The Pressure to Be Thankful





Thanksgiving 2012
 

Expectations get you in trouble. Someone always fails or is disappointed. A sincere attempt is always made not to have expectations of situations or people--I'm human, I have standards and I can't help it. And so everyone who has tapered off from me and my family by now, I'll admit that it really hurts, but I expect people to move forward. I don't expect to be comforted until my pain goes away, because my pain will never go away. After all, the true loss is being experienced by his day-to-day family. All we need is a genuine effort to just be with us...though that is very difficult for so many people. We have family members whom we haven't heard from since the funeral, his department brothers who haven't reached out since they laid him to rest and close friends who haven't uttered a word to me.

 

With that said, Thanksgiving is a time to be thankful and grateful for all the luxuries and blessings in life, though that sentiment should occur throughout a calendar year. It's a time for feasting and gathering around a table to celebrate harvest. This year however, and everyday following, is more than difficult to rejoice. This is what is clear:

Yes, I have my family and Mia, but I don't have my brother HERE in his physical form
Yes, I have memories of last year when we celebrated here at his house and he carved a turkey and we jump roped to Invisidutch
Yes, I have a life and I should live it
Yes, he'd want me and my family to celebrate and not be depressed
Yes, I have a lot to live for

blah...blah...blah...blah...blah...blah...blah..................

It's not easy to celebrate because everyone wishes us to or because the U.S. calendar has a national holiday we adhere to. We simply can't celebrate Thanksgiving and we shouldn't have to. Nor should we have to celebrate Christmas (that conversation will come in a month). For now, and for always I am thankful for one thing:

I am thankful God gave me Mia. Her purpose is for me to survive my brother's loss. Without her, I would be in the same dark place Charley was in his last hours. This, I recognize.

I couldn't see my daughter for at least the four weeks following his death- couldn't feel her, couldn't see her angelic face pleading for my attention, couldn't hear her laughter, couldn't feel her embrace and I certainly didn't understand. Now I do. I often sit in front of the mirror and stare at myself just to see my brother and stare into a very similar pair of eyes. I get up close and personal and cry so that I can see him crying and I can feel his pain. I've always been so proud to look like him and now I am even more grateful that I do because I get to see him live through me and my reflection. Life is so lonely without Charley even though I'm surrounded by love. And even though I don't feel what a lot of you feel today or during the holiday season, I will get there someday someday someday someday someday.

Surviving the Holidays

Last week my parents and I went to a seminar at a nearby South Bay church called Journey of Faith which my brother's extremely close friend invited us to. During the two-hour seminar, we watched a video of testimonials whom share their own grief and experiences, along with coping skills and tools. We were also divided into two groups to speak amongst a smaller circle. "My name is Yolanda and I lost my brother two months ago". I listened to others cry and share their very similar feelings of loss and anti-holiday sentiments. My parents cried, saying that they don't feel the holidays- they don't care. And truthfully, neither do I.

I moved into my brother's house a month ago with both the encouragement of the positive people in my life and the nay sayers who thought (and still think) "how could she? he died there." Charley is not going to haunt me. There's such a significant difference between haunting and visiting; haunting causes distress and anxiety and disturbance. This is real-life, people. Charley doesn't drop items, slam doors and walk down the hallway ferociously banging metal chains against the wall. He is a spirit who protects Mia and myself, who has engaging conversations with Mia and makes her laugh, a soul who wraps his energy around me and comforts me when I cry and plead for him to return. Most of the time I talk to him and hope he'll reply.
The things I do to experience a visual presence are so silly: As I bathe I write his name "Charley" on one of the glass shower walls and ask him to reply with "Yolie", I intentionally leave pennies laying around or items out-of-place so that he can move them, I intently stare at my hanging lanterns to see if they sway, I stare into the darkness (which I'm now terrified of) and strain my eyes to see him swiftly glide by. ANYTHING. I'll take anything.

My brother loved the holidays and always looked forward to Christmas even though the shift he was on at the station usually had him working the holidays. Last year we spent Thanksgiving here at his house for the first time in seven years. Thankfully we took pictures and snagged a video of him...thank God we did that. It's our last Thanksgiving with him. For the Christmas holidays, he bought a tree, decorated it and placed it in front of his huge dining room window, posted a picture to social media and exclaimed, "I loved the holidays!". He was so proud of his tree. He hadn't purchased one until last year and he purchased his house four years ago. Do I put a tree and lights up? Do I celebrate for Mia and for him? Would he want us to mope and sadly skip the holidays? No, he wouldn't. We will try to do what we can. But Thanksgiving....it's in 5 days and we don't even care. We're thankful for each other, but how are we supposed to sit around a table and see that Charley is missing? HOW??!!!

I'm Idle, Not Suicidal

Death is so final. It's absolute. There's no coming back from it...no "I changed my mind" or "maybe that wasn't such a good idea". When someone takes their last breath and they see the dimension they're drifting off to, they move forward and they are gone from this Earth-bound life with us. Believe me, I wish death weren't so final so that I can call my brother and tell him not to take his life.
"Charley! I have so many resources (as if he didn't know about them) and have so many answers. I will help you surface and use all my strength to save you". If only...

The week of my brother's death and the heavy days leading to his funeral services, I was mute and lifeless. I remember people coming to my parents house and I felt them hugging, holding and talking to me, but I was deaf. My eyes were downward-facing, my head hung as though I had no spine and a force was pulling me to the floor. I wanted nothing more than to be told none of this was real. The day we chose his plot at the cemetery, it felt like buying real estate. The far back was the most affordable, the center was the most desirable and expensive, so we chose a median which I visit every other day. It's peaceful and quiet and it's deep and vibrant like the colors in my brother's heart.

Surreal wasn't the word. It was more like a hypnotizing trick that I would never come out of. And it was frightening. All the emotions and thoughts I had been having began to swell and turn with such paralyzing force that I, too, began to have suicidal thoughts. "I can't live without Charley. I can't do it." At the time it didn't matter that everyone was encouraging me to think about Mia. My anguish was so bottomless that I couldn't fathom coming back up. I had many many nights of desperation and dark confusion. My only refuge was to be with my brother. I had two choices: get through this (which seemed impossible at the time) or take my own life to be with him. If he could do it, so could I. BUT, my thoughts never sought out the action. I never thought HOW to do it- all I wanted was the relief of seeing him again.

One night, I felt so overwhelmed with tears and panic that it occurred to me in that same moment that I was experiencing a fraction of what Charley had felt. A fraction. And it scared me. And I felt him tell me to calm down and rationalize. Breathe, Yolie, Breathe. So I did, I breathed. I breathe everyday.

I began therapy so that I can have an open forum to say and feel whatever I want with absolutely no judgment placed on me. Guidance to help me healthily grieve and a coach to push me in a brighter direction. It's not an easy journey--in fact, it's a long one assembled with high highs and low lows and the occasional "meh" days. I'm very conscious of how I'm living, but I'm also very honest with myself (as I've always been) about the realities of my feelings. I don't expect to be fine by now or in a year...I truthfully don't expect anything. I'm just being me. Taking the time for me. And doing as best I can with how I feel.
I'm also on homeopathic medication called 5-HTP which is a precursor to serotonin and helps to produce melatonin, Holy Basil which protects the body from stressors that can cause inflammation in the nervous, endocrine and immune systems. As a nice addition to my cocktail, I sometimes take a droppersful of Kava at night to restfully sleep. I actually tried the legit organic root while I vacationed in Fiji six years ago. I have to say, it works so well. I don't feel lethargic, groggy or drugged. It's simply soothing.

At the suicide walk, a suicide loss survivor spoke one poignant statement that resonated within me,
"When you lose someone you love so deeply to suicide, all of a sudden, all the people close to that person become suicidal as well". I thought, Aha! I'm not crazy. I'm not the only person thinking this way. However, once I heard that, my gears shifted into neutral and I began to slowly push on my gas pedal of survival. I will get through this season of clouded affection and misplacement. It'll take some time, but I'm still me. I'm still Yolie. I'm just a different Yolie. Fiercely loving my daughter more than I did before, embracing my family with such comfort and support, and tenderly appreciating my friends.

Two Months Too Long

My Dearest Brother,

I washed your truck today and made it shine so brightly that the evidence of your passing 60 days ago looked like a glint in the rear view mirror. As I cleaned the dirt and gunk that accumulated and clouded your sight, I thought deeply about how self-sufficient you are. How every time I need something for the house or for myself, you have it. My organization and cleanly skills pale in comparison to your pro-activeness and ever-ready traits. I feel like a fool in my own shadow and I'm completely fine with it because I have you as my inspiration. You. Always have but now that I'm throwing myself into you, I see the bar has been raised.

After washing your truck, I drove it to the cemetery to visit you. Seems silly because you're always with me, but I wanted to take your truck to you to say, "See, it's clean!! And I used all your tools and gadgets and didn't spend a penny!" (beaming with pride). It was very early in the morning and I was the only visitor in the entire lot. So I did what I've been wanting to do and screamed as loudly as I could. I heard the pain echo against the mausoleum walls and cross the wet, dewy grass and bounce back into my lap. It felt so good to scream again. To scream as loudly as I did when I found you.

Friends and family got together today in your memory~ celebrated you and all that you are to each of us. Stories were exchanged along with sorrows and the very present feeling of lingering shock. I'm still in shock. I still wait for you everyday and hope you'll come home in your physical form even though I know you're not alive....I still wait. I clean your house everyday in the very same manner you might. I buy the foods you eat and cook the meals you enjoy--all very sensible and healthy. I warn Mia against touching "Nino's things" and how you wouldn't like her to play with them. The other day I opened up the pantry and threw out all the snackages you would disprove of when you came home. In the trash they went. I live my life sometimes as though I'm you. Decisions are made based on what you might want because I know you so damn well. Your thoughts are my thoughts and I have to be careful not to get lost in you. But it makes me feel closer to you. It's the only way I know how to feel you--when I'm in pain and sad--which is everyday. I don't have "good days", I have "ok days" or "really bad days". Extremes.

People have encouraged me to accept your loss and live my life but it's too early. You once told me, "there is no timeline for grief" on a day when I apologized for seemingly judging you and encouraging YOU to move forward and not backwards. Funny how a lot of the advice we exchanged to one another has surfaced and I'm eating my own words. Even then, I can't move on yet. It's too fresh and a lot of people don't understand me...and I will accept that you're gone when I feel it's time. Right now I'm simply doing what I feel is right in my heart and not in my mind. You and I are so much alike. I love it.

Love your sis,
Yolie

Seeking Serenity

No matter how diligent I am, how defiant I am with my brother's loss, the people I speak to, the people who don't want to speak to me, I will never know what happened during Charley's last hours.
The first couple of weeks, I was numb with shock and in an emotional place I never thought I'd find myself in. I always thought I'd go first- I had a terrible fear of getting into a car collision on the freeway. I WOULD GO FIRST because Charley and my family could handle my loss. I wouldn't be such a tremendous loss. My brother, on the other hand, would die of old age, not because of deteriorated health, or perhaps perish in the line of duty. Those two are acceptable. Suicide? Taking his own life? His own precious, impressive, strong-willed, infectious, lovable, selfless life? No way. Absolutely not. Never a thought in my mind. Never a thought in his own life until he thought about it his final night.
I've read countless articles and facts on suicide. Spoken to professionals, knowledgeable individuals, suicide survivors, families of suicide victims. VICTIMS. My brother, and anyone who commits suicide is a victim to the illness. At the opening ceremony of the suicide prevention awareness walk, the MC spoke one very true statement: "Suicide victims have an illness- a chemical imbalance. They do not go from happy-go-lucky to taking their life in one day." That is a fact. Charley hadn't been sleeping well~ sleep deprivation played a huge role in his demise.

I've stated this before in a previous blog, but it helps me to repeat this over and over again. The logic helps me make sense of his illogical death. Charley swam against the waves, swam against the current as hard as he may. He kept swimming without the thought of calling for a life saving device because he didn't know he needed it. He was a firefighter. He'd been on suicide calls. He knew what the signs and precautions were. He didn't ever believe he'd take his life.

I spoke to a medium three weeks after his death and she provided some jaw dropping experiences. Shared a few things with me that she couldn't have known.
Then I saw a Reverend, who is straight and honest and provided a realistic perspective~ Charley sought MY love and insight and companionship. Mine. "There was nothing you could do. You did everything a loving sister does. He knew that. Specifically you."
Next was a spiritual pastor who encouraged me to "snap out of it" and create a spiritual relationship with my brother. To put away his clothes and belongings (not give them away) because the material things "are not Charley".
I also spoke with Charley's Captain whom I won't be seeking support or comfort from anytime soon- "You are the female version of Carlos and your presence is very powerful. Very. It's like seeing a ghost and it freaks people out. So when you come in and you're crying, we don't want to say anything. We freeze. Don't want to add to your pain". Needless to say, we both agreed that I should stay away from his home away from home, his extended family, his life of nine years. Wow, I should stay away.

People grieve differently and process in their own unique way. Grief is not like mine or my parents or his closest friend. I don't expect people to feel just as I do but I do expect my closest people to listen and try their best to be patient. Just listen. Just be there. Even if I'm not crying and talking about Charley. I would do the same for anyone. Anyone.

Channeling Charley

I went almost 45 minutes today without thinking of my brother because I was so absorbed by Mia's presence and the fun she was having in her first day of music class. As I danced around the class with a tambourine in my hand and moving my hips to a big band swing song, I watched my daughter gleefully stomp her feet and smile with such life that I forgot all about my pain. Then I paused and consciously thought, "I haven't thought about Charley", and then I was thinking of him. Duh. Then I thought, "You're here, too, and I'm sure you're enjoying me and Mia outside of you loss for once". And I proceeded to bask in Mia's life.

A couple weeks ago a friend of mine called me in a tearful panic, reaching for me while trying not to take away from my own pain. His own nephew tried, and failed, to commit suicide. My mind tipped over and I lost my balance. It dizzied and all the fright and fear I felt weeks ago, surfaced and was placed in my lap via the other end of the phone. Think, Yolie, think. I shoved my personal feelings behind the door I've held open for all to see, and focused on him and his family instead. Out poured all the resources and questions and warnings I could think of. Everything I feel I should've done with Charley, I acted with this family and nurtured my friend as best I could with words of fierce encouragement and straight talk. This would not be an easy feat, heck, no feat in sight for some time. If I could reach through the phone and shake all my post-suicide awareness knowledge onto him, and knead it into his skin so that he reeks of salvation and rescue, I would.
I anxiously awaited a call. A visit. Offered to personally talk to his nephew to provide insight and hardcore perspective. I was willing to answer almost anything, by sharing honesty and a loving attitude. The next day the family had him hospitalized and evaluated. And I received the following message:
"You helped us save his life. I cannot thank you enough. There are no words for how grateful both my sister and I are to you. We both would have been directionless without you. I mean that from the deepest part of my heart and soul".

I. Helped. Save. Someone's life.

It's bittersweet. I'm numb with envy and electrified with relief. I couldn't save Charley, but I channeled my thirst for comprehension and I channeled Charley's energy. Thank you, bro. Thank you for helping me save someone else. I couldn't have done it without you.

People Judge Because They Don't Understand

Charley taught me what it takes to process and grieve. He would walk me through logic vs. emotion and how the latter affects and clouds your judgment. "think logically" he would say. "Logic first, emotion second". It took me years and several situations to grasp his mind of all masters and look to him for objective guidance. Never weary, never judgmental, Charley would provide two sides of the spectrum, what was best for me, and how to bite my tongue and choose battles. "You're level-headed" is what he recently told me. I like to think so. I'm not quick to judge, I'm compassionate, patient, loving, sometimes selfish, and anything but uptight. My brother shaped me and always always always allowed me to make my own decision with very little weight from his own opinion. Or if I'd go to him with an issue he'd politely ask, "Do you want my opinion?" before unleashing any unwarranted insight. He respected me and everyone he knew. And if I wanted sound input- Charley was the man.

It's taken me weeks to try to comprehend HOW his mind made up his mind. How emotion superseded logic in his darkest hours, when he always taught me NOT to do that. Depression hit him so quickly he never came out of it. It took a matter of weeks for my uber-strong of a man to fall, stagger, push push push and never get back up. A trigger that was unforgiving and selfish. A trigger that hit him by surprise. A trigger that my brother, of all men, did not deserve.
Do you know that there are two types of depression? Situational vs. Neurological. I have both. My brother had both. I envision him living life with an invisible boulder on his back. Living as if that boulder is normal. I mean, come on, we ALL have baggage and some sort of depression to some extent. Who hasn't thought of leaving this life at one point of another. That thought is honest and normal.
Charley hadn't been sleeping very much, so in steps sleep deprivation. Situational depression is self-explanatory. Neurological Depression is a chemical imbalance. It has to do with the chemicals your brain isn't creating--all the "feel good" chemicals like epinephrine, endorphins, serotonin. Charley had a combo. No physical rest, no brain rest, no "feel good" chemicals, working out twice a day to exhaust himself, social social social, upbeat, positive and fighting. Fighting for a life he loved. If you know him, and I mean really know him as an individual (and not on the surface), and know him as a skilled and trained professional, then you can easily gather that he did everything LOGICAL he could think of to feel good. But when all the "feel good" chemicals were absent, how was he supposed to get through his quick-mannered depression? How?

What the general population does is judge. People judge because they don't understand. People who take their lives are cowards, losers, pussies, easy out, etc etc. Charley was none of those things. And fuck everyone (I'm entitled to anger and will not be swayed by insensitivity) who say ignorant and crude comments like that. Suicide victims do not want to die, they just want relief from the pain. RELIEF. Their pain and anguish is so desperate that they see no other way out. None. No matter how much we love them, no matter how much they have to live for, no matter their awesome careers and striking good looks. None of that matters. Only relief does. A pure dark moment of both courage and surrender. In that scary moment of sadness and irrationality, Charley took his life. Charley was embraced by God and my father and all the dearly departed. He had a relationship with our Lord while alive and even stronger in spirit. Screw all religions that state my brother went to Hell. We have a merciful God,  forgiving God. A God that opened his arms to my brother and welcomed him home as he encouraged, "Finally. I've been waiting for you". That's what I believe and that's all that matters. My faith. Charley's faith.