• More on this blog

    I am the author of LETTERS TO A DANDELION. It is available at Amazon.com in the kindle version.
    Buy it here

    Other blog filings:
    In order to be a writer, one must love to read. Here, you can also find book reviews and movie reviews.

  • Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

    Join 72 other followers

  • Blogged

  • November 2017
    M T W T F S S
    « Mar    
     12345
    6789101112
    13141516171819
    20212223242526
    27282930  
  • Archives

A Brothers Love : 2

A Brothers Love : Part 1

The hardest thing to overcome, to me, from the passing of my brother was the initial horrified shock; obviously. For the first two years, any memory I tried to pull up for him was the traumatic passing, car accident scene (which I never saw in person, just my over-creative image I created myself), where I was standing when I first heard the news, and the funeral. I had a very difficult time moving away from those initials thoughts, so I trained my mind away from him in general, and basically blocked it out. I would tell myself that he is gone, nothing I can do about it, and just plain move on. That worked for an extended period, my conscience mind idling in the background accepting it, and it turned out that wasn’t enough; again, obviously.

My brother and I were living together at the time. I remember the day, five years ago, with such clarity, like it was just last night. My daughter was three at the time, I had just put her to bed for the night, and I was watching college basketball, unwinding. He walked into the door with a couple bags in his hands, just off work. He said, “Can you believe how much it costs for common bathroom shit?” He had purchased a few toiletries – toothpaste, deodorant, shampoo, and a lamp (I’m quite sure) – and basically dropped them in his room.

I laughed at his interesting comment, such a true statement, and continued watching the game. Minutes later he walked to the door again and the last conversation, however short, I had with him went like this:

Him: “Well, I’m off to B-Dubs to watch the game.”

Me: “Ok, see ya.

Him: “Peace.”

I didn’t hear him enter the apartment that night, but something did wake me; the sound of a helicopter that flew just overhead. I woke immediately knowing in the pit of my stomach that something or someone was not right. I checked the clock, 3:13AM. I shrugged it off, attempted to go back to sleep, pushing away all negative thoughts that presented itself.

My daughter and I woke up the next morning to an empty apartment. He had not returned the night before. This wasn’t a complete uncommon action of his, but the past few months of that time was completely out of character for him. At that point I realized that by now whatever had happened the previous night would be on the news. I clicked the TV on, switched to the news, and started to read the ticker at the bottom.

Car accident overnight was as far as I got on the ticker when my phone started to ring. I was actually pissed, this is the reason I didn’t get sleep last night and I needed to know why. I found out soon enough as my stepdad on the other end was breaking the news.

A sheriff showed up at my mother and stepfather’s house that morning. I still haven’t figured out how or why they stopped there first. I don’t believe that was his last known residence and my mother had a different last name. Anyway, this is what my stepdad was telling me, and anyone experiencing this knows too well, just unbelievable. My first thought was that he would never walk out of his closed bedroom door again. I broke. My stepdad asked if I could call my father to let him know and I said I did, and would.

I hung up the phone, attempting to wrap my head around this foreign idea that my brother had passed away, and dialed my father’s number. I immediately hung up after the first ring. How the hell was I supposed to tell my Dad that his son had died in a car accident? Forget the fact that this is my Dad too, how the hell are you supposed to tell a parent that their child died before they did? I couldn’t do it. I hope my Dad understands that I wanted to be the one to call him, but I just couldn’t. I couldn’t.

Advertisements

A Brothers Love

Things happen in life that have no explanation; a sort of ambiguty that hangs in the air like stale fish. Nobody likes it. It might be that the brain cannot rest unless it has closure. We need reasons; reasons to set our minds at ease so that we can tackle other of life s problems, heartaches, or other trivial problems. I need closure. I need closure when I don t even realize it.

My brother passed away in a car accident five years ago at 27 years old. Such an early age to depart from this world. In a way, I envy him. He is home; no pain, no sadness, no stress. At the same time I am saddened that he is not here to enjoy what he has and will miss out on today, and years to come. I know, in my heart, that he drops in on us from time to time. When he passed, I had one child. Now, I have three children; all of which I see a little of him. The way their eye will sparkle, a certain way they say a certain phrase reminds me of him.

He will always be with me and with his family; always.

%d bloggers like this: