My uncle Ken looked as though someone had just ripped his heart out. His face so pale and his posture so decrepit it was a wonder he was still breathing. With my aunt and uncle this distraught, I decided it would be best to find out from the police officers in the garage what happened. As I stepped in the back door to the garage I heard my aunt scream: "Adam no!" But it was too late, I had already seen what made the death of my cousin different from the death of Al Sicherman's son. I stepped into the garage, and saw what has and will haunt me for the rest of my life. On the floor, wrapped in an evidence bag, was the shotgun Eric received last year for Christmas from my uncle. When I saw that gun, I immediately turned away and found myself starring at my uncle's new Ford F150 pickup; the windshield and hood covered in dried blood. After seeing what no person ever should, I felt sicker than ever.
Looking back at the indescribable feelings I was facing after learning that my own cousin had committed suicide, I can't begin to comprehend what my uncle was experiencing. Ever since the passing of my cousin, he has never been the same. In the weeks passing my cousin's death, the only place my uncle and myself found solace was in my cousin's favorite pastime -- working on his car. Two months before my cousin's death, Eric purchased a 1991 Corvette that was almost totaled. Every time I saw Eric he was working on his cherished car. At the time of his death, he was almost halfway done restoring the car. I guess this is why my uncle and I found comfort in working on his car. It was while working on the Corvette, that my uncle expressed his feelings to me.
I learned that my uncle had shared many of the same thoughts and feelings as Al Sicherman over the loss of a son. My uncle could not believe that his own son would ever try drugs, especially heroin. He too informed Eric of the dangers of drugs, and yet Eric obviously didn't listen.
