The Truth About Lies

I've been the imperfectly perfect sister for all my life. I've always looked to my brother for guidance, support, input, witty insight, unconditional love and brotherly affection. He was anything but shy. A confident young man who stood with a casual air about him, his mannerisms exuded a mellow tone but his movements were animated and colorful. When I picture him in the fluff of my mind, he's moving, always moving. Arms are speaking a language of their own, feet are cascading a story he loved to tell and mouth is overflowing with happy sounds and laughter.
He wasn't extremely close to any people in particular, but he has a handful of friends whom he spent a lot of time with over his adult years. He was socially wild and knew so many people but people who knew him were twice that amount. Still, he knew hundreds and I was his number 1. We could easily push the world away when we spent time together. I could call him and receive his undivided attention. He was my rock.

Charley was somewhat of a celebrity to me, in that I would always watch him in awe and pure admiration. Everything he did…from playfully sing songs, tell jokes, dance funny, sports, friendships, endeavors, his career, his romance, his commitment, his meals…were all so imperfectly perfect. I could tell him anything without feeling judged or criticized. I could never hide anything from him for he knew me so well. Often times he would play devils advocate and explore my feelings so that I would ultimately admit what he knew I wanted to say all along. The guy got me. All my life, I had a man who never left my side and who could count on me for genuine, dedicated love. I am his number one fan.

And so throughout our lives together, we'd tell white lies but it was always for emphasis. I can be quite the actor and he was quite the performer. We were a pristine act in each other's presence. Anyone who was around us could easily witness the love and respect. I never knew, and would've never thought, that I'd lose this relationship, this irreplaceable connection. The longest we ever went without speaking to one another was two days- which was in his last couple of weeks. He didn't speak to me but I called and called and left him voice mails until he caved. I couldn't stand the thought of not speaking to him and hearing his voice and disappointing him. I could never hurt him- and I did with foolish words that I thought would help him. Tough love, right? Wrong. Bad timing.

Over my brother's entire life, I lied to him twice, omitted supportive information once and kept tight-lipped about a childhood incident that I desperately wanted to divulge. In our last life together, I debated bringing all of this up…seconds away from opening my mouth and spilling everything out…and I didn't. I don't know why, but I didn't. In those moments and in moments of opportunity, I said nothing. I wasn't truthful and I hurt him without him knowing I hurt him. And I'm so sorry I didn't measure up. I wanted nothing more than to keep focus on him and his feelings, but I know that sharing mine would've provided some relief or intimacy that I know he would've been grateful for. He wouldn't have judged me- of course he wouldn't. I held my tongue and twisted my gut, and in doing so, I also lost my brother. While I was mentally strategizing how to tell him I haven't always been the perfect sister he adores, he was holding onto me and looking to me to be me.
How did this happen? How could I have dropped the ball? I was terrified. I only knew how to love him with all that I have and not all that I could have resourced for him. I didn't know he needed saving, I only knew he needed me. And so I gave him all of me. I confess, and inadequately apologize, I failed him.

Invincible Me

I've only ever come close to feeling invincible listening to my brother's life and fire service experiences. Until yesterday...

In December of 2012, my brother and two of his best friends competed in the Spartan Race which is a 15+ grueling obstacle course of intense difficulty, endurance, stamina and the strength to push your limits. He loved it. He absolutely loved the experience and the drive it added to his already overflow of life. In fact, he gabbed about it so much that I was looking forward to signing up for the January 2014 competition.
Competition day ran up on me so quickly that I only had time to properly train for a couple of months. Never once did I develop a single doubt or reservation, for I knew the intent of the challenge (at this point) is to experience my brother. My will is to be connected and explore the ground I know he dominates so effortlessly. And so game day came with a four-man "Team Carlos" in full-force and with well-lit hearts. We pinned our bib numbers to our shirts, stretched all tension and heavy weight from our limbs and Hoo-rah! went the starting line. Like the stampede of cattle, we collectively raged over four miles of gut and focus. Sneakers to the mud, I felt like I was floating on an air I have never inhaled.

Come on, Charley, let's go bro! chanted in my mind as I rolled my body parallel to gravel, water, safety pins, divots and beneath barbed wire. Gasp! went my lungs but Go! screamed by heart. I looked to my left and saw my brother gliding with the look of an athlete gone happy. He's breathing deep breaths...in through the nose, through the diaphragm and out through the mouth. I pushed and never once did I feel like I wanted to surrender to defeat and call it quits. In fact, I was driven by Charley's own spirit and my connection to his soul. Scaling walls, rolling tractor tires, carrying 25-pound sand bags on my shoulders, hiking up a steep mountain, pulling a 70-pound concrete slab tied to a chain, trenching through 4-foot deep pools of mud, a bone-cold lake, military crawls under walls, climbing inverted walls, muddy slopes, and finally...fire.

Jumping over fire. THAT was my line of sight. I felt my heart surge with excitement and searched my peripheral for Charley. He held my hand and whispered, "This is it, Yolie!". I jumped and when I did, my soul temporarily freed itself from pain. In a slow-motion like move, I hovered over the heat and spoke to my brother. Ahhh, so this is what you felt. Amazing! I feel you. You're here. In near tears, I came down to Earth and ran into the victorious embrace of the finish line. My eyes darted in search of my mom and there she was- smiling brighter than I've seen in over four months. Her features softened and her eyes glittered with a look of pride, a broken heart, speechlessness and achievement for her son. In that powerful moment she could see my brother in me...crossing the finish line once again and celebrating a life that openly achieved greatness in everything he is. I felt invincible for myself, for him, and finally for my parents. THIS is love. Pumped up with adrenaline, I blew kisses to my mom and fought back the tears to cry. No crying today. Today, I celebrate you, Charley.

Death Sucker-Punched Us Both

My brother was fighting a level of pain he'd never looked directly in its face. He'd heard about it, he'd witnessed it on rescue calls, he'd read about it, but he never met suicide until he got sucker-punched and indefinitely knocked out. Charley never had the chance to get back up and fight some more. After all the times he placed himself in a ring with other challengers of life, fighting an opponent that manipulated his thoughts and physically wore him out, was ultimately his final defeat. Fuck Death.

I too, have been sucker-punched- I never saw Charley's death coming at me the way that it did; so quickly that more than breath was knocked out of me~ my soul is eternally scarred and shaken. I was fighting with my brother in his last fight. I was sitting in his corner showering words of encouragement and telepathically pushing him with thoughts of love and support. I. was. with. him. Everytime he took a seat between rounds, I loved him. I cared for him. I held his hands. I hugged him. I kissed his face. And no matter how much I made it crystal clear that I will never leave and love him more than I loved myself, Charley ultimately fought his last hours by himself. Totally alone. Knowing this happened while I slept, while I tended to myself, hurts. My guilt hurts. In one night, in a handful of hours, I failed him. And I hate myself for not rescuing a man who couldn't rescue himself. 

A friend of mine told me a couple weeks ago while we met for lunch at the beach, "You look lean and mean. Like you're at war". I truthfully am. I am in a mental place where no one should mess with me (in a very non-threatening way). Listen, I'm already down and the floor, so please don't kick me. And that's asking nicely. If I say something inappropriate or I'm blurting whatever I want to say or I'm acting out of character...let me. If I seem moody or defensive, it's because I am. My hourly feelings are unpredictable and I don't know how I'm going to feel from one movement to the next. That's a simple fact for anyone who is grieving. Period. If you can accept what I'm going through and respect me and my pain, then you will find a way to contribute to my struggle. Life hurts. A considerate and sensitive person wouldn't go to visit a friend in ICU who is suffering from a clotted heart valve, and say something like, "You'll be fine. One day at a time. Put the past behind you. Things happen for a reason". Oh man, don't say that latter. Don't ever say that. Because losing my brother has no reason. There is no reason for Charley dying. None. And just because you're on the outside looking in does not mean you're given a sense of entitlement. Or don't belittle his suicide by thinking you know him or what he was going through, because shit, I don't even know. No one truly knows what my brother endured his last weeks. So don't say ignorant, condescending, disrespectful words (to my mom no less), "I've been through heartache and I never killed myself". Had I been there to hear this, I would have sucker-punched that mother fucker right to his machismo jaw and spit in his face. Take that. Apples don't fall very far from the same tree, do they? 

I intended to write today's blog entry with a totally different angle and tone. But like I said, my mind switches just as quickly as a traffic light from yellow to red. Except I'm not stopping. I'm breathing so that my momentum builds up again. Patience. 

Unable to Process

"Take your time", that's what some say. I can't say that I disagree with the gentleness of that sentiment nor do I dispute it, but I am struggling with processing my brother's death, his loss, and him being "gone". I can't process it. My mind won't allow me to place him and his existence into a vast dimension that he is not here. I try to understand that I can't see him hold Mia's hand anymore or place her into his arms and love her with the strength of his heart and the arms of his might.

This past weekend I watched my dad hold Mia's hand as she lead him into one of her imaginative worlds of jumps and thrill. You know what I desperately, instantly did? I didn't even appreciate what I was looking at and instead replaced my dad's image with that of my brother's. And I could see Charley smiling down at her with a cap on, board shorts and short sleeved shirt. I could see his profile and the look of intense adoration upon his face. The moment lingered like the gaze of a crush within reach…then my vision blurred, I wiped the wish from my eyes and my dad appeared once again. Reality reminds me alllllll day of what I no longer have. I cry most every day in despair and frustration that I can't make my brother return. I plead with the still and quiet air, "I'm trying to process and I can't. I can't. I can't. Charley, I can't. You're not gone. No, you're not. No, no, no, no, no. You're still here". 

It's been 4+ months and when I think of how draining it is to move through the day, I simply cannot grasp how I must do this for the rest of my life. At the end of each day I knead my fingers into my neck and tap my heart with a heavy hand, "You made it. You made it through another day". For me, that is success. I live, even if I don't live. I push, even if my legs are weary and my spirit thrashes.
I cannot shake the pain of being orphaned by a man who loves me like no other loves me. I will not tuck my emotions away to focus on what I have versus what I don't- because who I no longer have is a large fraction of my life and my being. Most every memory I have embedded into my mind involves him. Music is no longer my friend, for it serves as a brutal reminder of all the memories with my brother that are now just memories. I can't sing along to any music between the 80's and 90's, because they either involve Charley dancing, dancing with me, flowing, break dancing, underground shows, all-ages clubs, rides in the back of his many shitty cars, proudly listening to him sing along while watching his facial expressions, living together, caring for each other, bbq's, my 30th bday party, his support, love, embrace, his life.

I'm orphaned by my brother. The solid, solitary lifeline to my father whom is now the fortunate and blessed one present with Charley and his soul. I'm envious. I'm jealous-I want to be with Charley. I have a sister and two parents, but as I'm sure they know, Charley was my number one. He IS my number one. And no matter how much I'm encouraged and almost pleaded to think of myself, I won't. Not until I'm ready. Not until I feel him embrace me with his cool breeze and whisper into me, "Yolie, you're okay. I will make sure of it. ". This, and only this, will help me move.

A FOUR-Chambered Heart

My Most Radiant Charley,

I cried myself to sleep last night on the bathroom floor.  Closed my eyes for my heart to rest while my eyes snoozed and burned in a desperate attempt that I would re-open them and you would be here. Sometimes I fold myself into my mind and hold my breath and hope that after all the struggle and denial and the shaking of my head, that I will open my eyes and life is still life with you in it. But it never is. It's just me, still, without you and your presence.

In four months I have not only developed fears and phobias and paranoia that only I can understand, but you have also shared a handful of your friends with me. I met all of them when you were alive, was told stories and experiences that you had with them, and now I'm present in their minds as though we are reciprocating the wish to fulfill your void. I asked one of them, who loves you deeply and calls you his brother, if he considers me his friend.
"What else would you be if not my friend?"
"Charley's sister"
He examined his thoughts, I suppose, and replied, "No, you are my friend".


And I suppose I think that your friends are collectively overseeing me, checking in on me, taking care of me, spending time with me….out of pure love for you. Because who else is going to perform your life for me if not them? If I'm wrong and they don't pity me, then I can only hope for a fraction of the friendship you were fortunate to have with one another.
Of course, I don't do pub crawls or dress up or run 5K's in costume, but I do cycle, rock climb, hike, run, cook YUMM BUCKET meals, laugh and smile as much as my soul feels (which isn't much right now). I'm trying, bro…I really am. No one can understand how I feel, how Yolie specifically feels and everyone wants me to feel "a little better" or feel that your loss "is a little easier" but it raw fully isn't. And I'm more than okay with feeling pain and sadness and the agony of your death, because it's not all those things that make me want to not live life. In fact, it's the agony of the rest of my life without you. Life unfortunately goes on. I have to go to Sprouts and walk the aisles you once walked to buy food for the week, I have to exercise and read, I have to get up in the morning, I have to deal with life and go through that emotions of it until I'm ready to live it.
One of my friends text me yesterday with, "It's such a blessing that people are still supporting you". She's right. When most of the 500+ people are long gone, a handful are still embracing me. I struggle with that notion because I hope it's not obligation or pity. God, I hope it's not. And the people who are no longer around, they never really were .
I received a loud text from a cousin whom we are both disappointed in. He reached out to me with a text that was both obnoxious and long overdue. Four months later and he wants to know "How's everything, cuzzo!!???". Really. And you know me, Charley. I am blunt and will tell you how I feel. I do not lie or stretch the truth to create comfort. So I communicated some sarcasm and subtle "eff off" sentiment. And that was that (shrugging shoulders).

Out of all the reunions I have encountered since your passing, there is one that occurred yesterday that brought me relief I didn't know my essence needed. The love of your life came over. It's so hurtful that she only found out you passed away a month ago. She is the only person I had to tell you are gone and it pained me to deliver the awful news that she can no longer count on bumping into you one far-fetched day while you two are with your families and over-the-moon with life. Had to tell her what happened and listen to her grief and shock and comfort this woman whose love you carried with you always. And then she so sweetly wrapped her words with ease when she said, "Carlos would never do this. It wasn't him. He would never do this to you". I exhaled. Finally…finally another person who knows you well is in disagreement with your suicide.
Thank you, Charley. Thank you for inspiring me and her and all your friends to continue rallying your life and all that you are.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Life is An Open Wound

I received my brother's coroners report this morning. I had been meaning to obtain it for some time now, but it just so happens that when I forgot all about it, it surfaced.

The first few weeks following Charley's death, I went on a rampant Internet search for details and information to educate myself on what happened and to ingrain the details into my brain. I read about the embalming process. I researched his cause of death so that I may fully understand what happened to his body and presence. I scoured over medical articles and wikipedia. I took a visit to the police station and requested a copy of his report, along with a scripted copy of the 9-1-1 emergency call I made. I frequently smelled the clothes he passed away in. I wanted nothing more than to get as close to his last minutes as I possibly could. And since then, I continue wanting nothing more in life than to be close to his soul. I love my brother, this wonderful soul, so deeply that I am focused on keeping him alive, here, with me.

I fantasize everyday about changing the outcome of our terrible reality. I envision myself asking him to meet me for dinner that night and going over his house. Or not being sick and answering his calls to me. I would've dashed the one mile to his house and stretched myself to squeeze all of my strength and love into him. Squeezed every seed and drop of "you are worthy" juice into a man who didn't truly know how much he was loved by dozens of people. My love for him…he held at a very high value. And his love for me. Since we were kids, I held him on a very high pedestal..and I still do. He deserves to be placed on a throne of honor and continuous investment. My brother could never do any wrong in my eyes. He could be a jerk sometimes and it was only me that could tell him that. It was only me who could be forthright with him and he would embrace me and my words. No one else knows him like I do. We were in sync, he and I. We were a magical speculation of invisible strings that were tied to each end of our hearts. Everywhere we went, we were together and anywhere we went individually, we were together. I live my life with him in the pits of my sun and the comfort of my arms.
And it is because I know him so well, that our connected souls empower me to know (and say) that he did not want to take his life. No matter what nay sayers say or ignorant assholes who think they knew him on a level they didn't, Charley did not want this for himself or for me or Mia or my mom. I know that in the seconds he was dying, he wanted out. I. just. know. It's not denial, it is what I know. His logical mind did not want this, and neither did his heart. People say to me, "But Yolie, he's already gone. What does it matter?" It matters to me. The emotional connection matters to me. Or people say, "Find comfort in knowing he's no longer in pain. No longer suffering". Yes that is true, but he's also GONE. He's not in pain anymore but he's also dead. How does that serve of any comfort for me? I would love the unimaginable of "He's no longer in pain, feeling better, and resting at home where he's tangible".

Do you know that I feel I'm going crazy sometimes? Picturing him beside me? I mean, RIGHT BESIDE ME. I can see his starry eyes decrease and slant in size as he smiles at me and throws his head back in such laughter of contentment and life. I can see him smile at me and see the boy in him that lives in a soul of affection and playground-filled happiness. This is what I see and hear everyday. This is what my hands willfully hold all day.

So, I drove to work with the report fluttering above me like thrown feathers to the sky. I parked my car and sat. Listening. And I felt my pent up pain claw its way out of my heart's closet and release in the form of screams and ache and anger. Over and over and over again. Three good, long, piercing screams. They resonated again and took me back to the day my screams felt like torturous death. Most days I look around for Charley. I think I'll catch him walking through the hallway or sitting on the couch or on a stool at the kitchen counter. Yesterday while I painted with Mia in the backyard, I felt okay until I was pained with a feeling of loneliness. Charley isn't here. He's not here.

The (Sad) Elephant in the Room

It's my birthday today. For me, I'm not another year older; I'm another year closer to dying of old age so that I can reunite with Charley.
It wasn't until three weeks ago that I realized my birthday was coming up only because my husband pointed it out. Oh yeah. My birthday. Grrrrrreat. I could not avoid it, but I could ignore it and any offers and encouragement to celebrate it. I had anxiety all week. Agitation began in my thoughts and was expressed through solace and the refusal to acknowledge all things party, food, cheer or gifts. I wanted nothing to do with today. Call me a brat or call me stubborn. Shit, tell me that you want nothing to do with this party I call sad, but don't tell me that I should turn the happy switch on because it's my birthday, afterall. As though it's simple for my heart to go from unhappy to heck yeah, it's my birthday! ...and I'll cry if I want to. I'm authentic. I don't pretend, there's no facade, there's no mask to make everyone else to feel better about me...because I'm okay with me and myself. I understand that my sadness is infinite and will face it head on, through and through and embrace it.
You don't think I've tried to celebrate my brother and his life rather than mourn him and his pain? I HAVE TRIED. And all I feel is more sadness because that life I'm celebrating and his cause, is gone.

I am not discounting the undeniable support and love I received today (and everyday). I am not taking away from the happiness people who love me, want for me. It's not as though a gesture of Here Yolie, here's something to help you want to feel happy, is being taken for granted. No, I reach past the texture of pain and prick it to feel the ooze of gratitude soak me with its healing touch. I am thankful. I am simply not alive enough to feel much of anything besides the band aids of aide and open-wounds.

My day began pretty easily with a morning hug from my husband and a soothing look that said Happy Birthday without the words or the customary song. I was relieved for that. I could've gone all day with just that subtle gesture. Work day came and went with just a couple hugs and nothing more. That was great. Late afternoon hit when Charley's very close friend surprised me with a surprise spa visit and the incentive to rest. I was elated. I could rest! I did my best to meditate but all I did was think about Charley. Evening fell as the beach breeze kicked into high gear and the street lamps came on. We walked down the road to meet my family for dinner. All went well. A mini candle for Mia to blow out and I held my breath and counted to five. Inhale....e-x-h-a-l-e. After-dinner coffee at my parents and that's when I felt the anxiety attack coming on. Birthday cake was placed before me, Happy Birthday was sung in a very slow, quiet-like melody and then, my choking tears came flooding out over the glow of a single candle. The elephant in the room finally shouted its demise and all I could feel was lonely for my brother. Lonely for his silly dance moves, lonely for his smile and dimples, lonely for his presence, lonely for the soul who isn't here with me to say, "Happy Birthday, sis". All I want for my birthday is to see Charley walk through the front door, walk over to me and hug me so tightly that my broken heart will immediately mend and breathe a sigh of "finally".

The World Sounds Different

I've always been a small-portion eater. Within the first two months of losing my brother, I lost 15 pounds. Lack of appetite, skipped meals, no exercise, no sunshine, no…nothing. I've re-gained five of those disappearing pounds, but I still have zero appetite. Nothing tastes the same anymore. I used to love fruit and yogurt and rice. I can't taste sweet or appealing. The sight of food makes my stomach turn and I'd rather not eat. In fact, I only eat because I have to, and when I do it's very little. It's not as though I'm starving myself, I simply don't want to eat because I can't taste anything.
Music has always been the white noise in my lives. When I want to reminisce and feel good, I listen to Motown and Stevie Wonder- these melodies and happy lyrics take me back to my childhood when my mom would turn the music up, open the windows and wake Charley and I up with, "Rise and shine!". She'd play record after record on her living room stereo while we meticulously cleaned the house. She'd grab my brother or me to dance with her and sing along. Charley would reluctantly dance with her but he always smiled while I looked on. We grew up to the soothing sounds of baritone Barry White and the tempting Temptations. Sun and light filled our home with Mom's smiling face and our dancing feet. As Charley and I grew up, our taste in music also grew into Michael Jackson and old school hip hop. Slick Rick was our favorite as we memorized "Children's Story"and sang along to it over and over again. I can picture us now, laughing on the living room floor as we would hit pause on the tape player, catch our breaths, and hit rewind, play, pause, play…any happy memory makes me cry.

My fondest  memories in my life all include Charley. After all, he's been in my life since I was born and has always been a constant. Even when he was in paramedic school and working two jobs. Even during his first year of probation as a rookie Firefighter…he always made time for me. And I'd always call him to tell him, "I love you, Charley". I miss telling him that. I miss hearing him bashfully reply, "Me too, Yolie". I miss my brother.

He's irreplaceable, as all people are. But HE really is irreplaceable. Friends, co-workers, neighbors, pets, distant relatives…are all outside of my personal circle. Charley is always first in line. I cannot replace his presence with someone else. I won't have another brother. I can't ask for a refund or an extension of his presence. I feel like I'm glued to the floor in a room with transparent walls and everyone is pointing at an unlocked door as an exit to my solace. And I see the door, and I see everyone, but I can't move unless Charley comes in to hold my hand and walk me out of the room. I am waiting for something that will never happen in real life but may happen with our spirits. I. am. waiting.

Sounds have ceased to encourage any type of indication that I'm living. I hear the parrots squawk outside in the trees but I really only see them. The airy breeze will brush my hair away from my face but I really only see my hair. Mia will laugh with such veracity and I only see her smile and miniature teeth. But I hear the fire engine and ambulance sirens. I hear my cries and sobs. I hear the silence in the backyard and in the house as I enter it. Conversations and words are noise, sometimes. It's a challenge for me to follow or actively listen, so I stay away from people most of the time. I suppose they prefer not to have me around anyhow because all I do is talk about Charley and my pain. Plus, no one really knows what to say to me (and that's okay), so I bet they'd rather wait for me to come around.
Life became a switch so quickly that when it became dark, I naturally acclimated. This is life. This is life without Charley. I know it can be better if I want it to…I know it's all mind control. When my heart decides to catch up with my mind, life won't feel as blue, won't sound so gray. Life will just be.

Letter To Myself

Dear You,

I know that life is heavy and drags your heart with every activity you do. Even if it's taking out the trash, I imagine you're also trying to rid a bit of your grief and bad memories. A lot of people have encouraged you to replace the bad memories with good memories, but every time you do that, I see that you cry because there will be no more good memories and you won't have new ones anymore. I know that you long for Charley and don't believe he's dead…but he is. And no matter how much you wish and wish he return, Yolie, he won't. That is a wish that will never come true. You can plead with his spirit, and beg him while you tug at your clothes and grit your teeth, but he isn't coming back. All that you have is your memories and his laughter and his brilliant smile. And think about it! You have 32 glorious years with him and millions of memories. If it helps, write them down as they cross your mind and as you remember them. C'mon, you write well, and I'm sure you can write them out as though they just occurred today. Your brother is a sensational, beautiful soul with such energy that he lives within you and your heart. Carry his heart with you as you continue to nurture your own. Carry his smile with you as you rally your own face to smile and soak all that your new life has to offer. Carry his positivity and outlook on the good in people and all outdoor activities. Fight yourself to get out of the house and into life. You are capable of living again, Yolie. And most importantly, Charley is with you at all times; in the gut of your soul and the limbs of your being.

There is no rush for you to accept. Hell, you don't ever have to accept. You don't have to be "okay" with his death and the loss of his life. You don't ever have to tell yourself that someday you'll say, "I'm okay with him being gone". Don't fall into every one's advice. Remind yourself that it's YOUR pain and your loss and your tears. You process how you feel comfortably doing so. Remember pulling out the weeds between the cracks of the driveway in the backyard? You did that because you've seen Charley do that. Or scrubbing between the tiles on the kitchen counter top because those agitating little ants that Charley hates will army out? You do things without even thinking you're the one who is doing them. Someday you will begin to do things for yourself first and for him second. I'm here to tell you that you can do whatever you like. If it brings you comfort to put him first, do it. But I also caution you not to get too lost within his life. You have a husband who shouldn't be compared to your brother. And family who want you to do things for you. And friends who want to see you be you again…even if it'll take a while for a piece of you to surface again.
People think that you don't want to be joyful or happy or enjoy or have fun because you'll feel guilty. This isn't true. Guilt has nothing to do with it. You are simply so sad that you lack the "umph" chip. And I understand you're socially awkward now and uncomfortable in large groups. That's okay…select the gatherings or events you want to go to and know you don't have to stay very long. It's perfectly okay that you turn down invitations. Don't worry that you will never receive another invite. Take your time to take care of yourself. Eat well, don't over-indulge, that will only make you feel worse when your pants and blouses tug at excess fat. Sleep soundly, don't stay awake every night racing thoughts through your mind. You'll be more than exhausted the following day and you still have work to get through and Mia and Alex to live the evening with. Exercise, Yolie. Running, biking, interval training is your thing. It was Charley's, too- he was your motivation. Start slowly and work your way up again. That UFC gym membership needs to get utilized-it's expensive!  Pump weight with your brother in mind. Run in the shoes you exchanged. Tack on miles to his 100 miles that he ran within weeks. And continue going to therapy…and cry if ya want while you're there…shake off the numbing phase and cry. Who cares that your eyes are swollen. This is your new life…you'll get there.

I'm always just a voice away. Love you.