Remembering Those Closest to You

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Edwin R. Shy

Rachael Fan since 07'
Oct 21, 2007
Oakland, CA
Today marks 4 years since my father, Robert D. Shy died of cancer so in his honor I made this thread where you can share stories about someone you cared about that was close to you that have passed it can be family or friends if you don't want to I understand and I'll start to hopefully to get this thread rollin'

Well Robert was my everything, my bestest friend, my teacher, my protector, and my greatest supporter when it comes to art we always bonded over a lot of things like taking a car ride, going to the movies, going to the Pier or Marina , riding the BART , even with my video games we bonded especially over Smash Bros. and Mario Kart he always watched me playing Melee and Brawl requesting to see a few matches with the characters he liked since his fingers were old he couldn't play so I played for him.

A funny moment I still remember is when I unlocked Rosalina after 5o races in Mario Kart Wii I totally fan girled and screamed with Robert looking at me while I blushing and swoonin over her: "Oh..." "Is something wrong dad ?" "Oh no just surprised my son has a crush on the blue princess..." " Dad do I need to remind you that you HAD a crush on Minnie Mouse when your my age ?" "Well shoot got me there son!" we laughed hard after that...and raced as her all night with him watching, cheering me on

I really miss his voice, his laugh, and wisdom I especially miss the times he come to my room asking how the new game I brought by saying "How is it Mr. Shy?" after his passing I became a stronger person and became more serious with my's sad he couldn't live any longer to see me graduate High School, or get a job or my own place but at least he's looking down at me from above...I still remember how bad he and I cried when we saw Toy Story 3 together which became the last movie we ever seen together before he got weak I wish like Andy said good bye to the toys I wish I could done the same for him.

Robert Dale Shy, he died November 26th,2010 and since I worked hard, been through thick and thin almost committed suicide 3 times but my love for him, my friends and my art I kept going with his death I finally understand life, it's going get to harder, it's going to be more of a challenge but it's important to keep moving forward last thing I got to say is god bless that man was in my life without I would most likely be dead...

Robert Dale Shy: "Best friend, teacher, supporter and father"
6/29/42 - 11/26/10
Last edited:


Seal of Approval
The Katbox
Jan 19, 2010
Washington, USA
Personal Text
Ort ort ort
My big brother, L'ile Clemens, committed suicide on July 30th 2008. He had all the good looks in the family. Girls at school who I didn't even know would ask me to introduce them to him, hoping to endear themselves to him by posing as my friend. It never worked, haha. He was always quiet and patient. We played a lot of video games together, even though he'd always beat me at Mario Kart and GoldenEye. The worst arguments we ever got into were about who would wash the dishes and who would dry them. We never got in any physical fights and we didn't tease eachother. We were friends as well as siblings. His friends would try to tease me and harass me, but he always told them to stop. He did tease a friend of mine once... He threw pebbles at her while she was walking home. I threw a rock at him. I have had horrible aim my entire life, I never expected the rock to hit him in the face! He wasn't knocked out, but he was hurt pretty bad. I had to carry him home even though he was bigger than me and it was about a mile walk. I also had to take care of him until my parents got home from work- this was before cell phones were common. He ended up needing stitches and having a small permanent scar. I was grounded for a week and I willingly spent that week helping him out in every way I could, because I honestly hadn't meant to hurt him.

We grew apart after he moved out. He stayed in Alaska when the rest of the family moved down South. We weren't able to visit him for his wedding. After four years of living so far away, the phone calls got further and further apart. In 2008, we all forgot his birthday. Nobody sent him any presents or called. 24 days later, he put a bullet through his head after getting in an argument with his wife about finances. Everybody in the family was shocked and felt guilty about his birthday. His widow, despite now being with another man and having a child with him, still has Clemens for her last name and we still talk on Facebook and send gifts to eachother at the holidays.

Captain Video

Frontier Psychiatrist
Gallery Volunteer
Sep 4, 2009
Partially Submerged Boat
Personal Text
"No man can eat fifty Faberge eggs!"
As of December 10, my father, Reginald, will have been dead for seven years. He passed away after a pretty one-sided fight with alcoholism in which alcohol took him to school. He often said he didn't want to be an old man in a nursing home, and because he self-destructed in his late 50s, he didn't have to.

Being close to somebody does not necessarily mean you understand them. I don't know as much about him as most of you probably know about your fathers, and I probably never will. I know he had a huge falling-out with his family in the early 1970s and never spoke to many of them again. I have never seen a photograph of a single one of his family members, and the only picture I have of him before the age of 30 or so is his draft card from when he went to Vietnam. He joined the Marine Corps because a judge told him he could either fight for his country or go to prison for a thing he'd done. I still don't know all the details about that. In the photograph on his draft card - which I first saw when I was maybe 18 - he looks exactly like me. I had never known that. For my entire life, he wore a beard.

He believed that he was honest about himself, and that being open about things prevented getting snowed by bullshit. In practice, this translated into a license to forgo basic social skills and do whatever he wanted to do. He spent most of his adult life working in construction and that attitude took him further there than it would in most places. He was good at what he did and his employers were generally willing to entertain what I guess could be broadly categorized as his "eccentricities" because he got results. Being his child was not a pleasant experience.

I believe he loved me, and my mother, and my brother, and I believe he thought that loving people was enough, and that we should all somehow intuit this. But he didn't know how to show love, and he would never admit he was wrong about anything, and this has made it hard for me to love him back, even in death.

In 2005, a bunch of veins in his throat blew out and he very nearly died. After that, his doctor told him to stop drinking, with the warning that it would happen again if he didn't. He stopped drinking for a time, and then he relapsed, hard. I'm fuzzy on the details, now, because in 2006 I went to college and stopped having to deal with him every day, but he got fired for drinking on the job and came down with throat cancer within a few months of each other, as I recall.

I was at college when he died, and I went home for the funeral. I remember meeting with one of the nurses who had overseen him in his final days, and she told me and my brother that he had managed to stop drinking at the end. It didn't mean a thing to me. It still doesn't. The fact that he stopped the act of self-destruction meant nothing because the effects were already complete.

He wanted to be cremated, but as a member of the US military he was already guaranteed a plot and a headstone in a military cemetery, and so they buried his ashes there in a ceremony in the spring when the ground thawed. I believe only my mother went to that. None of his relatives came to the funeral. I am not even certain they know he is dead.

Even dying at 60, he outlived both parents and, I believe, three of his six siblings. His father and one brother both died in construction accidents and he lost a second brother, who was gay, to AIDS back in the '80s before retroviral drugs were developed. I can't remember what his mother or his other brother died of, though I think I must have known once. His last brother and two sisters may still be alive. He never talked about any of them much.

He grew up extremely poor, in the era before Lyndon Johnson's Great Society programs were created to help making being poor a little less difficult. He actually met Lyndon Johnson once, when my father was posted as a White House guard in the Marines. He had pulled himself all the way up from poverty to get there, and went on to spent most of his life in the middle class.

And, at the end, he tore himself down just as he had built himself up.


Gallery Volunteer
Jun 5, 2013
beyond the dream
Well, this will be a little long. I'll just go in order of who died first.

First off is my grandmother on my mom's side. She was Catholic and a very strict disciplinarian. She was also very loving, so long as you listened and didn't break any rules. As a kid, I always broke rules. I was an ill-tempered little thing and my grandmother would drag me by my ear to the corner for timeout a lot. As I got older, this happened less and less. But getting older here was going from six to ten. I'd give her backrubs and footrubs. I loved her dog Jack. I wish I remembered more. I remember my grandmother very fondly. In fall of 2002, my grandmother and grandfather were in a car wreck in North Carolina while visiting family. Neither one of them appeared to be hurt or in pain and they came back home. While I was in school a few months later, my mom went to wake my grandmother and she wouldn't move. My mom and grandfather took her to the hospital and the doctors told them that my grandmother was in a coma. At some point, I don't know when, she had to have brain surgery to try to treat whatever was wrong. Christmas went by and my grandmother was still in a coma. In February, she passed away. I didn't know how to cope with that kind of thing. I just pulled myself into a shell. I used to feel guilty about not crying when my grandmother died, but I barely spoke or did anything aside from homework and reading books for a while after that.

We took Jack in after that. He refused to eat or drink for weeks, eventually dying in early spring that year.

Next is my second oldest sister's father, Billy. He was a lot like my mom's current husband, except that he had two very bad problems: drugs and alcohol. We never knew for a long time, though, and he made up for all the failings my father. When I wanted to play football, my mom objected. She was worried that I would get hurt. Billy looked at me and said, "David, you want to play football? Can you take this?" and he hit me in the stomach just hard enough to knock the wind out of me. My mom gave him this look like, "Oh no you didn't" but I nodded enthusiastically and as soon as I could breathe again went on about how that was nothing. Unfortunately, football wound up being expensive and I had to quit before I got to play a real game. Anyway, we lived in East Tennessee at the time and Billy would take us out to these old limestone caves of the foothills of the Appalachians and we'd explore. He taught me how to catch crawdads and I eventually got really good at that. We went fishing and camping. We played games on our SNES together. He loved my mom, my sisters and myself a ton. I think I even called him dad. No other man my mom has been with has had that, aside from my father.

In spring of 2000, we moved to Georgia, without Billy. I didn't know why at the time. I was pretty devastated. I later learned that my mom found out about Billy's drug and alcohol problems and confronted him and he got violent. He didn't hurt my mom, but he made threats and she decided to leave. They were never married, so my mom didn't have any legal issues in taking Breanna with us.

Two years ago, after serving I don't know how many years in jail, Billy got sick. He'd managed to kick off the drugs and alcohol for the most part, but they had taken a very heavy toll on him. My sister Breanna had just started seeing him. She was still a baby when we left, so she didn't know a thing about her dad. He died that year. A few weeks later, I was driving Bre home from school and she asked me what her dad was like. I'll have you know that that is a very difficult question to be asked. I didn't know what to say, so I just told her all the good things that I remembered and none of the bad stuff that I'd been told about.

Finally, a very good friend of mine also died in 2012. When I was a senior in high school, I didn't live with my mom. I lived with her second ex-husband so I could finish school without transferring. In February of 2009, he kicked me out. I had three months of school left. I went to school and called my mom asking for help. She and my soon to be stepdad with the help of one of my school's deans made arrangements for me to keep attending school. It was a bit of a rough time, considering that I was going to school illegally and had two live a very strict double-life. I made it to graduation and that summer had to move out because my stepdad's ex-girlfriend had a child. A lot of stuff happened and DCS was called in on both sides. At the time, if I continued living with my mom and stepdad, they might lose any rights to custody for my stepdad's baby daughter.

I moved in with a friend of mine, and his parents. Sharon had COPD and Jack has Alzheimer's. Sharon and I became friends pretty quickly. We talked a lot when my friend was at work and we conspired to abuse games on Facebook. She was the only reason I ever played farmville. There isn't really anything specific that I remember. She just became like a second mom to me. To Sharon, I was another son. I always had another home there with them.

Sharon's condition gradually got worse, however. A couple of years after I moved out, I went to visit one morning. I had made a habit of visiting when I could, but Sharon had been at Vanderbilt so I couldn't. I've been told by a former nurse of a nursing home that shortly before people die, they often have this death rattle. That's what Sharon had that morning. It's not a sound that you ever want to hear. I asked my friend how she was doing and he said that the doctors had given her about a year to live. I was out of town that afternoon when my friend called me and told my that Sharon had just died. I was the first person to be told.

Sharon's funeral is the only one that I have been involved with. I lost a second mother then. She died a few months before Billy died.


King of Kings
Sep 27, 2011
Not your business
Personal Text
Just believe in me
(IRL. Out of Character) October 21 My younger brother Emil I. Hewley died drowned. He was one year old... I'm not strong enough to say anything else without breaking apart but in his name I leave this. Honor and glory for you brother, let the ravens guard you and the great halls of the lands of our gods be your playground