Eulogy for Alwin
Speaking about anyone in the past tense is an eerie feeling. In the past few years, I have lost people frequently, violently, abruptly. Ironically, my story begins at a funeral.
We gathered to mourn the loss of my uncle junior in June of 2024. We being me, Sabrina, Edwin and Alwin. I never used the terminology “half-sibling”, with him or myself, Sabrina and Edwin’s sister Candace. There’s nothing half about spending extended periods of time together. Or about sharing a loaf of bread with Alwin. He would stay with us and eat more bread, frosted flakes or whatever my mom had baked recently than me, which is saying a lot. By this point in ’24, I was 23 nearly 24, finishing my 2nd year teaching high school English in Houston. Selfishly, I had a nervous anxiety, borderline excitement to see my siblings. I’d gone to boarding school, summer camp, you name it, Houston has been good to me, but I would trade it to have my family down the street. To have my brother Alwin down the street.My mother’s parents lived across the street for the first 9 years of my life, and I thought it would be like that for an eternity. With everyone in my life.
Everyone in my life that met my older brother Alwin thought he was so much cooler than me. We’d hit the playground circuit, myself, Edwin and Alwin playing whatever sport with neighborhood kids. Alwin, always the negotiator, lobbying for the 3 of us to get run together. Often being stolen by the best team on the court or earning praise from the floor’s best player when we’d hit the bridge. I have a vivid memory of having a crush on a girl when I was 11 and i’d see her at Friday youth ministry. I was terrified to be in the same room as her and took every opportunity to speak in her direction. On 2 such occasions, Alwin happened to be staying with us and came along because ain’t nothin’ half. That’s my brother. Who strolled in, smiling ear to ear , flooding the room with charisma and humor. The aforementioned crush, along with everyone else was putty in his hands. What about the worship, I wondered? Nah i’m kidding. She asked me a few weeks later if we were bringing him back. And was disappointed when I said I didn’t know.
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Our entire family was and is struggling with the death of our uncle junior. After the service concluded, we parked awkwardly in front of some of the tables. Us 4 glued together for 3 or 4 hours before we could all feel the shift in the air. From the first person we watched Alwin greet, we knew that he would soon disappear and work the room. “He’s a politician”, I remember Edwin shooting to me between laughs. Still the boy from the playgrounds. Alwin’s room and living room were full of trophies from playing basketball and running track. I was mesmerized with him running at ICAHN stadium and never would’ve been as interested if I didn’t think it could somehow make me as cool as him. I think about him constantly at track practices, as a coach myself now, imagining him inserting his two cents.
His friends, many in attendance tonight, also were and are as cool to me. When Edwin and Alwin were 13 and 14, we all played on an amateur team together for a brief spell. Most people had no clue I was 12 until I picked up a ball. I was terrible. Still not nearly as good as him. After formal practice, we were by his and his mother’s apartment, playing basketball in the complex’s court. His 3 friends from around the way were 15,16 one of which had a tatoo. They were certainly cool, but we weren’t thinking about that as they killed us in 3 on 3. Killed. I was shocked to watch people execute a pick and roll like I saw on television. We were playing different games. Afterwards, his friend Carlos had been eyeing my sneakers, and I, admittedly, his beats by dre headphones. He offered a pink slip wager game to 11, spotting me 9 points and first ball. I wanted those beats for a bunch of stupid reasons. But I thought beating this super teenager, despite the handicap, would win me cool points with Edwin and Alwin. Alwin, the negotiator, the politician, the room brightener, expertly talked Carlos off the ledge, and me, while still making time to make fun of me for it.
He was always proud of me though. Proud of his friends. At that moment, I’d like to think he was proud of my audacity. He could’ve been jealous because I went here or there. Did this or that. I often explained to my kids in Texas, when differentiating between him and Edwin, that he’s the most new york of us and hasn’t really left. That is not at all an insult. In fact, perhaps the opposite. He only recently ventured elsewhere, but was just in New York a few months ago, showing up for his friends. His family. Sneaking food and libation at each stop, surely.
Alwin stayed with us for spurts, yes. But that was an ancient time ago it seems. As we would see one another less and less, I wish I did not take for granted a phone call, or opportunity for one. The bear hug he gave me the first Christmas since I’d gone to Texas. His generosity. My brother was not perfect, far from it in his own ways as we all are. But he lived a full, beautiful life. That is the truth. And there are many other truths, yes. But for today, I choose to celebrate the life of Alwin Keyshawn Codrington. Nothing else.
