My Aunt Has Had A Bullet In Her Head For 50 Years. I Finally Asked Her About It — But I Wasn't Prepared For The Truth.

Note: The following essay contains discussions of sexual assault, abuse and suicide, and may be difficult or triggering for readers.

There’s been a bullet in my aunt Beth’s head since a winter night 50 years ago when she retrieved a handgun from her father’s underwear drawer, took it into the bathroom, and crawled into the tub, fully clothed.

“I didn’t want to make a mess,” she tells me now at the long-term care facility where she lives, flashing that same cheeky grin she had as a teen. These details are new to me, even though the event is my earliest memory.

I’d been nearly 4 at the time, and I regarded my aunt Beth — the cool 17-year-old — as a rock star. Younger than my mom by more than a decade, she wore fashionable bell bottoms and her long, wavy hair parted down the middle. She played with me, told me jokes, gave me her Archie comics.

Even though some part of me always wanted to ask about what happened, I’d been taught that questions like this were intrusive. Such is the power of family secrets. But during COVID, Beth and I started talking on the phone, forging a relationship outside of the usual group situations.

When AARP offers arrived and a cousin my own age passed away, it really seemed like now or never. Over several sleepless nights, I worked up the nerve to call Beth to ask if we could discuss what happened to her.

As usual, she picked up right away because, although the long-term care facility has provided a safe home since her mobility declined in middle age due to her brain injuries, she does get bored there. Then again, I know if someone should wheel over to say hi, she would hang up on me. So, I speed-asked my question — then held my breath, scared to cause hurt or offense. But she immediately