Move I Made Not Attending my Cousin’s Funeral
Emotional Self-Care: Decoding the Choice to Miss My Cousin’s Funeral
My 34-year-old cousin was murdered on August 5th. It was shocking and brutal. She leaves behind 5 children, and her youngest, who was born while she was deceased, arrived on the same day she passed away.
Her murder occurred just one day before my birthday and the day I had planned to take a break from my nomadic van lifestyle.
Coincidentally, my aunt had already booked a flight to visit me and was set to arrive on my birthday.
She even rented a car to make things easier. For the next week, I went from van life to a vacation experience, indulging in creature comforts like a proper bed and exploring some of San Diego’s iconic nature spots.
Challenging Emotions Unveiled
When I received the news of my cousin’s passing, my initial thought was to cut short my vacation, park my van in a friend’s driveway, and rush back home.
It’s worth noting that prior to this, we had already experienced two deaths in the family: my step-grandfather and my other cousin’s wife’s mother.
Had I been home, I would have attended both of these funerals.
Given the circumstances of my cousin’s passing, it seemed non-negotiable and expected that I should return home.
Thus, I was taken aback when my aunt informed me that she had arrived in San Diego. This led me to question her presence — wasn’t I supposed to be going home, just as she was?
My aunt is the family caregiver, always reaching out to everyone, offering prayers, and writing obituaries except for the ones I’ve previously written.
She serves as our family’s grief counselor. This wasn’t a situation akin to the passing of a nearly 90-year-old man who had lived a fulfilling life, or the death of a 60-something mother who had battled illness.
No, this was a tragic event — a young cousin, a mother of five, brutally murdered.
This was the kind of loss that draws the entire family together. Not to mention, this was close cousin of mine. I wrote about here HERE.
Upon my aunt’s arrival, we embraced, shed tears, and discussed the profound tragedy that had arrived at our family’s doorstep.
My aunt shared that she had chosen to be with me not only due to the loss, but also because it was my birthday and she understood how much I had been anticipating this week.
To be honest, I wasn’t too concerned about my birthday,
I’ve never been one to celebrate it. What I truly longed for was a break from the van and constantly working and creating content.
My aunt and I agreed to spend the week mourning and also focusing on self-care rather than festivity.
This was a challenging period, as more details emerged throughout the week. I spoke with the mother of my murdered cousin daily, offering love and support.
There were multiple factors that contributed to my decision not to return home, but the primary one revolved around a couple of questions I posed to myself: Could I provide support to my aunt from where I was? The answer was affirmative.
Could I continue to offer that support once the initial flurry of attention had subsided? This tragedy was currently a major news story, but over time, it would fade from the headlines.
Despite that, I pledged to remain by their side and I knew the rest of my family would too.
I intended to assist in caring for the children, as my cousin said she would get custody. I had previously stayed with her and helped look after the kids. I knew when I returned, I could continue to do so.
Financially, I had invested a substantial amount in this vacation — covering Airbnb, hotel stays, and other expenses. I had started my vacation from van life a week before my aunt’s arrival, essentially granting myself two weeks of downtime. Going home would mean another week of not working.
My family had already devised a schedule detailing who I would see and what I would be doing. I had a panic attack, thinking I would be without my van home, my safe space. When I needed to be alone, I wouldn’t have that option.
While I’m no celebrity, my family sometimes treats me as though I’m a prominent figure among us.
Although I strive to be the family’s black sheep, that isn’t always how I’m perceived.
As my anxiety and panic attacks mounted, I was open with my family about the financial strain caused by the vacation and two weeks of not creating content. Naturally, my family intervened, offering to purchase a plane ticket and offering support in other ways.
With finances no longer a concern, another issue emerged. Could I be there for my cousin being 3 thousand miles away.
I was confident I would be there, even after the world had moved on.
While others might shift their focus to something else, this event would continue to be a focal point for me and our close-knit family.
I was apprehensive about attending the funeral for reasons beyond financial and logistical ones.
Funerals, much like weddings, tend to attract the bad people.
Disgusting People
The uncle who put his hand in your panties.
The preacher whom you recall being more interested in getting into your bed than saving your soul.
The dingy cousin who did nothing when you were brutally attacked.
There would also be friends and a few family members present, whom I can’t stand and would have to cuss out , leading to criticism for my actions.
Ultimately, I reached a decision. I called my cousin and proposed an alternative: if I couldn’t be present for the funeral but could commit to being there the following month, would it be acceptable for me to livestream the service and have my son read something on my behalf?
Her response provided me with the clarity I needed — I wouldn’t be attending the funeral in person.
People often do things because it’s what they’ve always done. When you are the one who questions the insanity, your sanity gets questioned.
Nia didn’t go to church or read the Bible. She believed in Allah due to her mother’s influence.
Yet there was the preacher, delivering a message at her casket. This preacher, someone I’m familiar with, a “family friend” who constantly flirts with my aunt, my cousin, and even me.
This is the same person who engages in inappropriate behavior and makes offensive comments. And there he was, preaching about the perils of the world, attributing them to same-sex marriages and gender transitions. He claimed that society had turned its back on God.
My response? Yeah, well, F*ck you!
Similar to Nia, I don’t frequent churches or read the Bible, but I consider myself a good person. Nia was also a good person.
I believe in God, while Nia believed in Allah. She has found peace, and I believe that I will too, because throughout our lives, we’ve been taught that the dash between our birth and death holds significance — it matters.
RIP Dear Sweet, Nia. Sunrise April 15, 1989 — Sunset August 5, 2023
#Nora
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