No Greater Sacrifice
Diego Lenzi, Grade 11
Teacher Jessica Breen, Seton Catholic Prep
There was a day in 2017 where I had nothing on my mind, except being a child. My parents had taken my brother and I to Anaheim, California to see the greatest attraction there is Disneyland (greatest for a child anyways). But on the way, my parents told me that we would be going to my uncle’s house in Chino Hills, California
This was greater news than Disneyland in some aspects. There were a few things I had remembered when going to my uncle’s house: food, a pool, and my cousin. Although all fun, my cousin was the thing that made my grin expand two sizes. He had let me play video games that my parents didn’t, get ice cream when my parents said, “after dinner”, and play soccer late at night. When I arrived at the house, I bolted out of the car, skipped past my uncle’s arms, looking for my cousin. I searched, and searched, and searched, and nothing. I stared at my uncle’s eyes and said, “Where’s Tabo?” He looked back at me for so long that I began to see myself in the reflection of his moist eyes. “Tabo joined the navy, Mijo,” was the response I was met with. I had thought the navy was a supermarket, so I asked, “When’s he coming back?” My eyes took after my uncle’s as he said, “he isn’t.”
When I look back at the life my cousin lived, I don’t remember a whole lot. All I remember is the love he had for me and how he made me feel. Looking back on it now, the last time I saw my cousin he was just like me, a kid. I’ve always wondered why he wanted to go and basically give his life in a way that many others do. Staring at my uncle that day made me feel like he hadn’t had much of an idea either. As long as I live, I may not ever know why my cousin made a decision that took his life. But if there is something I do know, it’s this: by telling his story, I am honoring him. By writing these words, I have ingrained his image into the memory of its readers. By telling you that he was one of the most brilliant, well-spoken, and courageous people that I have met, I am not letting myself forget him, but instead honor him.
The day I learned of my cousin’s death, I didn’t have anything to feel except sadness, anger, and confusion. Not a lot has changed since and those feelings still resonate with me, but I have learned some extra things. The first one was to appreciate the ones you love before you can’t. The second and most important thing is that I have learned my duty; I am my brother’s keeper, and I cannot let his memory fade, but instead be honored.
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