Mid-Grief Crisis

Pain is comforting. "Eventually" and "the process" are safe places to be and dwell. I like it here. In this place I am free to take my time with my grief and drag my feet as long I'd like. In this place I don't have to act normal to make others feel comfortable or act appropriately to prove that I'm on the mend and "better". I admit that I'm vulnerable and am more sensitive, but that doesn't mean everyone should walk on eggshells around me. And I'm gullible when it comes to anything that speaks to the afterlife. I read as much as I can on true-life experiences and purchase books to get some insight on how to communicate with my brother or how to know what the signs are when he comes around.
I listen to silence as though the quiet is going to make a sound and reach for me. I peer into darkness and look for a silouette or any unusual movement I wouldn't see when the blinds are drawn and the soft sun is beaming into our home. I twitch my nose in search of odors that are familiar to me like the smell of Charley's sweat. I use all my senses in hopes to capture a second with him, a second to validate his presence and reassure me that he hasn't left my side. Death, like all foreign experiences, leads to stress which will manifest and spill over like a soda pop being shaken one to many times. Last friday night was the worst anxiety attack I've experienced, except it was driven by panic and the flashbacks of denial. It was scary. A scary ten minutes that sucked by lungs dry and shook my nerves so badly I ached afterwards and put myself to bed so that my entire self could recover.

A month before my brother's last day, he and I wanted to take a last-minute trip to Hawaii. The rates and prices were understandably outrageous, but we didn't care- serenity was calling my brother and all I wanted was to lightly pack his heart and place it between the two of us. He was falling into bits with the hope of  a cure in sight, as I affectionately caught each piece of his being and cradled them in my own heart and hands. After a guilt trip of being an irresponsible parent, I didn't go and promised Charley we would get away within a couple of weeks. Those weeks came and went just as quickly as a lucky dodged bullet and my brother and I never made it to Hawaii. We only made it as far as the long-stretches of beach 2.5 miles from our home where we sat for hours, ran for miles, sweat ounces and shared conversations that have paved the direction I have begun to navigate. These deep-seeded conversations were intended to encourage and inspire me to live my life. Live my life the way my brother did- to the ultimate fullest.

Everyone is familiar with the overused, "Life is short", but one never knows the true significance of that staple until a life vanishes and all that's left are memories and regrets. I will not continue to live my life in motion as I wake up to and robotically lay my head down to; I will live my life with breath, ease and a spark that surrounds my soul with light and love. So, for Charley and because of Charley, I am more awake now than I've ever been. Sadness and a very warm darkness resonate on my surface, but life is also calling me.

Tomorrow I leave for Hawaii, and it's a solo trip. My intentions are clear: sleep, rest, read, write, meditate and be with my brother. Just be. Spend time with him and my thoughts. Give myself the attention and nourishment I deserve. Do anything I want without a reachable care. Fulfill the last-minute trip I am destined to take with Charley. Mourn. Cry. Scream into the warm Aloha waters and float in a sea of sun. Stare into the sunset while I imagine my brother sitting next to me and holding my hand. Pretend I have my arms around him as he sinks into my flesh and inhales unconditional love. Explore some clarity and try to forgive myself for not saving his life. Be Charley's sister. Love myself more than I ever have. Pray for him more than I pray for myself. Channel Charley and all that he wants for me. And...hopefully, hopefully come back a few pounds grief-lighter than I did when I landed. And if I don't, well, he still loves me.