Last night I dreamed that Adam was still alive. I think it’s because my aunt, uncle and grandma visited us the other night and we talked about his widow. When Adam died, I was sad, but a part of me was indifferent. This indifference was a defense mechanism masking the dark place that opened up in my mind when he died. For a long time after he died, I had a lot of grief hidden somewhere, in a place I still have not located. I did not cry when I got the news he had passed, I did not cry when I got home from college and spend long days at my aunt’s house eating donated food and staring at photo albums and organizing visits and services, and I did not cry at his funeral. I wanted to cry so badly, but I couldn’t. Instead, I found hotel rooms for visiting family. I stood in front of the coffin and smiled demurely at mourners. I hugged family I’d never met at the graveside. I made sure my grandmother had a ride to the funeral home. I skipped class for a week.

Adam died on November 4, the day Barack Obama was elected President. The morning of November 4, I drove to Watauga High School to vote. I voted for Obama. Adam was still alive, and I was hoping to make it back to Winston-Salem before he died. I wanted to hold his hand, and I wanted him to know that I loved him. But if I missed another class meeting, I would fail that class. I was assured he would last another day. I went to my afternoon class, which was over at 3:45. At 3:15 I received a text message informing me that Adam had died. The class was discussing the election and they were being quite nasty with each other. After class I had to take a Child Development test early, because I was going to miss it because of the funeral. I made an A. It was an unusually warm night.

I got to Winston-Salem at about 9:00. I drove to my aunt’s house. My parents were there and I think my dad had been crying. The first person I saw was my aunt. Her son had just died, but she smiled and asked me how I was doing. I said I was fine and told her she smelled good. The election coverage was on the TV and Obama was leading. There was talk of how Sarah Palin was much more prepared to be President than Barack Obama. I thought if the TV told me McCain was elected, I would laugh and then wake up from this dream and Bush would still be President and Adam would still be avoiding his family, alive and well several states away. We contemplated contacting Adam’s estranged wife. We planned for family arriving the next day. People asked me about college.

I stared at the election coverage. Barack Obama was announced as the winner of the election. Everyone in the house, except me and my mother, shook their heads. My aunt, whose son had just died, remarked that America had no idea what they’d just done.

My parents and I left at the same time. Several cars I passed on the way home honked and flashed their lights in celebration of the election results. I felt like screaming at them to shut the fuck up because someone had just died. Have some respect. I don’t care about Barack Obama. I don’t know Barack Obama and I don’t care about his life. But Adam has just died, what am I going to do? What am I going to do without him? Can someone tell me that? Can I have some pie graphs on TV telling me how to deal with this? Can Wolf Blitzer please tell me how to interpret these results?

At the wake there was a video montage of pictures of Adam and his family playing in a loop on a screen in the lobby. There were several pictures of us together. One picture was of me, Adam, and his brother Paul at our cousin Cristina’s wedding. I was 6. I was standing between Adam and Paul and they were holding my hands. I felt sick and had to leave the room.

At the funeral, the minister told us that he thinks Adam may have gone to hell.

Sometimes I’m fine. Sometimes I think of him and smile. Sometimes, more often, I think of him and remember he is dead. I feel like my chest is folding in half. Sometimes I think if my heart hurts hard enough, he will hear me.

I never got to see him before he died. I am the only one in my family that didn’t get to see him. They all got to talk to him while he was conscious. I didn’t. My mom told me I wouldn’t have wanted to see him because he looked rough. I would have given anything to have seen him. I don’t care what he looked like. If I could just see him and look at him. He would say something funny, like he always did. He joked with my dad before he died. Why not me? It was always me that he joked with. Why couldn’t I make it home? Why didn’t I skip that fucking class? Why did I give a fuck about failing? What the fuck did I do?

This is sick. I just made this site because no one knows about it. I’ve never told anyone this shit. Maybe one day I’ll be able to.