I Never Knew Him. I Wish I Had.

I only just returned an hour ago from a weekend visit to Suffolk, Virginia, where my family gathered to mourn the loss of a young man who died violently late last week at the hands of Norfolk police officers. His name was James Raheim Dennis. People called him "Gucci". He was twenty-one years old. He was my cousin. And I never even knew him.

This post is not about the way he died. Officers and witnesses both offer various differing accounts of those moments. And out of respect for my family and what will be a lengthy and emotional ongoing investigation, I won't discuss that here.

This post is, though, about the fact that I never even got to know him. I could kick myself for that! Our families were closer once; saw each other more often when most of them lived in North Carolina; knew all the kids' name. How did we get to the point where so many years could pass and some members of the family never lay eyes on each other until they're gathered to mourn a life cut short? Why was this the first time my cousin's mother and I ever met, and why were my very first words to her "I'm so sorry for your loss"?

I am ashamed of myself for that.

I'm rambling, I know. I guess the point is that families in general have to work harder to keep in touch; to get to know each other better. It's hard, I know. Distance, schedules and health issues make it challenging to keep up on each other's lives. Not to mention the fact that the number of people in my immediate and extended family could form a small third-world nation and it is legitimately difficult to get to know that many people personally. But I've already made a promise to myself that I will work harder to make sure I don't have these same regrets a month...a year...ten years from now.

One thing about large families, though: they do know how to show up and represent! This past weekend, mine drove in from Connecticut, Philadelphia, North Carolina, Atlanta, and other parts of Virginia to offer their condolences to Gucci's immediate family. Bodies everywhere, standing room only. Cars lined up and down the street. Food and good conversation overflowing. Music. Singing. Laughter. Friends new and old. Fond memories shared. The home where Gucci once lived was filled with Love, and lots of it.

I may not have met him in Life, but those who loved him have made sure no one will forget him in Death.

I know I never will...