The Day My Uncle Died in the House — A Story of Alcohol, Loss, and Healing

He promised to stop drinking. The doctor warned him. But on February 13th, 2008, alcohol claimed his life — and left me to face the heartbreak alone. For many years, I never shared this story.

I grew up in a village in Kenya where alcohol was everywhere. But on that tragic day, I saw its true price up close. This is the hardest story I’ve ever told — but it needs to be heard.

Growing Up Where Alcohol Was Everywhere

I was born and raised in Kenya, in a small village where alcohol wasn’t something hidden or restricted. It was everywhere. In almost every neighborhood, there were homes that brewed and sold local alcohol — cheap, strong, and easily accessible.

It wasn’t strange to see young people, even teenagers, drinking. In my village, alcohol was woven into the fabric of everyday life. But beneath the casual acceptance, alcohol quietly destroyed lives. One of those lives was my uncle’s.

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The Long War with Alcohol

For years, my uncle struggled with alcohol. At first, he functioned normally — drinking was part of life. But slowly, alcohol began to take its toll. By December 2007, things got worse. Much worse. After years of heavy drinking, he began showing terrifying signs of what I now know was likely Alcohol-Induced Psychosis.

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What is Alcohol-Induced Psychosis?

Alcohol-Induced Psychosis is a severe mental health condition. It happens when long-term alcohol abuse damages the brain, causing hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions. People with this condition may:

→ Hear or see things that aren’t there.

→ Become confused or paranoid.

→ Lose touch with reality.

For my uncle, this meant seeing imaginary people, talking to voices only he could hear, and wandering around thinking he was at work. He became manic, restless, and deeply confused.

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Becoming His Shadow

During this frightening period, I was asked to stay with him. The family feared he might wander off and get lost — or worse. For two days, I barely slept. I followed him everywhere to keep him safe. I watched someone I loved unravel right in front of me. Eventually, he was taken to a mental hospital. He stayed there for two weeks.

Medication helped him stabilize. He came home with a promise: "If you drink again, you will die." Those were the doctor’s words — direct and haunting. He listened. He even said he wanted to get saved and start going to church. For a while, he kept his word.

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The Last Warning Ignored

He came home on January 8th, 2008, just as I started college. For weeks, he seemed better. We shared meals, talked, and he even prepared to return to work. Family called often to check in. Everything felt like it was turning around.

Until that day.

On February 12th, I came home from school and noticed something odd. He was holding a full Coca-Cola bottle — too full. There was no air gap. My gut told me → it wasn’t soda. I asked him gently, “Uncle, are you drinking again?” He denied it — forcefully.

In our culture, questioning elders is seen as disrespectful. Still, I called my mom and auntie, worried. They reminded him of the doctor’s warning. He was defensive and aggressive. That night, we ate dinner quietly. He seemed drunk but distant. I went to bed uneasy, but I could not imagine what would happen next.

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February 13th, 2008 — The Day That Broke Me

I woke up early as usual. Made breakfast. Told my uncle that his was ready and left for school. Valentine's Day was the next day, so we were released early. I got home around 1 PM. The door was unlocked.

TV on.

No uncle in the living room.

I called his name. No response.

I walked to his bedroom — and that’s when I saw him.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, slumped over.

At first, I thought → he drank too much and blacked out.

I called him. No answer.

I shook him. No response.

That’s when I knew.

He wasn’t sleeping.

He wasn’t breathing.

My heart raced.

My mind screamed → No. Not this. Not now. Not alone.

I tried moving him gently. I felt the weight of lifelessness.

My uncle was gone.

And I was alone in the house with his body.

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A Lonely Nightmare

In that moment, I became an adult in ways I never wanted. I knew that if I screamed or called neighbors recklessly, they would flood the house. In our village, people often took advantage of chaos — stealing, gossiping, disrespecting the dead. So I did the unthinkable but necessary.

I laid him properly in bed. Covered him. I went to the immediate neighbor quietly and asked her to confirm. She checked and broke down crying. I begged her — "Please don’t scream." She respected my wish.

Next, I called another neighbor to call my mom → because I couldn’t. The next hours were a blur. Family started arriving. Word spread. Eventually, my aunt and uncle came with a local representative. They brought a pickup truck to take his body to the mortuary. I couldn’t watch them carry him out. I went to a neighbor’s house. That moment felt too heavy, too real.

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Goodbye, Uncle

He was buried 7 days later. It felt like a part of my childhood and innocence was buried with him. But his story, like so many others in my village, is not unique. Alcohol has taken too many lives where I come from. Cheap, easy, normalized — alcohol became not just a drink, but a silent killer. Even today, years later, alcohol continues to claim people I knew. And until now, I have never shared this story fully.

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Why I Am Sharing Now Because silence protects nothing. Alcohol robbed me of my uncle. It robbed my uncle of his life, dignity, and future. I share this so that maybe someone, somewhere, who thinks "just one more drink won’t hurt" will stop and think.

So that families in villages like mine will talk about it openly. So that people will understand → alcohol is not just fun. It can be death. It’s taken me years to speak about this. But today, I let this story go — not just to heal, but to help.

If you or someone you love is struggling with alcohol → get help. Listen to the warnings. Don’t wait until it’s too late. Because I lived the day after "too late." And it broke me forever.

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📌 End