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I apologize in advance if this belongs somewhere else on the forums, but I looked and E/N seemed like the closest fit. Part I It's hard to describe why I'm writing this. Normally I'm the kind of guy to keep things to myself, who doesn’t like to advertise his feelings. I suppose it's a behavior I learned from my father, also a very tight mouthed guy. In a way it runs in the family, my Dad's side. Why say more then you have to? But, after everything that's happened in the past year, I feel the need to express myself of what's happened. There's no point in talking to my family about it, it'll just open old wounds. And seeing a therapist about it wouldn't feel right, like I'm bringing a outsider into what's considered family business. Maybe it's the timing. After all, this whole thing started a year ago last month. Valentines Day, to be exact. (Don't worry, it's got nothing to do with a relationship.) February 14th was a Tuesday last year. I had Tuesdays off from work so I could attend class at the local community college, a Analytics class that I was totally unprepared for and some kind of a sociology class who's name escapes me at the moment. I had a good job with Best Buy at the corporate office, answering the phones and dealing with customer complaints. The job itself sucked, but the pay was good and the benefits even better. The day before, Monday the 13th, I had left work early because I wasn't feeling well. On the way home there was a mixture of snow and ice on the road, and I misjudged the gap between the car in front of me and I rear-ended him. Nothing major, just a scratch and a small paint chip. We exchanged info, and a few weeks later I found out that he claimed $2500 in damages on his car. Fucker. After I got home I was at my computer and a can of Coke slipped out of my hand and spilled onto the computer. For some reason, these things didn't upset me very much. I don't know why, but I just didn't feel bad or angry that I was in a car accident (albeit a minor one) and my computer was now destroyed. I simply accepted it. At about 3 in the morning the next day, my Mom knocked on my door and said: “Dave, wake up. Your uncle Bret is dead, they think someone killed him.” I was still in the fog of sleep, and at first I thought I had misheard her. I walked into the living room and saw my Dad with this look on his face. If seriousness is a facial expression, that's what it was. After he told me that yes, Bret was dead and it looked like homicide, I felt the blood in my face drain. I was literally shocked, and I sat down in the big leather chair before my legs went out. I sat there in this dream-like haze, like I wasn't totally convinced that this was a really messed up dream and when I woke up everything would be back to normal. I don't remember very much else from that morning. I know my Dad left around 4 to go to my aunt Lori's house to let her know what had happened. Later, around 6:30 I mentioned that I had school that day. Dad said it was probably a good idea if I went, and I wanted a excuse to leave the house. My Mom wouldn't shut up about who did this, and the rest of the family was in danger, and yadda-yadda-loving-yadda. I think I left around 7. A little background info: My uncle Bret was the youngest son of my dad's side of my family. My grandparents, Donnie and Iola, had 7 kids, 4 boys- Mike, Rob, Don (my dad) and Bret- and 3 daughters: Lori, Tony and Michelle. To give a idea of how far apart the family was, Bret graduated high school the same year my parents got married. Bret was always considered the family baby and was the only Uncle me and my cousins could relate to the most. Every holiday, us cousins would always hang out in the basement of whoever was hosting- Mike does Christmas and Michelle does Thanksgiving- and we'd eat & watch TV. I think Bret always hung out with us because he could relate to us better then his brothers and sisters. While everyone else was upstairs, complaining about property tax increases and how much they hated their jobs, Bret was downstairs with us, talking about how much better the Super Nintendo was better then the Sega Genesis (Genesis was WAY better) or watching the MST3K Turkey Day marathon on Comedy Central. I think that's why we loved him so much, he was a nerd before it was cool. He loved comic books and video games as much as us, probably more. He was a reader of Phillip K. Roth and J.R.R. Tolken decades before the movies were made. I think that's why losing him hurts so much. He was one of us, a guy who would help you any way he could and who you could have a actual conversation with. He tutored my cousin Jon through technical college and helped him get his degree in robotics. After my uncle Mike got divorced he lived with Bret for a while, slept in his spare bedroom while the divorce papers were finalized. That's who he was, a guy who just wanted to help. I spent the rest of the 14th killing time. I had initially planned on going to school, but I made it as far as Eden Prairie when I saw that they had reduced I-494 to one lane, probably because of the construction on 169. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do that day was be around people. I was still smoking then, and I just kinda drove around, chain-smoking and listening to the radio with no destination in mind. Eventually I dropped my damaged computer off at Micro Center to had it repaired after the spillage of the previous night. When I got home, nothing had changed. My Dad wasn't home and my Mom was still blithering about who did it, only now she was talking to her parents. I holed up in my room watching TV until 10, then I went to bed. I felt like someone had beaten me with baseball bats when I woke up the next morning. My Dad wasn't there, later I found out he was meeting with Brooklyn Center detectives and telling my grandma what had happened. Best Buy didn't have a bereavement leave policy then, and I called the switchboard a dozen times before I got through to my supervisor Courtney. I told her what had happened, and when she asked me when I was coming back, that's when I lost it. Between sobs I told her they hadn't even released the body yet, and I didn't know when I would be back. Until then I hadn't shed a tear, I was too much in shock to cry. The 15th was more of the same. My mom still wouldn't shut up and everyone did their best to ignore her. My brother was absent, he had long since holed up with supportive friends. My Dad was also still not home, he was either meeting with Brooklyn Center PD or making funeral arrangements. I ducked out of the house for a few hours, and when I came home I was told. The funeral was going to be the next day, the 16th, Minnesota Crematorium Society on France Ave in Bloomington. I didn't know the place by name, but when I saw it I knew it immediately. I must have passed it a hundred times driving on France Ave. The day of the funeral, I was given the responsibility of getting my mother there on time. My Dad pulled me aside and said “Dave, this is really important. Make sure your mother gets there on time, Christ knows she won't on her own.” I undertook the mission like I was delivering nuclear launch codes. I hadn't done anything up to this point and it made me feel I little better, knowing I had been given a task to perform. A minor task, but still. I guarded her like the motherfucking Secret Service, we left the house on time right down to the second. If I remember correctly, we got there about 10 minutes early. The family had found a pastor of some Luthern-exque denomination to deliver the service, and my Uncle Paul – Tony's Husband – was also to give a eulogy on behalf of the family. The thing I remember the most about Paul's eulogy was that he compared Bret to a Roman general who's name escapes me, but he cut his cloak in half with his broadsword and gave it to a beggar. The next day when he awoke, the cloak has been sewn back together. It seemed to fit, that Bret was the kind of guy who would help you any way he could, then you would help him. The one thing that I remember the most was the turnout. Officially the count was 236, but I remember it being much more then that. Every man from my Dad's machine shop was there, and so was every single family member in the state, even some relatives drove in from South Dakota. The atmosphere was incredibility tense, more so because of the circumstances surrounding Bret’s death. It was almost like people expected retaliation at the funeral. Everyone was jumpy, edgy. Guys would scan the room looking for threats, for someone who didn't belong. With nothing else in my life to compare it to, the closest would be a Mafia funeral. A big display of mourning, entire floral shops of flowers and more people attending then a Van Halen concert. But everyone aware of the situation, and waiting for the next move. I'll try to get Part II posted tonight. BigDave fucked around with this message at Mar 2, 2013 around 18:23 |
| # ? Mar 2, 2013 17:31 |
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| # ? May 22, 2013 14:59 |
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Is this fiction? You're trying hard to be all dramatic about this. I mean, a mafia funeral? I thought I must have misread all that after seeing that, and there be some reason why there'd be 'people who don't belong. I seriously doubt anyone was doing that, and your treatment of getting your mom there on top....you sound paranoid as hell. Get therapy.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 19:15 |
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Warchicken posted:Is this fiction? You're trying sooooo hard to be all dramatic about this, and it's all a bit hokey. I mean, a mafia funeral? I thought I must have misread all that after seeing that, and there be some reason why there'd be 'people who don't belong. I seriously doubt anyone was doing that, and your treatment of getting your mom there on top....you sound paranoid as hell. Get therapy. Well there was a murder that occurred in Brooklyn Center, MN last valentines day. I agree that cliffhangering a story about his uncle's death seems crass though.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 19:19 |
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BigDave posted:
It is. Hence the expression 'with a look of seriousness of his face' that people have been using to describe serious face for all of history. If this is for real though I guess I salute your effort at coping with a tragedy through a creative outlet. slutpixie fucked around with this message at Mar 2, 2013 around 19:22 |
| # ? Mar 2, 2013 19:20 |
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So the story seems to be: Your uncle was killed tragically, you've been a mess ever since, and you refuse to go to a therapist. The answer is going to be to get some therapy.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 19:27 |
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Go close your Best Buy ask/tell thread, because based on this and your last few posts in there, you're about to reveal that your therapy-needing rear end got fired.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 20:02 |
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So what I got from the story: your a sociopath orphan/Best Buy Employee that integrated yourself with a family of strangers then murdered one so you can better understand human grief. Now you are seeking help over the internet because your murderous orphan brain can't process the data you collected.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 20:06 |
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I'm not understanding the hostility. Maybe he's trying to cope with grief through his writing?
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 20:07 |
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I'm very sorry for your loss OP, however, it is really important you get therapy. Don't think of going to a therapist to spill your guts out as "going outside the family" or "bringing someone into you affairs" and more of going to the doctor because you feel sick. There is no reason anyone should get upset with you for going to a therapist, its normal and will help you a great deal.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 20:28 |
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I don't know why everyone's being such a dick to the OP in this thread, there's nothing that odd about describing the atmosphere at a murdered man's funeral as mafia-ish, with all the fear and tension there must have been. And it doesn't seem so much like a cliffhanger as a break for the OP to organise his thoughts. Sorry for your loss man 
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 23:08 |
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I would like to hear part 2.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 23:31 |
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- hi
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OK, fair enough. That's what I get for writing at 4AM and thinking I'm the next John Grisham. What we later found out was that a mentally unstable ex-girlfriend of Bret's named Rochelle Inselman had purchaed a handgun from a private party and stalked him for several weeks, trying to steal his identity and hack into his Facebook. We didn't know until after the sentencing, but the police investigation also revealed that she had also been stalking my grandmother Iola, and it appeared that she had been planning something against her at one point. She had a ex-husband in California where she had pulled the same crap, stalking and threatening him until he got a restraining order. Bret had one as well. She was arrested April 11th of last year, and formally charged a few days later. The case against her was circumstantial until a maintenance worker at a Clearwater truck stop found a handgun case and turned it in. It had her fingerprints on it, and because of this evidence the charges were upgraded to First Degree Murder. I always wanted to find and thank him, the guy who turned it in. Without that box there's a good chance we never would have gone to trial. She was found to be mentally competent to stand trial, and we moved forward with the case. After the mental evaluation hearing the D.A. informed us that she wanted a plea bargain for a reduced charge. We didn't want to, but it was our best shot at a guilty verdict. There was a fear that she would play the sympathy angle, try to gain support and have the jury return a reduced verdict of Manslaughter. Even Man One only gets a max sentence of 12 years, and we wanted as much jail time as possible. Plus, even if she was found guilty at a jury trial she could fight the verdict for years, appeal everything under the sun and find that a box on some form hadn't been checked right, or some bullshit detail that would get the verdict overturned or sent back for a new trial. Nobody wanted that chance. It took some effort to convince my grandmother, but eventually we got it set up. On December 17 2012 she pled guilty to Second Degree Murder. At the allocation she was vague about what had happened. She went there to confront him about a unidentified issue, the gun went off but she didn't know how, etc. Bad memory, she said. She fired 14 times and hit him 12 times, how the gently caress someone doesn't remember that is beyond me. But, she plead guilty, that's all that matters. Even with the good-time provision she's not eligible for parole until 2047. It hurts to think about, so I try not to. It's just such a goddamned waste. If it had been a car accident, or falling off a ladder, or a brain aneurysm no one saw coming maybe it would be different, feel different. The fact that some crazy bitch stalked him and killed him, it...it really makes you question a lot of the basic foundations of life. You try to search for some meaning, for some purpose behind it. But random violence doesn't have any meaning behind it, it doesn't give purpose to anything. It just happens, and no amount of soul-searching or meditation will make it any different. Violence is violence, and there isn't anything you can do to prevent it. And that's it. http://www.startribune.com/local/no...31.html?refer=y http://www.startribune.com/printarticle/?id=147043395 http://post.mnsun.com/2012/12/plea-...-homicide-case/ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VarNV58GvLo (my dad's the one in the red and black shirt) http://mugshots.com/US-Counties/Min...n.31328278.html
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 23:38 |
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It sounds pretty terrible. If you wanted to get it down on figurative paper for catharsis, you have now. If you still find yourself ruminating on it too much, maybe you need to have a little grief counselling or something but otherwise, yeah. Nobody here has the magic recipe to make you stop feeling sad about family getting shot. On the plus side, you seem to have a pretty incredible memory. Props.
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| # ? Mar 2, 2013 23:57 |
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I'm so sorry for your loss. It has to be one of the hardest things someone has to go through. It's funny how someone comes on here with a real problem and half the replies are making GBS threads on him. Good job E/N. Jizznastics fucked around with this message at Mar 3, 2013 around 05:22 |
| # ? Mar 3, 2013 05:02 |
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I don't get what the problem is Jizz could you let me know what the OP is asking for?
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| # ? Mar 3, 2013 05:14 |
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Personally I don't see anything wrong with it. It's the anniversary of the OP's uncle's recent tragic (and apparently, very public) death and he still has feelings about it and he wanted to share. Not trying to backseat mod but I don't see how every topic needs to be about requesting advice specifically (isn't that the core of everything/nothing posts?). It's good to share as it helps alleviate the pain of certain situations.
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| # ? Mar 3, 2013 05:27 |
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She has "crazy" eyes. Sorry for your loss
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| # ? Mar 3, 2013 05:39 |
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OP, I live in St. Paul and I'd buy you a beer if my work schedule wasn't so wonky. I'm really sorry for your loss.
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| # ? Mar 5, 2013 07:26 |
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Bippie Mishap posted:I don't get what the problem is Jizz could you let me know what the OP is asking for? drat, you're kind of a dick. First the guy whose grandparents died and had to put his dog down, and now here. OP, I'm sorry for what you went through. It sounds like he was a great person so all you can do is remember him fondly and not let his murderer ruin you and your family too. Also therapy/grief counselling.
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| # ? Mar 5, 2013 08:06 |
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| # ? May 22, 2013 14:59 |
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If you're ever in the NYC, send me a PM. We'll get together, have a beer and you can tell me some more stories about your cool uncle. See a therapist if it's eating you up inside. Otherwise, honor his memory by being as nice to people as he was. God knows we need more Uncle Brets in this world.
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| # ? Mar 6, 2013 19:44 |
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