Number 194

 A Requiem For Eric

From yesterday's (4/4/22) New Haven [CT] Register: "Body Found in Memorial Field Dugout, No Foul Play Suspected" (East Haven) - The body of a deceased man was found Monday in a dugout at Memorial Field, according to police. Capt. Joseph Murgo said initial investigation revealed "the deceased died from either a medical issue or due to a drug overdose. There were no signs of foul play," said Murgo.

If Captain Murgo were to reach out to me, I could supply a few extra details. The person they found had a name: Eric Henry Perkins, and he was 34 years old. He had a family, including a mother who loved him desperately. I could also supply the many challenging circumstances that Eric faced in his life - some of them his own creation, but many that were not. I could explain to Captain Murgo the long chain of events that left him homeless, and maybe feeling he had no place left to turn. I could also tell him that Eric left behind many people who are now wondering if there was anything they should have done differently. Maybe not, but the wondering will linger for a long time to come. Perhaps as long as the tears of a mother whose child has left this world much too soon.

Back in 1987, he came into the world on October 10th. If he'd have shown up a bit sooner, he would have been born on the 9th - his mother's birthday, but the 10th was just fine. He came into the world the usual way, with two parents, grandparents, and many others excited to welcome him. It was a blessed moment.

Unfortunately, for anyone paying attention, the storm clouds were already forming in the distance.

During the early years of his life, I lived close by, and so I had the opportunity to spend a lot of time with him. I don't enjoy dead naming myself, but I was his "Unca Who," and I was one of the select few he would run to and hug when he saw me. When it was bath time, I often sang "Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles because that seemed like an appropriate bath song. His Oma (my mother) reports that she had him at the grocery one day, and as he sat in the cart seat, he repeated over and over - a little louder each time - "In the town, where I was born..."

At his first haircut, we discovered that he was extremely afraid of the clippers and scissors. I don't remember quite how we figured it out, but we discovered that he would go with me to get his haircut. He and I would always talk about it beforehand, and he knew that if he was brave and allowed his hair to be cut, there was reward to be had on the other side (maybe McDonalds and a new Hot Wheel car).

In my own life about this time, I was in a relationship with a young woman from California. I moved across the country to be with her. It did not end well, and I soon returned to Connecticut. A few years later, Eric and I were bopping down the road listening to the Beach Boys signing "California Girls." You know: "Wish they all could be California girls..." Well, I don't remember what I had said to him sometime previously, (but clearly after I had returned home with my tail between my legs), because after the song ended, Eric looked up at me with big eyes and said: "Unca Who... Is it true that California girls will really cut your heart out?!?" That was my first lesson in learning that you had to be very careful in what you said to young children!

When he was ten, I took him to his first amusement park with serious roller coasters. We rode those suckers all day.

But nothing stays static. I had fallen in love (for real this time), and gotten married. Soon my wife and I moved from CT and I began to see Eric less and less. And by now the storm clouds that followed him for most of his life had fully arrived. As a child he began to face challenges and hardships that no child should have to face.

From the outside looking in his Oma and I became concerned for his safety. By the time he was three, his father had begun to drink heavily, and we suspected that Eric might be jeopardy. We spoke with our pastor at the time, and I clearly remember her saying to us that whatever happened, Eric had already "suffered damage." Looking back, this is the moment when I began to wonder if I was doing the right thing for my nephew.

From that point, the details really don't matter that much. Every family faces times of hardship when  someone is in crisis and everyone else does their ineffectual best to try and help. Sometimes these hard times don't last very long, and sometimes they last for decades. Sometimes they never end. And regardless of how long the hard times last, there are always consequences. And often the consequences leave everyone just as bruised, battered, questioning, and concerned as the hard time itself. And everyone involved is left wondering just what the fuck is the right thing to do.

My nephew Eric is dead. I think back to that sweet, sweet little boy and wonder how it's possible that things went so, so wrong for him. Many well-intentioned mistakes were made. And he is as culpable as anyone else if anyone is truly interested in tallying up all the fuck ups. God bless him, his lost soul is now at rest, and that does give me a small amount of comfort. And yet, I'm left wondering just what it is that I should have done differently...