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esskay
Digital storyteller, Photographic narrator, Hogwarts alum. In real life, I write things. I speak fluent sarcasm. I'm unintentionally funny. My favorite thing is food. Guac is life. I'm a fountain of the most random information. I'm pretty, only because it's weird to call oneself beautiful. I'm weird in all the good ways. I live in the greatest city on Earth. I was Sasha before Beyonce was schizophrenic. My life is stranger than fiction. But please, don't take my word for it. My pen is mightier than my sword. Instagram
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Wednesday, December 30, 2009 || 8:01 PM
First, I must say please forgive me. My thoughts are jumbled and I'm having a hard time expressing myself. So I'm hoping if I write, even if it's total nonsense, maybe I'll feel just the slightest bit better. Here goes… The only thing we're guaranteed in life is death. Yet even though we know for sure that it must come one way or another, we still feel it when it hits us. Not for the loved one that was lost because they no longer see, feel or know anything. But for those of us left behind, the loss hits us hard, knocks the wind out of us and leaves us feeling battered and bruised. My brother passed away, in the very early hours of yesterday morning. I'll never forget the bang on my door at 3 in the morning, my father's scream of agony, the look on his face or the tears in his eyes. He completely broke down. And with my mother out of the country, probably losing her mind at the loss of her firstborn, I was left alone to be the strong arm for him. As he cried and begged me to call my brother to just get here, I tried to force it to really sink in. but I just couldn't get a grip on reality. So instead, I made him a cup of tea. And in those few moments that I was alone, I allowed the first of many tears to fall for my lost brother. A few hours later, my other brother came to pick my dad up. The hospital was sending him to the morgue and he thought my father should see him because that would be the last chance before the funeral. While he was gone, I tried to keep busy. So I cleaned. And I cried. Now my house is spotless and my tears are still falling. The strangest thing to see and feel is not my own grief for my brother, but the grief of others who knew him and loved him. Each time I told the story of what happened to him, I had to watch the initial reaction, the first tears, the words of wonder and confusion. "He was a nice kid" they would say. "We were all family. He didn't have to die". And so it would go. To watch others mourn my brother while stuck in this all consuming grief is unbearable. Simply because these are people I know and love too. I wish I could console them but it's impossible while I'm inconsolable. I don't know what to do. I just keep thinking about him and saying "what if?" because hind sight is 20/20 but he really didn't have to die. I keep looking for reasons that this might have happened, looking for someone to blame and just wondering why it happened to my brother. I promised myself this blog entry wouldn't be an angry rant or about placing the blame on anyone. It just hurts to lose someone you loved so much, to be this sad and have to share this sadness with everyone else. I wouldn't wish this feeling on my worst enemy but unfortunately, I can't keep it to myself because I'm not the only one who loved him and I'm not the only one who will miss him. But the worst thing, I think, is having to talk about him in the past tense and realize he's really not here anymore. I miss him so much. I just want him back so that I can be mad at him and argue with him and tell him what an insensitive asshole he is. I just want my brother back. And no matter how hard I hope and wish and pray that this is just a nightmare that's about to end, I just can't seem to wake up. Labels: friends and fam, in real life, personals |