The following musing is because this post is more of an anguished wail than a rant. Sorry. Scanning over some of my posts, a thought popped up. Given the recurring downbeat tone, have I misnamed my Substack? Should it be Seething and Sad? We Need a Hero. Time: The Cruelest Father. SCOTUS is Dead. They’re a sort of ranting, for sure, but mostly it feels like I’ve been slowly opening the tap on my own dashed hope, disappointments and despair, with some snark served on the side. I say this because that tone drops an octave or so again today.
My nephew died a little over a week ago. Suicide. He used the gun he thought was going to keep him safe. He got the gun because he was a victim of gun violence and unarmed when he was attacked. The particulars of the attack, as best as I remember, went as follows. He and another person answered an ad to purchase men’s jewelry a few years ago in a private sale. They pulled up to the agreed public meeting spot and were met with an ambush of gunfire by the ad’s posters, presumably to rob them and take the money for the item. The passenger wasn’t injured. My nephew wasn’t as lucky.
He was hit, I believe at least twice, and badly injured. His survival was touch and go and even though he did survive, the road to recovery was hilly, craggy and covered in broken glass. Bullet fragments they couldn’t recover stayed in his body and he struggled to regain the ability to walk. I wasn’t privy to his healthcare coverage but doubt he had a Cadillac plan, if any at all. Physical ailments can be seen and treated, and our healthcare system is generally adept at addressing those. Mental health is another matter. It’s often an afterthought, if thought about at all.
The police investigation was fruitless and his attackers weren’t found or brought to justice. How does somebody deal with being attacked, shot, nearly killed and holding the knowledge that the gunmen are still at large? They don’t.
So, in response to an ineffective police investigation, his body holding bullet fragments, trauma and now undoubtedly hyper-vigilant, if not in the throes of full-on PTSD, he responded in the most American, NRA-supported way possible. He got a gun.
I don’t know how he got it, I don’t know from where or by whom. I don’t even know if it was properly acquired and registered. In fact, I’ve only recently learned he had one because of the nature of his death. I do know why he got it. Fear. I always believed more guns didn’t make us safer. The shooter’s gun didn’t make him safe. His own gun, gotten in response to being shot, is the one that killed him. Guns kill people, because people use them to kill other people. Sometimes they use guns to kill themselves.
My nephew was gentle. He was kind. He was generous to a fault, sometimes to the point he got taken advantage of. He was often somber, even before he was shot, but he was also silly, humorous, clever, a talented mimic of other’s movements and speech. He was the ringbearer at our wedding. I don’t have kids but he was often the son I didn’t have. Like me, he loved cars and speed. His favorite of my cars was a blue 1998 Nissan 200SX SE-R with a five-speed manual and power sunroof. I lowered it, a friend of mine and I installed adjustable struts all around and I got flashy aftermarket rims. He loved that car. He called it Blueberry and he begged me to hold onto it to sell it to him as his first car. I couldn’t and when I traded it in I felt like I betrayed him.
After he was shot, I tried to get ahold of him but the police confiscated his phone and I don’t know if he ever got my messages or if they even gave him his phone back. I got updates about him through my brother. Time went by and I lost touch. I thought about him but neglected to get his recent contact info to check in. Now he’s gone and I never got to speak with him since a bit before he was shot. Betrayed him again.
Everything else is a blur and still unclear. Understandably, he was never the same after he was shot. I’ve come to learn that after he got the gun he was armed nearly all the time. It seems he thought that the reason he was shot was because he couldn’t fire back, not because violent miscreants plotted and planned to ambush, shoot and rob someone who came in good faith to purchase something they answered an ad for.
He was a father with young children. He carried the pressures of parenthood, work, finances and likely suffering from untreated mental torment. He was able to return to work only fairly recently at a reduced capacity with income strains probably at their peak. On his way to bring his car in for service, his children as passengers, he got into an accident. The car was wrecked, he was admitted to one hospital for treatment and his children admitted to another. He was discharged from the hospital and distraught. He was unable to collect his children and headed home. He got home, updated those present and after further questioning from them about what he had done and what happened, he snapped. He said he would kill himself. He stormed outside and they heard the shot. He was 28. His funeral is this week.
This Substack isn’t paid and all who read my work enjoy, or maybe barely stomach it, at no charge. I’ve only got a handful of subscribers but I appreciate every one of you. I often ask that you share my work to build a base of subscribers but that isn’t my plea today. You folks don’t know me personally, and none of you owe me anything. If you do read this today and are inclined to do so, please consider clicking the GoFundMe link below to make a donation towards my nephew’s funeral expenses. His name was Jermine J. Jacobs. They screwed spelling his first name at the hospital and it never got fixed before it was set in concrete on all official documents. He never got the chance to fix it himself. I love him and we’re all going to miss him. Thanks for reading a sorrowful rant.
If you, or someone you know, is contemplating suicide, please click the link below to get help. Your life has worth, someone loves you and wants you here.
https://988lifeline.org/
Not sure how I found this but am grateful I did. This hit close to home. I lost my best friend to suicide in 2016. He was one of the best humans I have ever met, but this world showed him no mercy.
I am sad that your nephew endured all he did, and that you and everyone else who loved him now have to carry the pain of such a profound and deep loss.
I wish you an abundance of peace, kindness, and support along your journey through the grieving process.
Tell me about it more and subscribe me