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My mom has a big family. 6 brothers, 3 sisters. Naturally, that means a bunch of cousins born within a similar period of time. There were like 12 of us that were born withing 3 years of each other. As we got older, we get to hang out with each other. One of the clusters of cousins that would always be together were me (oldest), Mario (I'm a year older), Rick (Got him by 2 years) my brother (younger than Rich by 2 months), and Ronnie (Rick's brother, younger by a year). Ron was always the jokester of the family. He would cone out the mouth with something slick and you HAD to laugh at it, no matter how mad you were at him. I remember one time we were at an arcade in VA where the majority of the clientele was white. Now, Street Fighter II was all the rage, and my brother and I had put in work in our local arcades, and were not to be f'ed with. So, we get our quarter up on the marquee and proceed to destroy any and all comers. Meanwhile, Ronnie is behind us providing commentary on the beatdown. Every time a combo landed, Ron was like 'That's my cousin WHIPPIN YO' AZZZZZZ...' I nearly lost a few rounds laughing at him doing that
By high school Ronnie was diagnosed with MS. Strangely enough, I had done plenty of reading drives in elementary school to fund research for this, but never thought it would hit home. When I say that disease was quick and devastating, it's an understatement. Here was the kid that was quick to make a joke and roast someone but wouldn't walk across the stage at his graduation (my uncle pushed him in his wheelchair to get his diploma). The same guy that was trying to mix Jack Daniels with a Lil' Hug as a chaser (a horrible idea that we still laugh about to this day) couldn't pee by himself because he had the shakes like Parkinson's. In the later stages, his face looked exactly like our grandfather, who passed in '94.
Our aunts and uncles figures since we had a large family, the younger ones should act as pallbearers in the event one of the family died. May as well carry our own, right? The first time I had to do that was my grandfather, as mentioned. It was a windy, cold April afternoon, and the 5 of us and my younger cousin Wayne (also in that cluster with us, but I didn't see as much for other reasons) carried our grandfather to his final resting place. Ron, ever the joker, was talking all the way from the hearse to the grave site: 'Alright fellas, be careful on this grass. We can't slip and have Granddad fall out this casket and roll down the hill. Grandma will pass out, Aunt Pam be mad at us...' All of us are now trying not to laugh, as this is a serious occasion, but he was right.
5 years later, Ron had passed. Pneumonia. MS wouldn't allow his body to fight it. Now we had to bury him.
There wasn't a dry eye in the funeral home that afternoon. For the cousins, the weight of burying one of our own was almost too much to bear mentally. Having to physically carry that casket? All of us wanted to do it, and none of us wanted to do it at the same time. I can't even describe how heavy that was.
On our drive t my cousin's house for the repast, my brother pulled out the CD player and adapter in the Saturn SL2 and put on 'In Memory Of'. If I'm going to a funeral I'll listen to this one. Even went and found the Paul Horn original, as it's really a beautiful sample on it's own merit. But it will always remind me of my cousin Ronnie Rush.
Rest in peace. <-- Dave Thomas knows what's up...
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Jay: Look here homie, any nigga can get a hit record. This here is about respect.
Game: Like Gladys Knight.
Jay: Aretha Franklin.
Game: Word, I like her too.
Jay: Nigga...
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