Resolutions Begin With Attitude

The New Year is a couple days away. Good ole 2014. A new year that is commercialized into making society believe that with the new year comes new lives, new change, new decisions, new resolutions. The truth of the matter is that the new year is really just tomorrow. It really is a new day. Today folds into tomorrow and yesterday becomes today. And honestly, all that changes is your attitude about life and the situation you wish to change. My brother faithfully believed in the Serenity Prayer which reads:

It wasn't until my later adult years that I learned to let the things out of my control, to roll off. As feisty and controlling as I can be, lol, I have learned. This is called humility. Humility opens a willowy window in your heart and releases some of the pride into a landscape of fearlessness and hope. It encourages you to have a clear perspective while respecting another or another's situation. And then you're humble. You're humbled by experiences that teach you a lesson you otherwise wouldn't have known had it not been for humility. 

As much as I may preach words of encouragement, it's a nasty challenge for to change my attitude and embrace what is now; a life without Charley. I can't do it. I can't admit that he is gone from this living life and quietly present with me as I struggle throughout the days and plea that this life, is not real. I cannot control what life is channeling down the pipeline for me, but I can control how I live my life. And truthfully, I look forward to dying- fantasize about it sometimes. As morbid as it sounds, it brings me peace. I equate peace with Charley. Peace is where Charley resides. Peace is the overwhelming sensation of serenity and calm, much like the senses my eyes and ears will envelope. Peace is feeling my brother in my life, and not just in my heart and head. Peace isn't just a place you seek, it's a tangible spirit within all of us. 

Grieving The Future

When you lose someone, you grieve the what if's. All the things you should have, could have, would have done differently. When it comes to the pain of losing my brother, the only thing I would've done differently is to cross his comfort zone and yank him out of his despair.
Charley is a very independent soul who did things the way he liked, traveled to the places he wanted, cooked meals for himself (and everyone) to the betterment of a healthy diet, spent hard-earned money on quality lifestyle items, pushed his own limits with envious tenacity, spoke what he felt needed to be heard and loved with such color that I fear I will never know that love again. It is because of his character that no one knew he was in the corner of the darkest place known to the mind. And no one knew because there was no need to share those thoughts with anyone, no need to ask for "help" even though that sounds like such a simple gesture. And when it comes to generalizing "anyone" I sometimes wish I were part of that segment so that all I know of Charley were nothing but good, happy feelings to the very last day. I, on the other hand, experienced his sadness and loss in his last few weeks and it's become such a thin line for me, in that I was privy to that deep world and also exposed to his facial expressions, his sadness, his weight loss, his half smiles, his empty laughter, his long gazes at Mia. I knew I was the only witness to a reflection I had never seen before, but didn't think he had fallen so far, so quickly. And for this, I guilt myself and blame myself for not having done more, pushed more, been more proactive, asked him more questions, held him longer, expressed anger in his defense. What I did was love him harder and be there for him. Just listen and spent more time with him in those last few weeks than I had in his last year. What I didn't do was judge and criticize and tell him that "everything will be okay", because I'm smart enough to know not to say such silly things to someone you openly embrace. Truth is, you hope for circumstances to improve, but you never know. It doesn't make me a pessimist, it makes me a realist.

With the holidays behind me and almost 90% avoided, I'm free to say that the easiest thing about the holidays for me, was to escape them. My family and I cannot bear the idea of staying in a place we call home but feel otherwise. Charley would normally work either Christmas Eve or Day, so we'd celebrate with him as a family on his day off. With the rest of our lives facing his days off, we cannot stay here, in his home or my parents home, without his presence. Could not stick around and watch others around us glee and chant their words of Merry and Happy. No, we needed to ditch L.A. and fly to a place where Charley spent a few days last year competing in the San Francisco Urbanathalon. He invited me last year to go cheer him on, but hotels were booked and it was expensive as a last-minute trip. So I didn't go, regretfully. Another regret.

As we explored the city with Charley in our minds, we were also very conscious that he was not with us. We didn't speak of him much, but we didn't have to; our faces were sad and longing. I experienced a flashback on the way to Ghiradelli Square and invisibly reached for my brother's hand and yearned to hear his voice- as I always do. My family and I were traveling away from home and creating new memories with one another, memories that didn't include my brother's jokes, his smile, his walk, his presence. And it pained me to my joints that my body grew tired from my longing for him. Nevermind the hilly hikes or 24/7 walking, my heart ached.
It's the past of 32 years that I have with my brother, but no future and no new memories to build and hang proudly on the wall to admire every now and again. The future is such a lonely realm that I wish I could pause time so that I don't have to face that pain. An everyday pain. And I despise the future because he obviously won't be in it with me anymore. Everyday I'm sad..it's my base feeling. Layered on top of that is pain, grief, denial, physical exhaustion, love for Mia, a little love for myself, rawness, worthlessness, low self-esteem and more sadness. Endless layers that I will eventually work though and adjust to. But for now, I'm perfectly comfortable believing Charley is here, still, so that I will continue to create memories with him.

The Heart and Mind Don't Always Communicate

It's not an easy task to be around people all the time, yet it's a lonely place to inhale the day with my lagging heart and the terror of reality.

Reality is waking up one day and facing the truth that Charley will never run up on me and tickle me as I swat his hands away and giggle in delight. I'll never have the opportunity to express how much his laughter fills my heart with relief and how the quick movement of his eyes assure me that he is always listening. The truth would signify the colors of my world will switch to a palette that is neither familiar nor daunting; but embrace the world I step out into and gently sweep away the pieces of my shattered heart. When I'm moving about and living in his home, I feel safe and free of all the prying thoughts and the dimension without Charley. I'm in a melancholic bubble of comfort and the deep-toned voice within the guarded walls of my fists. And I feel okay. Until I step out the front door and place one step in front of the other into black and white, and sometimes gray. The sound of my footsteps sound hallow and anything but firm. Shift, drag and rapidly move with a low tempo beat, unlike the music I once loudly listened to. My steps feel tired as my brain encourage my two left feet to walk, damnit, walk. They make it to the car to run errands, to the well-manicured green front lawn and seeded back yard, to and from the crumb-floored kitchen to Mia's beautifully well-lit room, and finally rest in the nook of Charley's cal-king bed. And no matter how much I force myself to move and step, time will not bring my brother back. Time will only numb the shock but not the harsh reality that I actively deny. And truthfully, even when I try to face the truth, it's still such an ugly truth, and is one I swat away like the annoying rowr of the cat he once had.

It's been three months now and not much has changed. At least I personally don't think it has. Just like the breakdown in communication that occurs in just about any social setting, my heart and mind play phone tag with one another, so the clarity of the message is distorted and difficult to convey. I won't say that I'm trying, because that would mean that I'm either pushing or defeated. I'm just...just. Living with the good-natured intentions of my brother's life and desperately aching for him to return and make my life whole again. He and I have a spiritual bond that envelopes that softest parts of our souls and the depths of our commitment to one another. I feel him racing through the beats of my pulse, the heat in my glands and the vibration of my blood.

Three Months Probation

My Dearest Charley,

I wish your loss were a 90-day probationary period where I have to prove I'm worthy of your presence by way of perseverance, loyalty and a soulfully connected intuition. After all, the life we have together is playing as a loop in my memories in and my thoughts. I am coming to grips with the idea that your loss is not my fault, but I hold myself guilty for not extending myself to talk longer, stay longer, visit longer, love longer. Although these regrets may not have changed the outcome, at the very least, you would have been selflessly given more time to release and feel anything but alone. You are loved by so many, yet all those "many" people have moved forward. Grief so obviously lasts longer than sympathy. I could care less that people have tapered off of me, but it hurts that they seem to have tapered off of you as well. I hurt for you, I cry for you and I'm in pain for you even though you are at peace now.

I admit that I intentionally play pretend half of my day. While I'm driving I pretend it's like any other day pre-losing you, as I try to sing along to a song or completely surrender to Mia's laughter and existence. I tell myself to keep your floors as clean as possible and am anal about sweeping up my hair strands off the bathroom floor because I know how much you hate my hair everywhere. I make promises to you and assure you that I'm doing the right thing in hopes that you'll come home and tell me how proud you are of me. Even today while at work, I conjured up the conversation I'd have with you about the challenges I may face on a new team or the stressors that come with a new working environment. And I realize that the word "still" is the current bain of my existence. I'm still in denial, I still replay that day in my head at least three times a day, I still cry everyday, I'm still angry with a few folks who have abandoned you and our family, I still haven't accepted that you're gone and I still think you're alive...and just not home.

Three months feels like it's been three years yet it's so fresh as yesterday. Time alternates between crawling and sprinting. This is the time when life is throwing itself in my face and showing me that it continues, yet I want nothing to do with life if it doesn't offer you as a benefit. I despise life and have turned my back on it while I struggle not to turn my back on our family, or Mia or my struggling faith. I wake up with the immediate thought of you, my last words of the day are for you as I tell you good night, and all my in-between is reserved for my tedious sanity and the drive to live for Mia.
Mia who has grown and stretched so very quickly. I imagine you marvel at her development and are far from surprised how intelligent, silly and feisty she is- she's a great combo of us both. She's a wondrous Lopez gift and I know you enjoy basking in her love for life and for you. Nino is one of her favorite words and I often wonder if she knows you are gone in terms of unseen and not living here in your home. I'm saddened that she speaks a word she can't visually connect but simultaneously fills me with admiration that she is in fact connected to you, still.

I pray to see you one illusive night when Mia awakens me with her cries and I'm loopy from lack of sleep. I hope to turn around and see you sitting in your chair, in the corner of her room, smiling at me and surround me with such enforced love that I am sure you will never leave. I'm waiting. I will wait my whole life.

I love you with all I have,
Yolie

Life Is Divided Into Two

I used to have a life that was predictable. Wake up by the sound of Mia asking for Elmo, feed her, feed myself, get ready, start day, run around, dinner, feed Mia, bathe and put Mia to bed, exhale, and finally clean house until I'm depleted of all energy.
In between those days I'd spend time with Charley exercising, having lunch together, cooking for one another, just being present..and those alone times with him were rare because I always have Mia. But then again, he loves Mia like she were his own and the three of us would spend hours together. We were a unit- the three of us. Charley and I...we were one.
"Now" I have a life without my brother's loving presence and voice. Mia aside, life is pretty gray and feels empty. This is called the second half of my life. This is the aftermath of having no choice but to someday accept that Charley's hugs and laughter will never be tangible again except for the memories stuck on replay and imaginary conversations I have with him. And I have a lot of them; from what I'm doing at any given moment to telling him how I feel and what my plans are. I even argue with him and talk back or interrupt what he might say to me. I miss his adamant tone and confident nature. I miss looking at the male version of my reflection. I miss having my role model in my life. I miss my brother.

Missing my brother generates a hundred different thoughts and feelings, but absolutely none can express how I feel. Even if I were to sync all the words: difficult, hard, challenging, painful, devastated, tragic, unfortunate, desperation, sad, hurt, etc, etc...words don't rightfully describe my state, nor do words comfort me. Not anyone's faith or assurance. Not a poem or happy memory. But I do find seconds of comfort by smelling his worn shirts, driving his truck and pushing on the gas when a dip intercedes, burying my face into his jackets, staring at his shoes and picturing when he last wore them, flipping through his books and pretending to be his eyes, standing at the kitchen stove cooking a meal and envisioning him wash the dishes and finally, picturing him sitting across from me on the living room sofa, smiling at me. That's my favorite. Him smiling at me.
Keeping Charley in my heart and in the forefront of my thoughts, seems to have also stimulated my magnetic field of energy. Losing him to suicide comes with a natural responsibility to help others. It's simple- I couldn't save him so I will try to save others via Charley. Case in point: over the last 24 hours I have been placed in front of two people who spoke to me about their suicidal experiences. One is a mother who confided in me that her son unsuccessfully tried to overdose three months ago- and she told me this even before I told her how Charley passed. Again, I fought for her son with my words of encouragement and honesty. Pushed her to think positively and not to buy into the ignorance others had bestowed upon her that her son is a coward and selfish. Later that night she sent me a message that she cried all the way home during her drive with me in mind and feels so thankful that her son is alive.
This afternoon I went to visit Charley at his grave site and cried, as I always do, and asked for forgiveness. A young man sat a few rows down mourning his own loss. He came over to me to offer words of comfort, and within a few seconds we each realized we knew each other some 14 years ago. Within that minute, he dropped to his knees and held me as I cried in his arms and released with someone I so obviously needed at the moment. It was a very touching moment as he opened up and admitted to me that he, also, feels empty and has dark thoughts but confides in no one in fear that he will be seen as weak. I offered every thought I could as he sat patiently with me and my sobs. And then he said, "You won't believe this, but you just changed my life". Was that fate that intervened? Was it divine intervention? Was it Charley who asked me to visit at the same moment this young man was there? I would've easily kept driving home past the cemetery and I would've missed this very special encounter. And I am so blessed that I made that sharp left turn into Charley's open arms. He is saving lives, still, and I am helping him.

The Family Behind the Face

I like to think that everyone who knows my brother, misses him in their own ways and moments. Someone may think of him as they pound through their weekly jogs, competing in an Urbanathalon as he did so many years, walking their dog, having a beer, watching American Horror Stories, making big decisions, or simply being thankful for having being blessed with his life.
Charley's smile comes to mind before the rest of his face does. His well-defined eyebrows follow in close second with his almond-shaped, starry eyes placed precisely below and his deep dimples in third place. When Charley smiles, so does his whole body. Have you experienced this type of presence? Where you're always met, even upon a first introduction, with a firm handshake, a genuine interest and the sight of someone whom you JUST KNOW is amazing and impactful?
I think back on all the stories and experiences he shared with me and how every story was spoken with such glory and sincere interest. Just by speaking and listening to his tone, I always felt like I was learning great lessons and insight. And his laughter...boy...could he laugh with his whole soul. Just imaging him laughing makes me smile.

And behind this wondrous soul lies a family of four more individuals who continue to remain devastated and at a loss. We are a family of Mom, Dad, Sister, Niece/Goddaughter and myself who try to live without his physical presence but refer to him as naturally as his memories flow. Everything is "Oh, Charley does that" or "Charley would say...or do....or be....". We keep him alive. And we all do so with love in our thoughts and mercy at our hands. Love gracefully falls from our minds, down our faces in the form of pain and tears, finds its way down our chins and onto our chests where we're tugged and pulled by the reality that our favorite person, is no longer here with us. My heart hurts beyond what words can convey. And I try and try and try. But the thought of living the rest of my life without my Charley is unbearable. Who is going to love me like he does? Who is going to reassure me and teach me and guide me and discipline me and comfort me and nurture me and tell me I'm his everything?
In the beginning I was afraid because I could no longer touch him. I can picture the pores on his face, his moles, his long skinny fingers, the hairs on his arms, him blinking, the bruises on his toes from running a lot...so much so that he's still very real to me. I can smell his breath, still. He is my constant, my daily, from the first day of my life my brother never left my side. And I can tell you, he is still here with me. He is.
For me, though, my grief has created so many insecurities. I feel like a lost girl running about an empty flatland of dead grass, compressed dirt and no sunshine. I feel worthless without him and unsafe in this new world. Its amazing to me how much he impacts MY life.
My parents, are parents. I look at them and their faces and cannot imagine how they feel losing their only son and eldest child to a far-fetched emotion. How they wish they could have swept him in their arms and rocked him into a safe place. Mom plays strong matriarch even though I urge her to release and feel her pain. And she is angry in her every right. I applaud her commitment to that anger because she deserves to fight for her son and be fiercely hateful at the trigger that callously pushed him over. Dad is stoic, quiet and silently grieves. He's the man who doesn't say much but the sad droop in his shoulders and the weight he drags behind him very clearly shows me that he's in too much pain to say anything. He can't even formulate a sound to express his anguish. Sister is just now coming around to his loss. She kept quiet for over two months and said nothing but isolated herself within the walls of remorse and speechlessness. Sometimes I look at her and know that there's just two of us left. Just two girls and no boy. So effen incomplete. And Niece...oh Mia. She's the guiding force in our empty unit. She makes us laugh, cry, and reach for the remaining life we all dread to live. Without her, we'd be lifeless people moving about each other as short-circuited robots.
Thank God for family. Thank God my brother has us as his solid foundation. Thank God for him.

Grief Toolbox

Fear, insecurity, unsafe feelings and navigating unknown territory sound like emotions you can never feel until you feel them. This potpourri of emotions can occur with any type of loss: a job, a romantic relationship, a scorned friendship, bad news, bad life, a severed limb. Losing someone you love to death, whether expected or scathing shock, is a loss like no other. The severity of your devastation is based on your closeness to the lost loved one. Though we all know death is a fact of life, we also never expect to lose someone we deeply love. We may think of how torturous life would be like without that someone, but you don't know torture until you're on the tortured end.

With the holidays here and in my face every time I leave the house, I am reminded of how much my brother loves the holidays and how he's not here to inhale all the happy visuals showering us on the radio or in the streets. I, for one, am managing. Everyday I reach for Charley. I put up his Christmas house lights that hang as beautiful ice blue icicles and border his loving home with the look of peace and festivity. Bright red poinsettias adorn his windows with Firefighter Nutcrackers guarding intruders and welcoming smiles. A tree was purchased tonight for Mia, and while I'm so excited to decorate it, I'm also deeply saddened by the reminder of his picture from last year on Facebook.

Invitations are trickling in for gift exchanges and luncheons as are inquiries regarding what my family and I are doing for the holidays. Funny thing though, no one has really wished us a "Happy" anything. Which I appropriately appreciate- we're not happy nor are we merry or jolly or festive. We just are. I move through each day with an incredibly heavy heart and Mia as my visual guide who encourages me to love...even if it's literally one day at a time. I'm here, so I must be living.

So in search of any guiding force, I've come across an array of tools and suggestions on how to smartly combat the damned holidays. While I am no Scrooge, I'm definitely not sure how I feel about brightly colored ornaments, Rudolph or The Meaning. One thing I have begun to explore, is God. I think of Him everyday with curious thoughts in my mind and the drive to have faith. I want to be the person who tells me to, "Find peace and comfort in knowing Charley is no longer suffering and is free form his restraints here on Earth". I want so badly to be on the giving end of that faith and sure confidence. One thing I'm 100% sure about: there is a God. You may call him Allah, Buddha, The Almighty or simply Our Creator, but he exists in all of us. And he proves that we are not alone. And alone is not something a grieving person should have to do during the holidays. Below is a "Bill of Rights" and how I/we/anyone) has/have a right to do:

• To feel what you feel and be politely honest with others about it. If you do not feel merry, cheerful or otherwise, festive then say no
• The right to not share your feelings if you would rather. "I'm fine" is okay to say
• To not go to parties or family gatherings where your loved one and your grief are not welcome
• To take time for yourself, whether this is a walk alone, a day in bed or some other momentary escape
• To cry when it hurts, laugh when something is funny and to smile when you're happy and not feel guilty about any of it
• To have your loved one remembered in a way that is meaningful to you
• To change your mind over and over again during any get together, event or party. You may not know what you can or can't handle until faced with it.
• To change traditions when necessary or desired. Traditions are supposed to bring comfort, not distress
• To enjoy your holidays. It doesn't mean that you've forgotten or are being disrespectful. Loving life is a wonderful way to remember your loved one.
• To try again next year if this year it doesn't turn out the way you comfortably feel

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Mad At Life

Anger is one of the five stages of grief, as North American Psychologists have argued. Though my argument is that grief is not one-size-fits-all where we all follow a specific pattern of emotions. Feelings, much like my own, fluctuate. Some days I'm just okay and others I'm crying periodically and can't shake the overwhelming denial of losing my brother. I have triggers that will take me back to the traumatic day of suffocating my cries and wanting to go blind at the same moment. The sound of sirens wailing from the rescue used to soothe me; for I related that sound with Charley. Now, I hear them all day and each time I hear the boys roaring down Inglewood Avenue, I automatically think they're coming to the house to aide my brother who I knew instinctively could no longer be saved. My stomach turns and my heart palpitates. And my breathing gets short. And I'm taken back to THAT DAY. Do you know what it's like to live with flashbacks? Do you? There's no pity party here...I am being truthful and raw.
The anger I feel is towards life. I'm so mad at life for taking my brother and deciding his life was over. Why didn't life intervene and help him through his last six weeks of depression and despair? Why didn't life give Charley an out and provide him with the assurance he so unconditionally deserved? Why did life beckon him to walk down a path of loss and derailed emotion?

My brother is a very controlled individual. He is strong in his tongue and in his mind. Very collected. And one day, a bitch of an obtrusive shadow came down on him without hesitation or compassion. Selfish and guarded, it crushed his spirit and never looked back. I wish I could change that encounter and juggle the representative, who, much like a magician, misdirects and before you know it- poof! The magician is gone with illusions as its core and your disbelief thrown into its pile of tricks.

The last person I am angry with is my brother. He is not to blame because it was his illness that steered him into taking his life. This illness took complete control of his thoughts and logic, and left my Charley emotional and out-of-sorts. This is what pains me most- that my brother, stoic and brave, became another brother. A brother I would never recognize. A brother that didn't exist. A brother that didn't plan his last day. A brother, whom one of his ex-girlfriends compassionately said to me as we sat at his plot together, "Charley didn't plan this. He loved you too much. He would never leave you". It's true. My brother would never leave me. That's how I know he didn't intentionally want to take his life. He didn't want to leave. He didn't want to die. I know, as I always have, that I meant everything in his world to him...he loved me so deeply that when I was with him, I was his focus. My life, my future, my daughter, was his interest--despite anything he had on his burner at the moment. That no matter what, he loves me. Non-judgmental and uber-tenacious brother. I have just the one.