You would have been 34 today.
Instead, you’ve been lying in a casket at a place that I haven’t
visited since the day we laid you to rest there almost seven months ago.
You’d have made a joke about how you’re getting old now.
Deadpan delivery that would have made the joke ten times funnier.
It’s very difficult facing this day that would have been
yours, that was yours for the past 33
years, without you.
Every day without you is a different type of difficult. I
still ask myself why you had to go so soon. I have yet to find the answer.
But the fact is, you’re gone, and I’m still here, still
trying to live in such a way to make you proud of who I’ve become since you
died.
I didn’t know how integral you were in my life, didn’t know
how big a space you filled in my heart, until you died and left that space wide
open. They say you don’t really know what you have until it’s gone.
But, in honor of you, I will hold back the tears on this
your special day. You wouldn’t have wanted me to spend a day that was meant to
be happy, unhappy.
I still miss you. Every hour of every day, I wish to a God I
don’t believe in that you were still here.
I understand that you did what you were placed on this earth
to do, which was to touch the lives of everyone you came in contact with. I
wish you’d taken a bit longer to do it, though.
So, I just wanted to let you know, if somehow you can, that
I still love you, through all the tears I’ve shed, on my dark days and on my
bright ones. I always will.
Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy.
Happy birthday. đŸ’“
Love,
Trish.
--
attached is the tribute I read at his funeral. to this day I still can't fully read it without tearing up.
Tribute to Sheldon Stafford Forbes, my uncle... and friend.
My very earliest memories of Uncle Gar involved both of us
going to Burger King, where he’d buy me a Kids’ Meal.
The majority of our encounters involved a car somehow. From
then, when I was about four or so, until recently, the last time I ever saw him
alive, which was when he drove me to Kingston. He was always the one who drove
me to Youth Fellowship on Fridays whenever I wanted to go. I’d just message him
and say ‘yo, u free later? Wah go church’ and usually he wouldn’t respond, but
I’d know to be ready by 7pm.
On all those drives, he always had a word of advice to offer
regarding whatever situation I was telling him about. I can still hear his
voice in my head saying things like ‘ketch yuhself a watch yuhself enuh B’ or
‘hangle yuh business, nuh watch nuh face’
He was like a brother to me. Whenever mommy and I beefed,
he’d listen to my side of the story (I knew he always got hers) and he never
hesitated to say ‘no Trish, yuh wrong this time’ whenever I was at fault. But
whenever mommy was at fault, his favourite line was ‘a suh yuh mumma tan
massah, just haffi ignore him till e come round again’
He gave excellent advice. Things I couldn’t talk to mommy
about, I could talk to him about, and it was always refreshing to learn about
life and love from a man’s perspective.
He was always boosting me. I remember when I graduated from
Bishops and he said to me that the journey doesn’t end there. When I left 6th
form he said ‘a now the struggle ago start enuh’. This year when he was taking
me to school, in the car he said I had to make the best of this opportunity I
have now, because there are many people who would do anything for it.
In my successes, he was always there with a smile on his
face to say ‘see, me tell you seh you cudda dweet enuh’. In my despairs, he was
always there to say ‘pick up and try again’. I can’t remember any period in my
life where he wasn’t there, whether in the background or at the forefront.
I remember when mommy was pregnant. Whenever I was at
school, she took out her bad mood on him until I came home. Then she took it
out on me. Whatever cravings she had, she just whipped out her phone: “Gar mi
want this” and anywhere he had to go for it, he went.
When Gabby was born he came around a lot and it always
warmed my heart to see him hold her so delicately, and even as she grew bigger
and was scared of him, he didn’t let that affect him, he never stopped until
she could recognize the car horn and run onto the veranda screaming ‘uncle Gar
come!’ and even then it was beautiful to watch him play with her.
His sense of fun and humor was something else. Sometimes
we’d be in the car and out of nowhere he’d start messing up my hair or making
faces at me (while driving, mind you). I especially enjoyed watching him and
mommy interact. She’s not really a hugger, so sometimes he’d come for a hug and
she pushed him off...he still took his hug and laughed at her.
He was the type to tell you the world’s funniest joke and
watch you there in stitches like ‘a wah do da mad gyal yah man’
I honestly could talk about him all day.
I remember the last time I saw him, he told me where he left
my stuff and that he wrote my name on everything. He gave me a hug before he
left and said to me, “Trish, take care a yuhself, keep yuh head pon yuh body”
and drove away.
The last thing he said to me was via WhatsApp on August 26.
He asked if I was ok and then said ‘remember weh mi tell you.’
I miss his strength. When I was moving off hall in May, I
had a lot of stuff. I have a suitcase of clothes that weighs more than I do,
and he picked it up with ease and walked down 3 flights of stairs with it. I
didn’t really appreciate the show of strength until I had to do the same thing,
down 3 flights of steps, across a quad and up 3 more flights of steps, by
myself, and then it came to me. He never complained, he just wiped sweat off
his face and carried on.
I miss listening to him talk about football, I miss
listening to him make fun of me and mommy, I miss hearing the sound of his car
outside our gate on Saturdays or Sundays when he came for breakfast or dinner.
I miss randomly getting a message from him saying ‘yuh good?’, or from 400
saying I got credit from him. I miss the little things, I miss the big things.
It wasn’t the same on August 28 when I went back to town
without him.
It won’t be the same when someone else calls me Trish. It
won’t be the same when I have to take a taxi to go to church on Friday
evenings. It won’t be the same to have to write my name on my stuff myself when
I move back on hall next year.
I am happy, though, to have had him in my life for 18 years.
I’m happy that he knew I loved him, even when I didn’t tell him, I always
showed him. I’m happy that I knew that he loved me, even when he didn’t say it.
His actions always showed it. So even though he probably can’t hear me now,
Scott, I love you...and thank you for everything.
