Placing Grief In A Corner

Grief is a passenger that travels with me everywhere. Whether I willingly bring grief along or grief positions itself in my back pocket, I am aware that it looms over me, around me, next to me as I sift through my daily affairs and thoughts. It's a given: I'm heavy hearted and lost within my own life…trying to identify a second, just ONE second of serenity. Serenity, on the other hand is a frequent stranger who I sometimes see on the street but it's never more than a glance. She comes and goes but never stays for very long. I only know her by name but haven't spent enough quality time with serenity to reap the root of her benefits. And so, as you see, I have company all the time.

I admit that I'm not as energetic as I was five months ago, let alone is my attention span longer than I'd like. Sometimes I'm fully engaged in a conversation only to taper off allowing myself to absent-mindedly wander and other times I'm not listening at all. My senses are out of whack. I can't read for very long, can't sing for very long, can't sit down and watch TV for more than a few minutes at a time. Any form of entertainment has to be taken in doses…probably because I'm not interested in entertainment. But I am interested in association and relevancy. Anything and everything and anyone that is closely related to my brother, I want to know, I want to hear about it, I want to smile about him. I've met so many of my brother's friends who love and adore him and cherish and carry him and his memory. Most can't relate to the depth of my loss, but they feel and experience his loss nonetheless. They love him. Honor him. Embrace their memories with him. One of his friends experienced a similar loss as mine and said to me, "Do you feel like because you're experiencing such a void, such a hole in your heart that all other pain is irrelevant? Do you feel stronger and is your threshold higher? That's because you're building character. Sitting here with me shows me that your character is already stronger". I felt as though I were speaking to myself. He was able to convert my own thoughts into words because I haven't known how (shocking, I know). He also said to me, which expressed sincere love, "When I think of Carlos, I don't think of him taking his life. Or dying in a car accident. Or from health. I just know that he's gone. It doesn't matter how he died, what matters is how he lived. And he LIVED!". I wanted to throw my arms around him and seep my thankful emotions into his own. He understands. He encouraged me to live. To celebrate Charley.
I was driving to work yesterday morning and I thought to myself I want to live. I want to honor his life. I want to be happy. There's so much to live with my Mia and for Charley… and for myself. 

My daughter rolled into the age of two this week. I told her everyday for a week that her birthday was coming up and that she was going to go from one to two overnight. I purchased a cake for her, littered the house with balloons and hastily tied her hair into two tiny pigtails. In hindsight, I was mentally distracted all day. Kept myself busy with errands as I crossed off the To-Do items and focused on nothing but Mia and her happiness. She played in the backyard with a family friend while I got the house together and cleaned. She was oblivious to what the day signified and it brought me joy to witness her smile and love without a care in her world. People showed up showing all their teeth and with gifts in hands. Everyone looked so happy to be at our home and to celebrate Mia. I looked around and admired the admiration for Mia. She. is. SO. loved. I placed myself in a bubble and did my best to keep myself together-don't talk about Charley. This is about Mia. This is about Mia- while I tended to the kids, chatted it up with adults and tried to finish a glass of wine. Cake time. The dreaded cake time.

Last year we also celebrated Mia's First Birthday at Charley's house with a big party in the backyard. As we sang Happy Birthday to Mia, I looked up and met eyes with Charley who beamed at me and looked so indescribably happy for me. It's as though the crowd was parted exactly right so that we could share that moment. THAT moment is superimposed in my mind as it was while we sang Happy Birthday once again over candles for Mia's second birthday. She had my undivided attention as I sweetly sang to my chiquis and consciously kept my eyes on her- I feared that if I looked up and didn't see Charley, I would break and fall apart and ruin Mia's moment. So I pretended Charley was standing in the back, behind the crowd, floating in an air of happiness and pride. Exhale. Cut the cake. Check. Open the presents. Check. Give Mia a bath. Check. Put her to sleep. Check. Pray. Thank you for visiting Mia on her birthday, Charley. Thank you. And then I finally cried. Cried in the dark as my sobs played a tune that complimented Mia's exhausted snores. I reached for Mia's face and ran my hands over her soft skin and thanked Charley again. Thank you, thank you for your life. You're the best surprise gift I could ever ask for.