Obviously, everyone is afraid to lose their loved ones.
However, when it's happened before, the familiarity of grief sits in a person's chest and its fermented. The teeth of the egregious smile of grief are cutting, and they cut deep. I really thought that there wouldn't be much left of me to grieve anyone else. I've grieved for almost eight years over my mother. There is no way I could do it again.
That's until I had to.
I've always held anger for people who post on social media about a death before they know if their immediate family members have been notified. No one wants to be on the other side of that. I distanced myself on purpose.
It came back and bit me when a childhood friend of my brother's posted about his death. Before I was even notified of my brother's death. How excruciating it feels to be mindlessly scrolling and have that placed onto you. I do not and will not understand why people just simply do not think.
I will always remember her name. Remembering details like these are a crutch I will constantly have to carry through life as well.
I don't ever want you, my reader, to go through the pain of dropping to the floor, rocking back and forth and chanting to yourself about hoping that something so tangibly true just simply isn't. They must have gotten it wrong. Not my brother?
I messaged my brother right after. I wasn't expecting an answer, but the child in me was. I don't remember that picture above, but I see all three of those kids.
My hotshot of a big sister, whose confidence in that picture I wish carried into her adulthood. The scrunched face, the up-to-no-good stance. I bet she was so easy to love. Not as easy to protect, which unfortunately holds true to how her life would go on to be like.
Look at that cute little brown girl clinging onto her brother. She was treated like a babydoll at that point by her mother. You should see all the beads, rubber bands, hair gel, and crazy hair parts accompany all of the various childhood pictures I have seen. The skirts and pastel shirts, shared between me and my immediate younger sister. What I would give to go back, even if I was so uncomfortable and so tedious in regard to trusting people. Only thing I went on to carry through my life, I couldn’t even keep the cuteness.
I trusted that little boy though. My aunt giggled and said, "that Gilligan hat. You couldn't pry that off his head." His cartoon character shirts and his blatant soft speaking he's always had. He always said outlandish things in an even tone. Independent play was most likely his forte, I mean I could see it through this photo. He just wanted to be left alone. He discovered a lot on his own. He was an artist.
Was.
I hate it here.
Sleep is my best friend. Because your subconscious self won't constantly fucking remind you that most of your life you will live it with a dead brother and a dead mother. And when you wake up, and someone is asking you again what happened, or apologizing witnessing the horror of losing your loved one through your posts and comments. The dull constant emotional pain radiates.
I had a headache for a week after he died. They stopped three days ago, so not quite a week. But the tension and how much apprehension I carried for this life that I'm forced to live, was escaping my head. My eyes are still itchy, my head just doesn't want to function recently, and I can understand why.
For 175 dollars, I got laughed at for relating my fatigue to my IUD. Figured I'd throw that in there because this life shit is kind of just straight stupid. Why wouldn't I want a reason for everything? Leave me alone if I wanted to aid myself in some capacity.
There are some things you keep private, and I guess my IUD doesn't fall into that category. But the vulnerability of the veil between life and death, and the small glimpses I get to see of it, I think I will keep to myself. Keep to myself mainly meaning that I am going to tweak a few details and sew it into the lines in my books. Who is to say I will do that though.
I guess the biggest reminder I want to give myself (and to you, if you choose) is that if you’re a cycle breaker then choosing to live past immediate family members is a big motivator. Motivation and willpower to live will stem in having something they didn’t. The opportunities and the time to heal. When you lose someone in an unexpected way (s*icide and overdose) you can really divide and point at their lives. You start to see where it all went “wrong”. Where they gave into their demons. A ginormous ball of guilt I will never be able to swallow is why I (when I say I, I am not just talking about me but my family) was not enough for either of these people to stay. Something that didn’t cross either of their minds when they commenced their deaths.
And both in October?! The month just before the earth cools down and you’re cooped up in various living circumstances and wondering what the fuck to do and why the fuck can’t you just live somewhere and be someone else besides this person.
I don’t hate y’all. That’s all I can say until time comes and detangles what is in my brain. I mean, I haven’t even started the trip to say “see you later” to my brother. I’m always ahead of myself.
Keep up with yourself, and divide blame. When and where it counts. Also, juggle accountability too. If you want.
[I already explained the picture throughout this piece. Love you. Stay hydrated.]