A Village of One

I miss my brother. And even now, when I think it or say it or write it, the character count and the space between the sentiment...doesn't suffice. When I tell him I miss you so much, Charley it falls heavy into nothing air and I plead that he is listening. I pray that I'm not talking to myself and I hope that he misses me too. His face or laughter would make my insides settle and smile. I don't feel smiley inside anymore. 

It's been my intention for quite some time to share my love for the village lovingly created by my brother's loss. There've been countless new experiences, new friends, pleasant surprises, rekindled relationships, unexpected encounters and in-my-face realities that are all consequences of his passing. In short, SO much is occurring because he took his life and left us all to fend for him, for one another and for each other.

Still, I miss him because he's gone. And if he weren't gone, I wouldn't have a village whom I love and loves me in return. It's amazing what a people can accomplish when their genuine intent generates love and support. Real support. Not the empty promises of  "I'll come by" or "call me if you need anything" only for these individuals not to follow through. Because if you're like me, I have faith in word and I have faith in people. I trust and am open. If someone disappoints me when I'm truly looking to them during a moment of grief, it hurts. I suppose I hurt myself for having expectations but what sort of friend or family would I be if I didn't meet others' expectations? Reciprocation.

Receiving love and support has surprised me. In so much that my faith in people is strengthened. I never knew I could be so loved and nurtured. I never knew people, my friends, some family and distant friends cared so much about my pain. It's as though the pain of losing my brother created/s a pain for them, too, even though they either didn't know him or didn't know him as well. But they feel it. And they feel my pain. This is wondrous for me, it really is.

When Charley passed away, I naturally looked for him for comfort, and to be told by only him that he would never leave my side and get me through the darkest phase of my life. My soul reflexed for him and he so obviously couldn't take my hands and assure me that he would hold me up. But before I could corner myself into solace and isolation, a village of his friends and my loving web of friends came in and held hands so I could turn in any direction and see an empathetic, sympathetic, I love you face holding tough and holding me. Now my web of love consists of his friends who deeply love him, friends of mine who have bonded even more closely with me regardless of the frequency of my pain and their own fear of loss, and family who hug me with their eyes and sweetly kiss me. Who knows how long this emotional support will last, but I am grateful. I feel secure and padded into space reserved only for me with absolutely no judgment placed on me or Charley.Even if it were one person, a handful of people or someone I barely know, I'd be thankful just the same.
Blessed. There's no secret to getting through grief and loss and tragedy. But there is someone who cares for you and wants to be the person you call in the middle of the night. Choose someone, choose a web and get tangled in it. You'll be glad you did.

What Goes Up, Sometimes Comes Down

Can you imagine how difficult it would be to always be up, high as the clouds, hanging on so you don't fall? Sounds terrific, huh?
Do you know anyone whom when you ask how they're doing, they're "great" ALL the time?

This is where I am currently in managing the loss of my brother: I'm okay most days but I caution myself (and others) that I'm not permanently okay. Some honestly think, "Phew. she's OKAY", in which I see the expression on their faces elated with relief and happy for me. This is not the case. Charley just passed away. Charley just called me last night. I just saw Charley this morning. I smell his beautiful scent, still.
I'm expected to have bad days. In fact, I allow myself to have bad days just as I did a couple days agowhen I made a significant move in my personal life which rattled my spirit and yearned for my big brother to soothingly speak to me and hold me tightly. Instead, I washed his truck and for the first time since he passed, I slowly explored the insides of his car. Receipts, random papers, a first aid kit, photos, old school Hip Hop CD's littered the pockets of his car. But the most difficult and sentimental find was in his glove compartment where birthday cards I'd given him lay neatly and quietly. I opened each one with a delicate touch and sobbed until my vision blurred and my entire insides ached. Lifeless like a doll on a shelf, my thoughts scoured my memory for stability in the reality that is now mine. Holding the loving words I'd written to him, I felt defeated. It was clear to me that no matter how much I love him, support him, live for us, I couldn't prevent him from taking his life. In this card alone, I expressed my unconditional love, the joy of growing together and growing old together. I counted on growing old together. I counted on having my best friend my whole life. We're both healthy, we both take care of ourselves, we're both driven. NEVER would've thought that mental health would take one of us, and almost both of us. I sat and cried over all the birthdays we wouldn't have together anymore. No more cards from him expressing his love for me. No more smiles over the glow of dozens of candles. No more.

I spent the rest of the day crying uncontrollably as I balled up his dirty workout clothes from his truck and held them to my face and chest in an effort to hold him. I. could. not. stop. crying. I watered the front yard and my neighbor walked up and opened his arms to me. I dove in and exhaled all the pain I could in that moment. I miss him so much. He rubbed my back and encouraged me to cry. I so obviously needed to be embraced.

We have triggers which evoke happy thoughts and happy feelings and we have bad, bad, hurtful feelings. Truth is, we don't need to lose someone to have triggers, but most often triggers are a consequence of loss- many types of loss. And I've always encouraged such relief and dispel of emotion. It doesn't matter if it's been months or even years because grief never goes away nor does the pain of loss. My brother and I shared 32 years together- it's the longest, most consistent, incredibly loving relationship I've ever had. No one will trump him or us, but I have faith in love. Love lasts.

Life Isn't A Rat Race

We wake up and move pretty quickly with our mental to-do lists and our feet hitting the cold floor. Our moves are in-motion as is our hearts as they keep us alive for further life and encouragement. And we spend so much of our time with a desire to be better, get better, live longer, live better.
I've slowed down dramatically while keeping my thoughts hungry and open. My mind feels weightless sometimes, especially when I block myself of all things hurt and make my way to my cove of self. Could it be selfish that I've made a decision to put my mind and heart before that of my daughter's? Sure. My Dad has gotten on my case for not acting more aware, although I can argue that I've never been more awake as I am now. I'm aware that the behavior I exemplify and the actions I gesture both in front of and away from her make me a more influential mother for her childhood experiences. She is first. Her life is first although my mind crosses finish before she does. I'm lunges ahead of her so that I am strong enough to have adult conversations about my grief and why her Nino is dead. Dead. A term she doesn't yet fully understand though she asked me just yesterday as we placed fresh flowers on his grave site,
"Why are we giving Nino flowers?".
Hmmmm. What to say, what to say. The truth. 
"We bring Nino flowers because we honor him with the beauty of life. We miss him, we love him, and when you care about someone, you extend a gesture to communicate so. It's like when Mommy gives you tight hugs for no reason. I squeeze you with all my love so that you feel it. We squeeze Nino with flowers sometimes".
No "why?" followed but she understood, I think. I hope.

This is an example of slowing down to ensure that what I'm speaking into this life is true and intentional. So that someday everything I extend, both verbally and physically, is almost effortless, second nature.
I'm thriving on a conscious level I've never experienced, and existing so in ways I can't fully comprehend just yet. I'm cognizant of other people's circumstances and realities, providing reactions and replies that only feed our spirits. This doesn't mean I'm walking on eggshells or treading water all the time, instead it means that while I naturally get angry or hurt or wish to express myself, I'm doing it with firm tenderness and honesty; honesty in my intentions with the present in mind and not the far-fetched future. Hey, I'm no preacher and full of myself, but I can say that losing my brother is teaching me to be my best everyday without trying to please everyone. I MUST try not rescue myself so much and maybe, just maybe, I can inspire myself via my own mouthful of words and wisdom. Hopefully, and I pray to the Lord for such, that my life will happen, and when it does as slowly as it does, I'll have the courage to walk out of the doors thrown open for me.

The Magic Healing Wand

And so healing begins for me. I wish I could tell you there's a day when I woke up and thought, Alright, Yolie, time to heal. Loss and grief may take years-there's no set time and certainly no expiration date to stop crying, feeling thrashed, low on yourself and just tired. In all candid honesty, my sweetest advice is to embrace the sadness and depression. Squeeze it dry until all you're left with is pulp. The sweet juice quenches your soul and the meaty rinds will serve a higher purpose for you as you continue to heal.

I'm managing my sadness now- I see it coming like a big wave and I brace myself for the ones that hit hard and knock me wet. The smaller, daily ripples wash over my bare skin and lull my spirit into brief tears or a sad smile. And sometimes, sometimes I brave myself and dive right in so that I'm completely drenched and come out so the cold air hits me and wakes me to the reality of beach life without Charley life.

This life, my new life, I admit, is somewhat liberating. Tight shackles around my arms have been unlocked and are freeing my spirit to surrender and just live- it's my mantra. But what does that mean or look like for me? It means I'm centering myself and being present in my moments and in the relationships I attentively nurture. Losing my brother very swiftly showed me what's important versus what I can live without. How often do you listen to someone when they're speaking to you? Are you processing and digesting or thinking of your own thoughts or what you're going to say next when it's your turn?
The majority of our cultures are uncomfortable with raw emotion or being present. We have what Buddhists refer to as "monkey minds" which is a psychological term that means whimsical, restless and uncontrollable. We all do it-even when we try to be still and keep calm, our minds are constantly moving and continue to move as we're telling ourselves to stop.

Santorini, Greece * September 2014

Try meditation. It's a method I have failed to conquer because even when I try to silence myself, I busy myself with silencing myself. The goal is to align with your inner voice and develop an indestructible sense of well-being while engaging in any life activity. One of my goals is to practice this on a weekly basis first, before I commit to anything more than I can promise myself. Following through is important. It's important because you're committing to yourself and someone else and through this gesture, we connect with love and intention- afterall, these are the two spiritual impressions that truly last.

Time May Heal All Things but Love Does the Trick

My brother told me in his last weeks that when someone asks you, "How are you?" it's so general that he's more comfortable being asked, "How are you feeling, today?" because one day differs from the next.
He was telling me something so I began to ask him everyday how he was feeling. Sometimes he felt okay and other days he admitted a bad day, but what I did was extend compassion. I provided a comfortable, safe place to be open with our feelings. And even on his apparent bad days, he pulled me aside a couple times and offered to be my listener, "You can always come to me, Yolie. Anything you want to say, I won't judge you, I'll just listen. Come to me and cry it out". He looked into my eyes and held my hands. I silently cried while he embraced me. And still, I said nothing. Looking back, even though he was being the natural big brother, he was also reaching for me for himself. I can't tell you how often I dig my hands into themselves wanting nothing more than to hold him and have him cry it out. He needed a good, open, snot everywhere cry with nothing but love.

A year has passed, today on 9/17/13, when he took his last breath and closed his eyes for the final time.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't know how I would feel. My friend worried that I'd fall into a pit of despair looping his loss in my mind and the experience surrounding it. But I didn't fall as hard because the night before he passed away was the tough day...knowing he was in his desperate moments the night before he died- not the entire day of. By the time we woke up that morning, he'd been gone for a few hours and already in a place of love. Of course, I didn't think about that when I found him; it's taken me a year to discover a fraction of peace in that fact.

A year of denial and sorrow and guilt and desperate attempts to bring him back, has been beyond exhausting. Emotionally draining, tired all the time, mentally preoccupied and prone to a nap if given the opportunity. Geez, and so forgetful. Dramatically so. I forget things as I'm remembering them- I've truly become that absent-minded.
Anytime someone told me that I seem to be "doing better" or "managing well", I became defensive for having progress pointed out. Distance from the emotional core of my brother's passing meant losing him and the day he died-- pain makes me feel close to him. The initial shock and pain of "he's dead" is the last time I was with him in the same room. It's the last time present emotion ties back to him while he was physically present was with me. Does that make sense? And "doing better" also meant I was betraying him.
I've consumed myself with his life and his dailies and his activities and his friends and his traditions to keep him alive for me, to feel that he's physically here still. That was unsuccessful so I began to try instead, to do what his close friend says he began almost immediately, "I live my life according to the positivity in his life and not his last few weeks. His darkest life was at the very end and only in the end". I didn't understand this notion but I envied his optimism. How do I shut out the worst and live with the best?

A shift occurred a couple weeks ago when words and messages were communicated to me from him-and everything spoken to me was spot on- his words, his thoughts, my concerns, his love.
The gears shifted as I found my footing and fumbled with, "If you want to forgive yourself, forgive yourself for creating blame". Ahhh...here I was begging for forgiveness, profusely apologizing to the air and in my dreams, only to suddenly realize that he wasn't forgiving me because there's nothing to forgive me for.
How poetically beautiful and resigning this is!
It's taken a year, an entire year of deep-seeded grief to slowly make my way out of, and gravitate into healing. The last year I compare to the prior year with him when memories were tangible and he was physically alive. Now, as i move forward into the second year without him, I will compare my healing to my grief of losing him. It's only been a year, but the needle has moved and so am I.

I Want to Die Alive

I've never prayed so hard for an afterlife; a space beyond the one we dwell and give our all to.
Death happens. I've lived with the thought that my dad watches over me and all my days. I've spent countless minutes directly speaking to him and feeling embarrassed for mistakes that I committed and sins that he would disprove of. He was the only existence I believed lived beyond me--but I never thought of him as living in Heaven--I simply thought of him as a spirit who checks in on me from time to time, appears when I call him and sends me earthly signs to show me he's listening.
Then my brother Charley passed away and the idea of the source of all life took hold of me and my scarcely pray-prayers. No matter the certainty of my faith that Charley is with God and freely existing in nothing but love, I have a desperate need to know we return to love. That all the days and years spent here aren't in vain and that we are here to live and learn.
My hope is that when Charley's soul passed through this life and left his body behind, he immediately felt love and release. Nothing ached, his heart felt serene and his mind wondered where his pain went; but it didn't matter because Jesus, he is being embraced by a love he never felt here on Earth nor in the words people spoke to him. And then he saw himself, his lifeless body and felt some sense of remorse, some sense of aggravation for leaving us as he did. For dying and causing the immeasurable pain I'm in, for leaving the girl he's known for his forever and the woman he came to know.
When I stepped into the circle of death, I covered my mouth and violently shook my head. I wanted nothing more than to believe that my whole life span was not dead. That the eternal stinging in my soul was a mistake. I turned away and screamed a primal scream- a scream that released a fight I will never win. One that pierced the sky and rang in my ears and one that the love Charley stood in, could feel. I felt him there with me, sorrowful and inaccessible, he watched me drop to my knees and pound the floor with my fist until it throbbed and my eyes bled with inconsolable tears. I screamed into the warm air of that moment knowing that it was done. This was his end and my beginnings of this life without him.

This last year has moved as slowly as possible. I would gladly have labor contractions for eternity than to live life without my brother. Grief, as I've stated before, is my dark passenger. It goes where I go and seldomly takes a backseat. But when it does, man, am I living with smiles in my heart and naked emotion spilling from my gut. I want to live and love and learn and take my lessons with me back to our source of all. I want to show Charley that I will continue to live with him in everything I do. I want to travel to all the places I want damnit, and seed the relationships that are worthy of life and self. I want to invest in the opposites of the ugly hearts Charley invested in (athough I believe everyone needs love), I want to live my life hoping that I can be just as proud of myself as he is, but more than anything, I have decided to live today and again tomorrow, and heck maybe the day after.
It's true..."one day at a time"...eventhough these are empty words that fall upon emptiness, it's the only way to live when you're hurting. And when I cry, it's perfectly acceptable. And when I isolate myself, it's understandable. And when I smile, please let me without expectation that I will smile all day. I can only hope that when I die, I will know that I lived for most of it.

Life and Spirit Exist Within Us All

Al Green wrote a song about "Love and Happiness" and although the beat is soothing and so are the intent of the words, do love and happiness really exist? They exist as separate entities but do they coexist?
In loss, life, events, celebrations, and our everyday, we encounter people and create networks, don't we? The most valuable of all step into our circle of trust and we learn to move among one another with our limbs outstretched and our hearts set to "open". We form relationships which stem from the connecting of two souls under one love of hope and reciprocation even though there are those we lose, fall away or were temporary gifts we so needed. We learn from one another as do babies when they begin to learn the environment they are adapting to and the people they look to for survival. They lift their heads and scout their surroundings for newness, they focus their sense of sight in search of color and objects and trust, and they feel according to their core.
If we could go back and act according to only what we feel, would we? Or may I suggest that we already have this opportunity and really, never lost this innocent ability to live according to our internal senses.

Close your eyes and think of a particular challenge you're currently faced with. Take four deep breaths and visualize it. Picture it as a flood of water pushing against a water dam. Take another deep breathe and slowly release as you simultaneously open the flood gates. Imagine that the challenge is also gushing out and being freed of all pressure and expectation. Continue a relaxed state of breathing and feel the water permeate from your limbs, out of your head, to the tips of your fingers and toes...as all of the water falls from your body and into the Earth.

Listen to the sounds you hear. See what your heart wants. Feel what your gut and your inner voice say. Listen. And act. Don't apologize, don't make excuses. Just act. Because when you act according to truth and purity, you are in your truest form of self. And no one will have a right to question you and your ethic. I believe that when you live true to yourself, you are living true for others as well. No animosity and no contempt. Misinterpretations and consequences? Sure. The upside? Man, you. are. you.
And hopefully, love and happiness will fall into place whether it's one at a time or gradual...it exists within you.

Be-YOU-ti-ful

Beautiful. That's what you are in the truest sense. You were created and birthed into a world that automatically saw you as such. Your eyes opened to light, your lungs inhaled new air, and the faces behind the blur identified you as a beautiful notion. This sentiment carried on in a very perfect sense until you met life.
Unfortunately it's this same world that toys with you sometimes- negatively judges you, criticizes you- and there are people who only harm themselves (and others too) by intentionally projecting their internal emotions and self-ugly onto you. They pose as sweet and supportive but they aren't. Their goal is to get close to you because it's true, "misery loves company", but misery is really just miserable. Take your malice and self-destructing finger pointing and point it as yourself, darlin'.
DO this: Cut yourself off. Insta-permanent distance and know that your life is unchanged without them in it because this is the easiest thing about loss: severing ties with strangers who appear like dark magic and are flicked away just as quickly. This is called external control--celebrate the strength behind it.

There's good news, though.

You. are. beautiful. and that is unchanging.
The mirrors you turn your eyes away from reflect what you feel. What if mirrors were never created and we only had ourselves and one another to gauge self-beauty?
I admit that I have a very hard time looking at myself in the mirror because I too, don't believe my face exudes anything but ugly and guilt and pain. Sometimes I walk my days wondering if passersby see my insides written all over the drag in my step and the darkness surrounding my already-black eyes. I hide behind my face. Eye contact is tough as is sharing personal space, physical closeness and a heart-felt laugh. If I keep talking then I won't have to stop and think about why I don't want to talk or if I say nothing then I won't be noticed.
I completely understand what ugly and depressed and shame and guilt are either as singular emotions or meshed together into one, great ball of I'm so tired.
Listen, I never knew what internal beauty is until my brother passed away. Beneath all my grief lies a nugget of truth that beams and glitters from time to time. It took several months for me to understand that Charley's thoughts and deep love for me is unchanging- just because he's no longer here with me doesn't mean that our relationship is over. He said to me the night we baptized my daughter Mia, "If no one told you, you looked beautiful today. You are a phenomenal mother". These words resonate with me because he shared compassion and love for me, just for me, on one day that he was barely holding on. He put me first. He put my daughter first. And this crushes me. Still, for months I thought I'm not beautiful anymore and I'm unworthy of love. After sharing this sentiment with my therapist, she too, reassured me that these deeply-seeded words are alive beneath my shattered core. This nugget survives.

As unbearable as life is without my brother, I have learned to be present. My friend said to me just as we caught up last week, "You're alive now. You're awake. You speak differently and you see life differently. It's as though you were sleeping...and now you're not. You communicate with such force from your soul. And it's beautiful". I suppose it's true. I'm significantly more compassionate, fiercely loving, tender with emotions and words and careful that what I say is what I mean.
My brother Charley was very present in all the lives he touched and moved with. He's very present, still.
If it were minutes, hours or years, you had his undivided attention. He listens. He spoke with confidence and wisdom. He shines bright with his eyes and loud with his energy. He smiled almost all the time. I've never known or felt a smile quite like his. He is unique in his aliveness. He is beautiful for always.
And so are you. And so am I.

If You Can't Hear, Then Listen Instead

Charley...

When you escaped from this life and the pain it was thrashing you with, you also took an exceptional amount of my soul and being with you. People say we functioned as twins, walked hand in hand, stemmed from the same life and cloth, and bound together by our inner light. I  happily state to those who ask that, "Yes, I feel him still". I pray this never changes and I pray that you never stray too far from me. 

The morning your breathed your last breath, I woke up and immediately felt different. I firmly remember rising from bed and wondering, I feel so relieved! Since having Mia and becoming a parent, my nights and mornings are often tired. I go to sleep tired and wake up tired. However, this morning was different. I walked to the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror and just knew. My phone reflected two missed calls from you but no text. My insides shook and went limp. I knew. I stalled and refused to go to your house. I waited because I knew that nothing was going to change and what I was going to see was going to alter my existence and your presence. You were waiting for me. I was scared. I was frightful for you and for me. I was nervous about how to handle the most devastating seconds of my life. But most of all, I broke because I knew you broken to an extent that could never be repaired. 

When you play hide and seek and you're tiptoeing around knowing that someone is going to find you but you're still startled from expectation- that feeling? I do that still, gently pacing the floors in your home waiting for your spirit to visit me. 

This morning I assured Mom that she did well raising you into a wonderful man and kind soul. I encouraged her to know this as not a fact but as a certainty; you lived your life with your own notions but always lived with respect for our family. Sure, you had your jerk tendencies and bluntly honest moments, and who doesn't have flaws and quirks and idiosyncracies? I'm stubborn and hard-headed and bratty and somewhat selfish, but those are my inferior characteristics and not the reasons why I'm loved and love myself. 

For Mom though, not saving you has made her feel inadequate and less-than-motherly. I'm his Mother! How didn't I see this? Why didn't I do anything?  

Just as Robin Williams took his own vastly larger-than-life, he was also severely depressed. He clearly couldn't stand to live anymore and clearly didn't have clarity. I read an article where the writer states, "I'm mostly angry because he wasn't under 24/7 suicide watch. Why didn't anyone help him and why didn't anyone listen?" Truth is, his family may have known and they listened, but I'm almost sure they didn't want to believe he'd take his own life. Not Robin Williams. Not this amazingly gifted and hilariously talented, funny man who provides the world with laughter and happiness. I believe Robin Williams wasn't a performer or an entertainer- I believe that he played himself as himself. He was happy, he was jovial, he was manically present. He wasn't crazy. And he was exhausted. In the darkest moment of his soul, he gave into liberation~ a liberation that freed  him from all pain and desperation.

Charley, I know that you know how deeply loved you are. You know that I love you more than I love myself. Love wasn't the problem I don't think. You and I used to say that love isn't enough. And it isn't. It never has been and it ultimately wasn't for you. This doesn't mean that because I understand you, that your blind-sided decision doesn't hurt me. This fact antagonizes me daily. Love alone couldn't save you. My love for you didn't save you. Life requires so much more from one another and the world we live in. 

One thing that helps to get us all by? Listening. Listening with your heart and not your ears. Hearing with your heart and not the surface. Delving deeper than ice skating on a thin sheet of sheer. Undivided attention. Engaging with someone and eye contact. Genuinely caring for friends and family. 

I listened with you your whole life and I felt every moment we spent together. I listen to you, still. Waiting patiently for the moment your voice speaks me to so clearly that I believe you're home again.

I stand with you for always, 

Yolie 

Faith Involves A Leap Of Imagination

We want to believe without questioning and love without expectation.
Some of us have faith simply by surrendering to what will be and some of  us still, want to have faith but also want to know if there's truth behind it. I'm the latter; I am struggling to have faith that "everything will be okay" and that our higher power in the realms of love, "knows what he's doing". Candidly put- since we don't know what happens when we die, since we don't know FOR CERTAIN, I instead allow myself to have hope that life is going to be just that: life. A daily existence with technically no end in sight and a short 24-hours of what we make of it. Though this perception sounds cynical, it comforts me because it means I have zero expectation and investment in tomorrow. For I now know that tomorrow-that overnight, heck, a moment, a curveball of words-changes entire lives. Whether the catapult begins when the sun falls and the moon shines, life also morphs into another rise and people fall...forever.

Many years ago my brother Charley and I once discussed the idea of faith and dissected it as though it were a psychology project. Is it religion that drives and encourages a people to drop their arms, cease the fight and worry, and extend their souls onto a master of all? Do we, as a culture, find life more manageable if we believe, "Let Go, Let God"? What I mean here is, do we unburden ourselves, liberate ourselves even, by handing over our deepest, saddest, uncertain thoughts and giving the holy universe permission to do as it pleases, as it wishes and as it knows best.~ "Here. I trust You". Maybe it's because I'm a control freak (lovingly, of course) that I want to know how and why and when.

When does faith become hope and hope become denial? At what point in the spectrum is it no longer faith? What if we're so blinded by hope that we can't see reality?
These are the philosophical sentiments my brother and I exchanged almost word for word. He and I sat together and pondered faith because we didn't grow up in a religious household and were guided and encouraged to believe in God and ourselves and each other. And I suppose I grew up with pessimistic notions because our childhood was rough, our adolescent years were challenging and our adults years have been nothing short of "ahh, so that's why I'm who I am". Life, right?
I've had writers block for almost a month; afraid of my thoughts and the darkness it feels, pain is much too heavy to formulate into words you may understand. What I did to get here was look back on the major events of my life to see the broader picture. Almost like taking a break from a performance to sit with the camera man and asking him to rewind and play in slow motion.
This is what I saw: Charley was always there. My Father's death, my Mother's grief, the lonely childhood, questions and vague answers or none at all, the silence in the house, the drawn blinds, skinny kids, brother acting as Dad, brother acting as man of the house, Mom remarrying...and so on and so forth. When I look at every moment that has shaped me to now, Charley was front and center, or front and on my side. And now he's not and never will again.
If you've ever lost someone, and I emphasize LOST because you will only see them in your mind's eye, then you know pain and you know loss. What I have faith in is that life ends. What I have faith in is that I am my best in the moments when I am living. After that moment, anything goes.
And what I believe is that we do not betray our faith by questioning it and seeking meaning, rather we strengthen it.

Reality is TEN-fold. So I Make-Believe.

Charley, my Messiah of All,

I'm angry with you. Just a bit. Anger makes me feel bad for being upset with you but it's my current state-of-mind. I get angry when you receive mail and I stare at your name knowing that the typed name I'm staring at is no longer a physical recipient. Rather than write "DECEASED" with an angry sharpee and toss it back onto the mail slot, I use the moment as an opportunity to tear up your mail and ball it into my fist. I'm pissed that mail still comes for you but am afraid it will stop coming.
I'm angry that I'm counting months and keeping track of your death. I'm angry that this life is real and you're not returning. Would you believe that I tried with all my over-extended efforts to bring you back from death? Rummaging through the thoughts you shared with me and all your undeserved sadness encouraged me to make life better for you. Even though I haven't sorted through your belongings (I imagine this won't occur for at least another year), I tried to organize your stuff in the only way I know you approve of. I looked into science to find out if anyone has been brought back to life; excavated from 10 feet under, new organs, new skin, new eyes and with its rightful soul intact. I scoured my memory for any indication that you may have been alive still when you were gently sleeping in your casket the day before we buried you into a deep darkness I can't reach. I even contemplated sneaking into the cemetery in the middle of night with shovel and rope in hand to get you out and prevent you from suffocating in dryness and solace. You died alone and now your body is alone. I'm told I will never understand but Charley, I DO! I understand why you're gone and how you got there. What I don't understand is why you. Why, WHY, wHy, w-h-y.
I fantasize about you expectedly arriving home one day as Mia and I play in the backyard, running through the sprinklers, watering the garden, drawing with sidewalk chalk, sitting in the shade eating popsicles, riding her scooter and tricycle....all while patiently waiting for you to walk through the back door and saying, "Hey, I'm home". I raise my head and beam at you, for words won't express how emotionally overwhelmed I am to see you and your face again.

I pretend you're here and my soul hugs you tightly. All I want is to be in your arms and press my face against your chest so that I can hear your heart beat. And Charley, even if you come back with no beating heart, let alone a stone-cold heart, I want you here. I'll show you what I've done with your home and my plans to expand the kitchen. I'll walk you through all the decor I added which are inspired by the colors and vibrancy in your soul. I'll tell you of my plans to make a career out of writing and how I finally applied for grad school. I'll open my arms and offer to hold you as you cry the cry no one heard. I'll devour your presence and beg you to never leave me again and promise to ask you all the questions I should've asked you the moment I knew you were thinking of taking your life.
I cannot believe you're dead. Not you, Charley. Not my idol, my hero, my messiah, my every man. Why not someone else? Why not someone who I don't love so deeply (yes, I know. Because someone else does). I have selfish thoughts, so what? I'm real and raw and that what makes me, me. I spend a lot of time staring out the window wondering where you are and how the world I'm looking at isn't a world I care for without you in it. My mind can't comprehend the magnitude of loss and sadness my heart feels. HOW has it been ten months? You were here ten months ago, Charley?! So much has happened and I want to talk to YOU about it. My reflex still reaches for the phone to call you and talk about your death with you. Only you would understand because no one else does.
I'm trying, bro. I really am. Even if I'm tiptoeing over shattered pieces of glass and emotional mines.

I love you for all that you are and all that you signify,
Yolie

Bowing Down to Birthday Day

Why do we acknowledge our birthday? Is it due to customary reasons of celebration and happiness? Do we seek a unique attention on the day we turn yet another year older only to look back on the last year to see that not too much has changed?
Birthdays, as is change, is unwarranted and part of the messily packaged decor we call life. Some call it vida for a little extra flavor, yet it's still here. Whether it's an anniversary of an event, an eventful celebration or a celebration of life, it's rallied in such a way that makes you cry with sorrow or simply cry because you are feeling EMOTION.

When my birthday creeps up on me, I usually want nothing to do with it. I'd rather skim through my day as if it were just another day of insignificance and annoyance. This entire year thus far (and for many years), I want nothing more than to acknowledge each significant day with my brother in sight. But since this is nearly impossible (and I say that because I like to think almost anything is possible, lol) I keep him alive instead. I live my life as though he were here. As I walk into the house I announce, "I'm home, Charley" so that I don't startle him or myself. And I walk straight to his room in hopes of seeing his face. It never fails; he's never home.
This year, as we've snailed through holidays and get together's, Charley's birthday reached for us like an angelic hand from the sky. It asked us to bind to one another in an effort to morph him into a love we may see with our minds and our strengths. Knowing that Sunday, July 13th would be a day my Mom would scour the day for him, she suggested we take a few days for ourselves to honor him...as though a getaway together would soften the birthday blow.
To a rented beach cottage we went- tears sealed tightly into jars for later use and beach towels to wipe our bodies of sand and wrap ourselves as the sun sets and evening life swifts in. We trudged into the four-day home of our family minus the one boastful voice and presence our unit is missing. Effort was our goal and serenity was our target. Try as we might, it was as though we were talking and living about one another without talking and living about WHY we were there. But it seemed normal, relieving almost- to breathe without crying and to privately birthday-bash without blurred vision and cake.

As a family, we decided to invite friends and family over to the house for a birthday party for my brother. After all, he is a life to celebrate, glorify and magnify with his spiritual presence intact and love overflowing from everyone in attendance. And man, did people show up! We were touched and floored that the turnout was as abundant as it was seamless. Fire reserves who'd become his close friends, extended family whom we rarely see, our own personal friends and neighbors---ALL of which moved about his home with respect and adoration.
"You're such a cool sister," someone told me. "Don't hate me for saying this, but he's dead, and you live as though he's here and honor him as you do. You keep him alive. I love it". I blushed with pride and found comfort in those words because my brother Charley thinks I'm cool, too.
So cool, that I ordered 37 cupcakes to signify the 37 years he would've turned that day. I placed a sparkler candle in each one and passed them out so that they could be individually held. When I gathered everyone in the backyard to sing "Happy Birthday", my hands shook with anxiety and I prayed I could get through a yearly verse of the song. Eyes cast downward and surrounded by smiles of mixed emotion, we sang loudly and purely. Happy Birthday Dear Charley, Happy Birthday to you! Candles were blown out and I made a beeline for the house. Into the bedroom I scurried with a cupcake in my hand, the smell of a well-it candle and the taste of salt trickling into my mouth. I stood facing the mirror in complete solace with the blinds drawn and the sound of laughter and party just 10 feet away. My eyes were Charley's eyes. I paced and watched him. Deep breath. Happy Birthday, bro. Happy Birthday.
Shaking still, I wiped my face and returned to a party that will last an entire year.

Deviate From the Norm, Folks

It's been a very busy couple weeks with yoga classes, writing short stories and finding my way to a destination I have no clue exists. I also strayed from expressing myself here on the blog so that I may gather my thoughts in full.
Fourth of July was celebrated last Friday with Americans gloriously exhibiting their liberties and pride by display of colorful night fireworks, barbeques, beach time, flags and a day off from work. And while I sat in a new yoga class on the very same morning, I experienced a twist in the day and decided instead to take "a day on" from everything rather than "a day off". As though I haven't been focusing on myself as best I can, right? Still, the idea of meditating my thoughts and sense-of-self was more appealing to me than shoving out the standard everyday routine.

Do you believe we all have a destination or inevitable fate? If we stray from the blueprint of our lives will we ultimately end up at the same meeting point or may you argue that we instead map our lives and make our own choices based on emotion, thought, logic and desire? I'm torn between the two- and even then I don't quite agree that we, as a human race and beings, should be restricted to raising our hands for one or the other- black or white, stop or go, die or live.

My brother lived his life with only the restrictions that we live by. Of course he also made his own life with the ideals and style that only he could develop. He is a particular soul with particularities my family both accepts and adores. His home was spotlessly clean with every furniture piece in its place and every rug wall decor in its rightful spot. Dishes were washed immediately after cooking, counter tops were scrubbed clean, weeds were pulled as often as they obnoxiously snagged garden space, love was unconditionally dispensed and my brother's soul is stoic and present still in the choices he made for himself and for those he loves. With no map in hand, Charley navigated life with vigor I've never witnessed and tenacity that develops in the digital colors of motion pictures and made-up characters. I am envious of the life he lived not because I wanted his hard-earned fortunes but because I aspired to be a different version of him; moving through my 24 hours with delight, influence and intent. Admittedly, I wasn't. I was stuck in a rut that had been stagnant for quite some time with some intent of my own to change the life I was living but was too afraid to leave the comforts of predictability. I turned to my brother as I always do and asked him for guidance to a place of deserved happiness and fruits. A place I know exists if I derail from the norm of my then-choices and persevere without fear in my forethought and self-love in my gut.
As I began to work on this plan, my brother was simultaneously dying. I put on my big-little-sister pants and performed beyond my abilities to show him I am chasing happiness while promising that happiness exists for him as well. And I failed to hold us both up, I failed to drop all of me for him and I failed to keep him alive longer than I did. In disappointing myself I realized also that I never wanted to disappoint him in any form while we lived as brother and sister...and to his misfortune, I disappointed our souls for not shaking him of suicidal thoughts and putting my foot down. Ha, who am I to think I could rid him of such despair and sadness? I provided a love that doesn't exist beyond he and I. Charley once lovingly said to me, "We are a hopeful group" when stating how bonded of a family we are. This is true and more truer than ever.

My brother lived his life taking days on to maintain his external love for his worlds but didn't take nearly half as much time to work on love for himself. Love for life he performed naturally well as an overachiever and a smile on his face at nearly all times, but he never took days off. And if he did, it was subtle and coy and mastered with such selflessness that very few noticed. I noticed and still do.
He is my inspiration to live vicariously through myself as I desire.

Reach Out And Connect

We all live lives that we either expected to have or imagined it would be a bit different. What we don't expect are the number of connections we make with other forces of nature such as ourselves.
The childhood friend we hold close to our hearts like the first infatuation of our teen years. Or the colleague we met in our early career that not only changed your day, but also changed your life. How about the passerby who smiled at you and exchanged a few words that have moved with you as you move through your day. Life is lived as a series of time, where it begins the moment you wake up with the one thought that follows you from teeth to pajamas, and is marked as another 24 hours of whatever "yesterday" may have been.
But how do we get to today? How much have we gone through to get to this exact moment? Losing my brother still dumbfounds me, as I expect it will for quite a significant number of years. I drive around in my car and gaze out the massive front-view mirror wondering, How the fuck am I living without Charley? How the fuck did we get here? I shake my head as if to shake off the fact that still stands true. I look up at the sky wondering if he looked up at the same sky that reflected a sadder shade of blue. I wish upon city stars that I never see and talk to a moon that doesn't smile nor tell a story of a cow jumping over it. And I realize that unfortunately, to my pain and denial, my brother is gone and never returning. No matter what I do, my love cannot bring him back to life.

Here's the thing though, he touched lives- this is true and factual. He impacted hundreds of lives, and it's proven by the numerous number of loving messages and sincere gratitude my family has received. These gestures have personally impacted me with such concrete force that I am actively striving to change for myself first and for others secondly. I admit, that like all people, I have character flaws and make mistakes but I won't apologize for who I am and what I stand for. I don't compromise my values to accommodate others unless it's for a greater cause. Call me stubborn (because I can be), but I will fight for my family and my brother's legacy. Think about it...when you weigh your "I wish i weren't so..." against all the qualities you are, don't you truly believe that the pros outweigh the cons? I do. I believe they do. I'm not a complete mess, despite my setbacks and devastations. And I believe this as a fact for everyone else. Again, I believe that beneath tough exteriors and laughter or ignorance and cruel intentions, there is a soul that deserves all the love and acceptance in existence. I stress the importance of this theory because I'm hopeful and have faith. I hope to someday live a life that is peaceful most of the time and positively challenging at others. That while others intentionally take another down to justify their feelings, I speak truths. And faith will drive me to the point I seek and the truth my brother is. I'm inspired daily to live lovingly and unconditionally. And if you don't live this way, I hope to pass you by on the street so that you may experience my smile and feel a fragment of my hope. Believe that I believe in you. I DO.

Some Kind of Peace of Mind

"You need to be at peace," she said. Those words were meant to be communicated as encouragement but came off as hard-handed instead.
A handful of people have spoken to me as though they know exactly what happened to my brother- as though knowing him for ten years gives them the authority to know "the story". There is no story. Try as people might to reference his character flaws or mistakes, they have no right to justify his death. So what- you hung out with him every couple years or exchanged text messages with him here and there, or he showered you with unconditional love for six months, and he made you smile everytime you saw him? Umm, no, you don't know him as I do. You don't know why he took his life. Speculate all you want and side with the undisclosed enemy, but I'd rather you keep your judgments and opinions to yourself. This goes for anyone who is on the other side of devastation and loss.
Loss changes us with time. Whether it's a relationship, a fallen friendship or a death, it's mind-blowing to experience going from darkness to some sense of life.
Truth is, I have one foot in pitch dark and one foot out of a sun-lit window pane. Some days I'm completely in the dark with all lights shut off and cowering in my closet.

Where can peace be found and what does it look like? Again, there is no booming voice overhead that announces, "You have arrived, my dear". I haven't been searching for this place people speak of and live to bask in it. In fact, I hear that it exists and admit that I don't care for it. Not externally, at least. "Peace from within", my brother Charley would encourage. And so I'm working on a peace I know I can feel; a peace that is tangible and reflects off the shattered pieces of my heart into my own mirror reflection. Peace for me is a moment of complete bliss' which is often a consequence of living love with my toddler daughter. She's grown rather quickly and is a gentle soul who caresses my face as I cry and holds it in her tiny hands sometimes. She tells me that she dreams of her Nino and describes the things he does or the words he speaks to her. Just today she sat up in the car seat in search of him as though he were standing across the street waving at her glowing face and excitedly happy to see her. The innocence of her soul brings me peace. If only I could live my life looking for my brother and being blissfully ignorant to his passing.

Peace, like memories, come and go. It's here for a couple of minutes and then it dissipates as I remind myself that my brother has passed. Do you want to know what my FIRST thought was this morning when I woke up? Charley is dead. Peaceful sleep but rude awakening. And so no matter what I do or how I spend my day, there is no choice with thoughts of tranquility and serenity. Reality taps me on the shoulder every few minutes to tell me what is and what isn't. I can hysterically laugh at a comedy for two hours but as the end credits roll, I'm crying and having an anxiety attack because I've crashed from my fake high. No matter the encouraging thoughts for me and my family, my wonderfully jovial brother is gone. And this tragic fact alone robs us of all peace.

Nine-Month Reality: Death Is Resolute

My Lovingly-Active Brother,

I'm running streets and strands with you in mind while running away from the pain of losing you. When I run, I am temporarily relieved of all the chronic heartache and pressure you felt- my mind clears and opens up to you in hopes that you're soaring with me and wrapped in my the peaks of my energy. Do you feel me? I focus all my thought into you and fantasize about the life we treasure together and the life you left behind. People say you had an amazing life; while this is true, your internal emotions were a daily struggle the last weeks of your life and should be respected. I too, smile and move about but it doesn't mean that I'm okay or in a better place. There's no sigh of relief exhaled from my bosom even though that's what everyone wants for me. I'm with you, bro. I absolutely understand your pain and accept why you're gone but utterly despise the anguish and trigger that cornered you into your darkest hours.

I suppose I'm coping now and I do so by running. This has become my life: Mia, You and running. Not very much socializing nor "having fun"...I'm just living with myself in mind and actively trying to reach you. Your passing has put my entire life and thoughts into perspective- everything is temporary and nothing but love and legacy truly last. THIS moment is all that matters. Not the material objects we purchase, not the jobs we maintain, not the funds in our pockets---none of that is of any significance. Because when we die, these things are picked up by others and pushed forward with the motions of life. Love, memories and honor move swiftly like the current of a strong tide; the low tide paws at our toes and soothingly caresses our flesh while high-tide and rough waves wobble our knees as we grasp the ocean air for balance.

Memories of you and I together are now flooding my mind and my heart. Most every other day I experience a trigger that sets me back for hours and places me back into day one. Day one was the most hopeless, helpless, devastating hours of my life. I can hear my screams still, as they antagonize my senses and remind me of reality. When I screamed, it wasn't a sound of fright, in fact, it was a fury of defeat and anger at the universe for allowing yourself to have felt defeated as well. I get so angry now knowing that in those last minutes, your entire life was gone. In your last weeks, you were quickly dying. I screamed because I couldn't change how death looks and feels and I still can't change that death took hold of you, Charley. I want to scream, still, in the same way I did nine months ago...exactly nine months ago on this hour and at this minute.

"Suicide is not the answer"- so posters, hot lines, resources shout. I say that for some, for some as you who felt(feel) desperate, lost, confused and besides themselves, death is the answer. There is no magic pill that dissolves anguish. There is no therapist messiah who may reach in, grab hold of, and pull pain from its roots. There is no voice on the other end of a hot line who may permanently talk you through your darkest hour and pull you back to life.

There is progress. There is struggle. There is patience. There is hope and there is faith. But to wait for all that only to experience that suicidal thoughts exist on the ocean bottom of your thoughts? I'm fortunate. I took anti-depressants immediately because I too, became suicidal at the idea of living without you and wanting nothing more than to be with you in heaven. And I have been in therapy for nine months. BUT I didn't have a chemical imbalance. I masked the deepest sorrows of losing you until I felt I could deal with it. And I am, finally. By running into your angelic arms and hoping to have the type of faith that you and I will embrace one another again and FEEL it.

I run for you. I run for hope. I run to escape. I run for our family. I run to live.
Your little big sister,
Yolie

The Hardest Words to Speak Are Also the Most Courageous

I truly believe there's good in all of us. Whether you were born to be "bad" or have had a series of "life sucks" episodes, it doesn't mean you're unworthy, undeserving or a bad person. Even if unfortunate people in your life have tried drilling negative words to rattle your core or throw rocks and hide their hands (I used to know plenty of these people), there just has to be some untouched gold in their souls that's waiting to be discovered or encouraged to be revealed. At least that's what I like to believe. It helps me to understand what I don't know.

Don't we all deserve to be heard, to be selflessly spoken to, to be loved? Love is expressed in different forms, you know. I think the challenge many of us face is 1. how to express and 2. how to receive.

Despite how much my brother was struggling with his thoughts and managing how his time was spent, he reached. People didn't know it then, but he did. Missed phone calls, canceled plans, rescheduled outings, text messages, questions, smiles…he reached in his own way even though it wasn't loud and he wasn't waving a red flag. Those who genuinely listened and loved, latched onto him, reached and pulled him in. I did~ I never released his hand. Not only did I put a life vest on him, not only did I lovingly chain myself to him in his last weeks, but I listened, I kept quiet as he spoke, and Lord- I love him. I love him hard. And I love him immensely even if he hadn't been struggling because my love is sincere.

There are terms I don't use loosely anymore. Such as "I'm going crazy" or "I'd kill myself" or "I'm devastated". Why? Because those few words speak volumes for me and my family. They're dramatically overused to express the magnitude of a sentiment. But since we know that all three phrases exist and come true, I don't use them and I don't condone them. They hurt. I'm cautious and hyper-sensitive.
And to add to this point: I NEVER say that my brother killed himself. That sounds violent and murderous. He took his life- albeit it he's dead. He committed suicide. And even then, the word suicide is ugly and stings to hear it, read it, speak it. So instead I say that he took his life. I pad the cause of his death because I can. I don't require anyone's permission to verbalize as I do. And if I could create a word that exudes compassion, empathy and love, I would. If only our culture and society would catch on…

Another thing I don't do? I don't lie. Why would I lie about my brother's cause of death. In the beginning I was in a position to say nothing. His passing spread like a plague gone wild which provided my family the courtesy of not having to place phone calls or share the devastating news. As time progressed and poked at me, I was faced with having to open my mouth not knowing what was going to be said. So when the first stranger asked me how my brother passed, I hesitated. My mind raced in circles, What do I say? How do I say it? Will she judge him? How will she react? Will she ask me how? Truth.
He took his life, my voice quivered and my shoulders shook. Silence ensued. She embraced me and held my heart to hers as I fell into her arms and cried the truth I had spoken. Her eyes locked into mine and silently allowed me to feel.

And I feel. And I cry and I deal with all of me head on. And while I do this and learn how to do this, I maintain who I am. Give yourself permission to be you.

The Stigma is Ugly. Embrace the Truth Instead.

My brother, a Firefighter Paramedic, took his life almost nine months ago on September 17, 2013.
He was a loving, vibrant 36 years-young soul who invested in everything he touched and all the lives he impacted. Loving life was his style and it showed whenever he walked into a room, chuckled through a social environment and jokingly moved about our existence with such intent and naturalness. He is loved by hundreds and respected by all.
He was not "secretly depressed" as those who speculate what happened and was not "deceiving his family" as others have discussed. He is not a coward, a pussy, weak or a disgrace to his station, his city, his profession and his brotherhood. I KNOW of the ignorant comments many firefighters have stated when they hear that he took his life...yes, he saved lives and he couldn't save himself. Try as he might, and man did he try, he was emotionally lost, had a lapse in judgment and removed himself from his life- it was the only escape for him.
I think of him all day. What a feat it was for him to wake up every morning in his last weeks and think, "(Sigh). I have to do this all over again". And though we, as "healthy" individuals may wonder why he couldn't just keep going, we don't fully understand because we're not him. We aren't in his mind. We aren't in his thoughts. The only person who can tell us what happened in those last minutes is him. And he's no longer with us, so we'll never know. What we may do is understand. Sure, we have books, websites, workshops, YouTube, grieving groups, clinical studies, but we'll still never know. I have a suggestion: be empathetic. Try compassion. Don't judge. Don't diminish, disregard or dismiss the facts. Suicidal depression and all mental conditions are to be taken very seriously.

I imagine my brother heavily tugged with the idea that as a hero himself,  how can he feel this way? I'm sure he wanted to deplete his sorrow and mental anguish...and just throw it to flames. Burn it. Char it. Disintegrate it to pieces so that he could move forward in his life. Don't you know that he tried? Therapy (his therapist assures me she noted zero signs of suicidal thoughts), self-help books, bible study, church mass, exercising, small doses of melatonin to aide with lack of sleep, and complete confidence in me to see him through. But as I've read time and time again- nothing truly works. Nothing truly takes away the pain or the depression. Victims learn to live life with depression like a bout of baggage and manage. Manage? No one should live their life in pain. I often think of the immeasurable pain my brother was in the night he surrendered to his emotional anguish and feel If he had to live another day in that level of despair-no. No he doesn't deserve it. No it's unfair. No. No. No. 

Depression is not an emotion that our first responders are encouraged to share and communicate with one another. Chances are they will be ridiculed, made fun of, mocked and be told to "snap out of it", "deal with it", "this is your job", blah blah bullshit. The stigma is ugly. The truth is beautiful. We are human. Everyone has feelings and inner thoughts. NO ONE should be blamed for having suicidal thoughts or mental struggles. The thoughts are so powerful they take over your heart, soul and body. Nothing else matters but their own pain. Just theirs. Forgive these thoughts and reach for someone with a nurturing heart and a strong hand. Seek others who may speak to their pain or yours. Know that you are not alone and others love you more than you love yourself- and they mean it. Believe yourself. Believe you are worthy. Believe that there's a chance you will make it through. Believe someone will genuinely listen. Believe that someone is willing to take over and hold you hand. Believe.

I Forgive Myself

I forget where my car keys are, to return phone calls and text messages as I'm looking at them, to put Mia in the car, why I'm at the store and what I'm saying even as I'm saying it. And because I can be dramatic, my tone also loses momentum and the sentence goes thud. But I forget. All the time. My mom bought me an organizer to jot down my plans and reminders that can promise redemption from guilt, but I never seem to get around to using it.

I was never like this. I was the punctual person who made lists for the sake of making lists and to keep myself organized. I was the coordinator who kept everyone in check and played mediator- I didn't  mind it because I was a control freak. So instead of organizing myself as I used to, I instead talk to myself with conviction in my thoughts. Because I'm also forgetful on a deeper and ultimately more damaging level than birthdays and phone calls. I forget that I'm doing the best I can with how I feel. I forget that I'm a lovable, capable, talented woman. I forget to forgive myself for being forgetful. For being less than perfect. For feeling emotionally lost. For being spunky, prickly, a dental hygiene perfectionist, awkward and unpolished. I forget that I'm a vessel that houses my true soul and being and that I can choose to do only the things that contribute healing for my life. Even if that means that I hermit myself for days on end in an effort to just be with my forgetful self.

The sticky side of life is quite honest. This place allows you to be yourself with zero judgment and liberty. There is a hustle in everyday life that requires us to go-go-go! It is in these moments where we just want to breathe with absolutely no pressures, that we are also prodded to slow down and see the magnificence hidden in the creaky floors we walk on. Just to be present. Listen to your inner wisdom and and act when you feel comfortable doing so. Choose meaning over "what's right".
I know that I've fully embraced being in a moment or heck, moments of time whether it's hours or an entire night of solace and barefoot walks in the backyard. The cool grass dew reminds me that I'm alive. The soft chirping of crickets running their wings together like the teeth of a comb play a soothing sound to serenade my wandering thoughts and bring me back to focus. The dark silence encourages me to free my thoughts into a wild spree of love for my brother. Sometimes, I catch myself smiling at the thought of him and the millions of memories that feel real. Because they are real and he truly happened. So what if I visit a grave where his body lies with no spirit and no heavy breathing. Afterall, the cemetery isn't his final resting place, his home is. My heart is where he infinitely lives.

I'm inspired to deal with my excruciating feelings and those of my brother's. I am not taught nor encouraged to turn my back on grief and sorrow. I call on my courage to help me manage my open self and imperfect soul. I love that I'm imperfect more than I've ever been. I love that I'm human and openly scratching at my itchy wounds. Why is it so difficult for most of us to choose to do what is best for ourselves? Why don't we practice self-kindness more and share this sentiment with our worlds? I don't have answers for myself, but I choose to try to understand myself and the circumstances I'm facing. I allow. I choose. I will try to remember to embody my brother's way of living and happiness by being honest and forgiving myself for living.

Loss Doesn't Make Emotional Sense

Charley, My Heart...

I'm so lonely for you. My eyes slowly scout every detail in every picture I take hoping that I catch a glimmer of you in the background, as a blur, as a shadow as a light. I zoom in and search for a face that I miss and only see in my memory bank of delight. Even as I walk through the house at night to shut off all the lights and close the blinds, I look to my reflection in the mirror or my own shadow just praying that I see you right beside me. But what do you look like? Will you appear to me in your human form so that I may recognize you? May I hear the sound of your voice calling my name? Might your energy be so abundantly clear that I see you in your spirit form illuminated by heavens and love? Have you been present, reached for me, spoken to me and yet I have no idea? Questions, questions, and no answers.

My therapist tells me that I'm mourning, still. STILL. Of course I am. Your passing is fresh and I gladly participate in freely feeling. So what if I'm consumed by you, our memories together and your life. Another therapist has cautioned me not to idolize you so, that I want to be you and lose sight of myself- not to identify mysef with the consequences of your loss. Truth is- I've always idolized you...I've always looked up to you in hopes that I would be you someday. Like a child with her hero, I wear your name embroidered into my cape. It flows with brisk attitude and encapsulates strength, devotion, courage and unconditional love. My right arm raises high in praise of all that you do-the good in you and the human in you. With your imperfect flaws and no-nonsense atttitude, you never do any wrong for my hero is forgiven for being himself. I, as an avid admirer, strive to measure up to a man I'll never be. And I've always been comfortable knowing that I'll never be you but have been beyond happy navigating life immediately at your side.

I miss you deeply, Charley. It's a longing that I can't comprehend. Time doesn't help to heal my pain- it only reminds me that you're gone. Time darkens my pain and settles further into a reality without you. I'm comfortable with pain. But I'm also frail and vulnerable. It's as though every emotion I can possibly feel is hitting me at once and I'm either being smacked in the gut with it or dodging every other launch because I'm afraid that I can't manage anymore than I am. I'm afraid of what rock bottom looks like for me. Thing is...I'm there. My emotions affect my mental balance which affect my physical strength. I'm tired all the time, Charley. And not just tired because life effen sucks or from working or from being a Mom. It's all of me combined into all of you. You survived for six weeks and one night you couldn't see or feel straight. I'm experiencing a fraction for eight months now and I honestly question myself, Am I going to feel this way for the rest of my life? Not that loving and missing and mourning you is negative, but how will I manage my sorrow? I suppose you felt this multiplied by an unknown force so I tell myself to quit thinking and just feel.

A friend asked me a pretty honest question yesterday, "Has anything good come from losing your brother?" I yanked all my feelings from all the hazy clouds hovering over my heart and tried to make sense of it all so that he could stumble through my grey.
After verbally chicken scratching my thoughts, he instead said to me, "Say exactly what you feel".

(Quick deep breath) I want to continue living his life as though he were alive. I want to live his life for him so that nothing changes and I still have him. That's the honest truth. And the added truth is that all of you is mostly all of me. Your character, your jubilant smile, your athleticism, your drive, your ambition, your physical nature, your travel goals, your inspiration...that's me too on a smaller scale. So why not? Then he peacefully offered, "You lost your brother and your best friend and your life is forever changed". Simple words created complex thoughts and provoked hot tears. I felt like he shoved a slab of concrete into my hands and asked me not to drop it. "Too much?", he offered. Yes, too much.

Living a life without you is too much. We've been synced for 32.5 years...and synced for the rest of my years without you is how it will remain.

Love you, adore you, want to be you,
Your Sis, Yolie

Mother's Day Minus One

Sometimes I put myself in the shoes of a person who doesn't have a relationship with their mother, whose mother has passed on, or someone who's never met their mother. Would I prefer to be a blank slate and expression when it comes to owning and experiencing the virtues of a mother-child relationship or would I rather have the strongest relationship I've known from the comfort of my womb and have it disappear like a magic trick from my life? "Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all"?

The last couple of weeks have been more than rough- deep-saddened tears and desperation in search of my brother to support me in fulfilling my role as a mother, and for my own mom not to experience the loss of her only son. I. cannot. fathom. her pain. It hurts me. My only son. I wonder how empty her own soul is and how much more she searches for Charley than I do. When she reaches for him and does everything in her power to bring him back, where is she pulling her strength from? Does she rummage through a barrel of "Only a Mother Can Feel This" in search of the very tool to lure him back into the safety of her arms? What color is her heart and how thick is her fog....

As a mother myself, I can only speak to the empty role in my daughter's life in which he is so excited to share in. When I found out I was pregnant, I drove to the fire station and walked in on Charley who was cooking dinner in the kitchen. I lightly tapped on his shoulder to get his attention as my smile grew in length and my mouth said,
Hey Charley.
He looked behind his left shoulder as he does so well and smiled his gorgeous smile.
Oh hey, Yolie. What's up?
So....you're going to be an uncle!
You guys bought a dog?!
(laughter)
No, Charley. You're going to be an uncle. I'm pregnant.

I've never seen him smile so brightly. There were no words for his happiness as he embraced me tightly. I couldn't wait to bring my child into our lives so that he could single-handedly be the force in her life she doesn't know she needs. And what a lucky girl to have him for the rest of her life.
Our relationship grew fifty-fold as he nourished my soul in preparation of the little Lopez to add to our duo. And when she was born...he was speechless. He held her little body in his arms and all I could see was the life they would lead together and the man that would help me raise her. Another woman would take my first place in his heart and I gladly relinquished that position.
We had a year and a half together with him. He once sat quiety in bed of his truck while he held her face to the warm setting sun as I looked on watering the front yard. Every few seconds I'd look over at them in complete awe and admiration- they are bonded and he's so in love. I trust this relationship and I rely on him to live for her as much as I do. He said to me," I promised Mia two free passes in her life. She is allowed to call me twice to get her out of a jam and it will stay between me and her. Whether it's a ride she needs or my support, I won't ask any questions. But she has to promise to always be honest with me and never lie. As long as she can keep this promise, we have a deal." I smiled at him and nodded in agreement. My favorite man is going to be her favorite man. Life was sweet.

The weeks leading to his passing, the three of us spent nearly everyday together at the beach, playing in his backyard, hanging out on the balcony patio while we colored together, napping together and just existing as a unit. He would kiss her tenderly and gaze into a face he could never abandon.

So when he took his life, he unintentionally abandoned us. The life I fantasized about having with him has become exactly that~ a fantasy with temporary memories and conversations.

The other parent I looked to for reinforcement, is gone. I grieve the relationship she'll never have. Nevermind the "He's always looking over her..." because she'll never know the force he and I planned for her. She'll never experience the laughter and love he reserved just for her and the soft pallet only she could have developed. She will never get to use those two free passes. And I? I feel inadequate without him and try as I might, being her Mom isn't enough. If I could bring him back just for her sake and hers alone, I would. She doesn't know it yet, but she needs him. I desperately need him. And Mother's Day communicates only one sentiment for me: I'm not a mother without my brother.

Lesson Number: Never

My mind and heart are made up of emotional layers which collapse on top of each other like a sandwich with one too many heavy. Navigating death provokes so many unknown factors which don't come with an end in sight nor an empathetic gesture of "this will only sting for a few seconds". Nope, it's not a toddler injection or a prick to the hip; it's excruciatingly painful and a needle that breaks your skin in search of a vein it'll never find.

Charley loves me like no other person has. And I in turn love him equally. As I grew in spirit and maturity, I also often felt guilty for allowing him to love me as much as he does; never expecting me to reciprocate my love for him. I questioned the degree of my love knowing very well that he certainly deserved more than I was providing and hoped that I could someday love him as much as he deeply loves me. It wasn't until he passed away that I realized I always loved him more than I love myself and always validated my self-worth and value according to his perspective. He consistently told me I'm beautiful, resilient, strong, driven...a phenomenal mother and his rock. These are words I trust and believe from no one else's mouth but his. It is Charley who is a constant and consistently invested in my growth and reassured me that I am valuable. In every event in my life from childhood to now, Charley has been at my side, within reach and never more than a millisecond thought away.

As I stated in my eulogy, Charley has been the man in my life...and unfortunately for everyone else in my life who loves me and wants to build a prosthetic limb for me, they will never be Charley. No one will ever fill his shoes and meet the standard that bears his name and glorifies his soul. I measure everyone's love and loyalty against his...which I know is unfair for those who genuinely want to help me, but unfortunately for all involved, I cannot accept love from anyone if it's not his. Giving into this unconditional love to two handful of people who want to embrace me, makes me feel as though I'm betraying Charley. So I stoically stay on the defense and sit on a fence that guards my heart from any further rejection or pain. I simply cannot endure anymore. Losing Charley has been the most devastating and worse event in my life that didn't just occur almost eight months ago...it occurs everyday and spans across my now-life and that of my daughter's. I'm often at war with myself- some moments I'm angry because Charley left me knowing how much I love and need him. How could I not "despair in his departure" when a bond like ours depends on the other to thrive and live? The other side of me apologizes for being angry because I completely understand how pain took over. I grant him the desperation and hold nothing against him but my own embrace. Of course he wasn't thinking of me. Of course he didn't understand the consequences. Of course he was thinking of only his pain. Of course I'd be left behind to mend him and myself. Even in his death, I'm fighting for him. Even as his soul visits mine in the middle of my dreams, I'm guarding him and holding his hand tightly.

I'm broken. And damaged. And dysfunctional. But we all are to some extent, right? This is how I justify my state of mind- by comparing my personal trials to a culture that is all kinds of fucked up. How can anyone really want to be my friend or family or confidante or partner when I come equipped with so many layers of work? So instead of letting people in, I keep them out. I'm giving them a jump ship card before I even burden them with...me.

Life Is But a Dream

Even if I were the brightest, most intuitive mind in my circle of life, I can't describe how skewed my perception has become in terms of our lives here on Earth and how our souls survive the thrashings we continually experience.
Whether it's conscious movements or emotions we naturally feel, our souls also participate in each of these markers.

As you know, I search for my brother everywhere. Sometimes I pretend I'm not searching for him in hopes that he appears to me because I'm not looking for him. But even then, I'm pretending to pretend and I'm sure he can see right through me (literally) and knows what I'm doing even as I'm thinking it.

Just last week as I hurried home from work to quickly change before picking up Mia, I walked into the house and immediately smelled Charley. The hollow sounds of my footsteps sprung off the now decorated walls and my heels clacked across the customized hard wood floors. Walking towards Charley's room and past his firefighter memorabilia, I reflexively called for him, "Hey Charley, are you home?". But as I entered his room and only recognized half of it as his, the veil fell from my eyes and my heart dropped. Charley's not here. My shoulders slumped and my footsteps sank into sorrow as though I allowed ocean wave after wave to bury me tightly around my ankles. I couldn't move. I didn't hear myself calling for him but I somewhat did in the same breath because I really hoped I'd walk into his room and he'd stick his head out of the bathroom with toothbrush in mouth and smiling eyes. A slow walk to the bed, loud shoes came off and I sat staring at my ugly reflection with reality pointing its finger at me in mockery.
Or a couple weeks ago when I walked through the parking lot at work and saw a Tacoma drive into the lot. It was gray in color, two-door and the driver was wearing a cap. I slowed my pace and took a sharp left so that I could eye this guy in hopes that it was Charley. But after he hopped down and turned to face me I saw that his eyes were not my brother's and his height was much too short. He smiled at me and I nervously looked away, Damnit, it's not him.

My mind combats my soul every waking hour in an effort to shake truth into it and speak the fact that I know, but don't believe.
When I sleep, I often wake up with wet eyes and disappointment in my breath. My jaw hurts from clenching all night and my hands hurt from keeping them tightly fisted. Dream of him? Yes, sometimes. The first few dreams were vivid and real. He visited me and answered questions in a tone and form only his soul could and expressed neutrality in the lines of his face. It's taken months to see him smile. It's taken almost eight months for him to tell me what I've always known.
The last dream I had was a few days ago...I put Mia down to sleep and walked through the house in search of him. Music serenaded my thoughts and led me to the guest room. I opened the door and there Charley stood by the closet that cradles all his clothes and personal belongings. He motioned me in and sweetly smiled at me. I walked towards him and saw that he was at least 15 years younger with smooth brown skin and lots of hair crowned his head as it did years before age and stress took over. I reached to touch him but my arm went through his transparent figure. He encouraged me to try again and so I did. My right hand touched his shirt and it was then I realized he was dressed in white. I fingered his shirt which felt soft and warm. I looked up into his eyes as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in. I locked my arms around his waist and cried into his chest while inhaling his scent. All I wanted was to have that moment for always. My mind searched for questions but I knew better than to break the time we were being blessed with. Then he whispered, "I want you to know that I'm okay". I nodded I know and prayed that this beautiful moment was real, so real.

Then I woke up crying and wiped my face from the dream that was only a dream.