Unconditional Love Is A Rare Commodity

Trauma very quickly identifies emotions that always existed but somehow elevates them to a level you never knew existed. Make sense? Losing a life doesn't mean you won something in place of, nor does it mean that you lost, you shrug your shoulders, and you move onto the next battle. It's a life. That you love. And will never be replaced. There's no battle, only a defeat.

Death also ignites a fury of confusion and helplessness. You choose the clothes you wear, the jobs you have, the car you drive, the relationships you have and you can't choose when someone's life ends. You can't choose what next steps are as you do in a workplace or ordinary life decisions. No, death isn't a decision...even if it's suicide. With my brother Charley, he didn't take his life, he took his pain away. I have read several, dozens of articles that are backed both by science and personal experience, that stress suicide victims don't think beyond the consequences of their action- they don't think, "If I do this, I will be dead and my family will be devastated and I will leave them with unanswered questions and trauma for the rest of their lives...". No, suicide is an act of desperation- that's a fact.

When I mull over Charley's thoughts his last hours and the grief he was enduring, I feel nothing but empathy because he was clearly in such a lost state-of-mind that he genuinely felt the only thing he was in control of (life is chaos personified) was to remove himself of his life. And you know what? Even though my opinion is insignificant to his action, I give him full permission to do what he thought was best.  His emotional decision was based solely on HIS thoughts and not mine or my parents or his career or anything else. This is the imaginary conversation I have with him in my mind:
"Yolie, I can't live this life anymore feeling guilty and worthless. I have tried everything I can to be mentally healthy and get out of this dark place. I'm suicidal and I don't know what else to do".
"Listen, It's okay to feel scared and hopeless. I love you no matter how dark you feel or how disappointed you think I will be in your thoughts. I love you unconditionally, even if that means you want to die. Let me help you try other resources. Allow me to guide you and hold your hand through this darkness. I will put you and your needs first. Trust me. I will do everything I humanly can as your sister and as your rock. If my ideas don't help you after you've given yourself 105%, then I will support you with any decision you make. Staying or dying". 

Yes, had that perfect fantasy occurred, I would have given him my blessing because it would be his decision, after all, and when he would make it I would know that he thought it through, in hopes that he would change his mind or ultimately decide that he's tried everything….and he did. My brother tried everything he thought he should do except verbally, openly ask for "help". I don't fault him- he did nothing wrong He did what he thought was right for him. Period. Forget my thoughts and my feelings-his pain and his thoughts are priority. I'd rather work through his loss than to have him here in undeniable pain and confusion. And if that helps to grasp some tiny itty bitty fraction of understanding, then it's exactly that- a tiny itty bitty fraction of what I believe, is.

Painful, Natural Reflex

It happens to me all the time- something occurs in which I want to share with my brother and I can't.

Today I met an old school Hip Hop artist from the late 1980's. I was personally ecstatic. I finished some of the lyrics of a jam that he rapped to me. After making him feel old (yet proud), he walked away and I reached for my phone in my back pocket to call Charley. But as I unlocked the phone and his photo surfaced, my excitement dropped like a drenched sand bag and I mourned the call I couldn't make. Deep breath. My eyes glossed over and the world around me fell away- feels like that often as though the volume around me is on automatic. Could also be that my body goes into fight-mode and reactively shuts everything out so that I can center with my sorrow.
Chatter and movement faded out of scope and I embraced deep longing with my brother. It is only him that I can share that particular excitement with because he's the only person it's relevant to. He and I grew up on old school Hip Hop and Motown so he's the only person who knows EXACTLY what I was feeling. I wished so badly I could call him and he'd pick up, listen to my mile-a-minute gab, quietly chuckle and say, "oh yeah?". Man of few words sometimes but loud in substance.

It's not just a call I want to dial, but it's also a hug, a smile, a run, some news, a knock on the door or a ride. Sometimes I drive his truck and look over at the passenger seat for him and pretend he is riding shotgun. Or I sleep in his bed and pretend that I'm escaping Mom life for an afternoon and hiding away at his home, in his sleeping sanctuary, cuddling with his energy. I pretend all the time. Shit, even when he was alive, I'd pretend. You can only imagine what life for me is like without him. Someone text me after six months of distancing herself with, "i know it was hard to lose someone".
1. you don't know, 2. it wasn't hard, IT IS more than difficult, 3. that someone is my brother.
I understand that most people don't know what to say so they say nothing. Or don't want to say something that will hurt or offend me. Unfortunately for this chic, she accomplished both. Needless to say, I didn't reply and I remembered that I had forgotten about her.

For Charley's 95% of his world, he has been lost. People "lost" him. For myself and my family, we LOSE him everyday. Each day is another day that his presence is being missed, his voice is fading, his scent hangs in the air of his home, his truck smells of his musk, the cabinets and closets that house his belongings are perfumed with his aura, and everyday we reach for him. I lose a fraction of his presence everyday even though I search for him here in his home- hoping to turn a corner and say, "There you are. I miss you". God, how I wish I will see him and how I hope it's not years from now or never. I hang onto the hope that he will appear to me someday and I will be unafraid and speak to him. He will comfort me with assurance that I'll be okay without him because he has never left.

Bargaining with Reality

My bad days outnumber my good days by at least two-thirds of any given week. Not to imply that "bad" means I'm crying all day or laying under my bed sheets in the dark- "bad" signifies consumption of my brother and denial. How, how is it that the face I've known for 32 years and the laughter that encouraged my own, is gone? How can the voice that volumized my own soft-spoken character can no longer be heard except for the memories in my mind? How is it that I can't touch my brother's arms or wrap my arms around a body of love? I. don't. understand.

I go from staring at his pictures to turning my face away when I see a new picture. After work today, I made myself lunch and sat at the dining room table with a setting for one- much like my brother's daily setting. I ate in silence as I peered through the windows that overlook the neighborhood street. Trees are swaying, birds are flying low as they search for a perch, cars are crusing by in search of a parking spot, the washing machine humms quietly in the garage, food is being chomped down to bits in my mouth but all I really hear is silence. Reminding silence of why I'm eating alone between work and Mia and staring at the truck in the driveway that belongs to my brother. This type of silence bears its nails into my skin and drags pain down with every scratch. It's uneasy, it's uncomfortable and it hurts. Silence hurts. I've never been this quiet in my life (although I'm pretty quiet to begin with). At least I could always count on Charley to boast into a room and fill it with white, smiling teeth and a rambunctious presence. I could count on a laughter that illuminates every soul in the room and fills it with life and love. But today, today I sat with only images in my mind that I'm afraid of losing as I age and Charley's laugher that loudly vibrates in all parts of my heart and resonates within my lonely spirit.

I'm sorry, Charley. I'm sorry I knew you were in pain and lost amongst this life and I didn't do anything but openly love you and silently fight for you. I'm sorry I didn't take action. I'm sorry I didn't know how, bounced off the now decorated walls and echoed all the way to the my brother's comfy chair in Mia's room. I tasted salt and mascara burned my eyes. Soaked the ends of my sleeves with heavy sorrow and buried my face into hands that are identical to Charley's. I felt like one of those oversized teddy bears that are much too big for a child and yet too small to absorb my weight. I look around the home I'm building and no matter how much color I tack onto the spiritual sanctuary I live in, no matter how put together my hair and makeup are, no matter how OCD I am about keeping a clean floor and crumb-free table, no matter how much I apologize to Charley...he is not returning. I speak to him as if I can convince him to reconsider his afterlife and ultimately decide that here with me is much better than existing with God. Silly me.

Inventory of Weight

A few weeks after my brother passed, I was told that in due time I would begin an inventory of my life- friends, family, decisions- and not to feel bad about it. I could easily see how that mind-exercise would be explored later in my grief, and didn't know how to identify that time. Until now.

Considering the devastating loss I am experiencing, it's perfectly normal for me to take a step back and look at my life for what it is. Charley and I talked about my bucket list one afternoon as we were riding our bikes from Hermosa to Marina Del Rey. He asked me what is on my list to which I rattled off a good 10 ideas. He replied, "Yolie, those all seem tangible, but you're inundated with Mia". True. My daughter utilizes any of the time I have outside of work. So what do I do to make my bucket list jump off the page and grow into fruition? Re-prioritize mentally and spiritually.

I reach for the friends who are truly friends and not friends of style or convenience, extended family with whom I've always held hands and have never let go, work that I now only see as a stop-off that provides financial stability and balance, and life decisions I've been sitting on but am now getting off my ass and doing it---for my brother and the life he always wanted for me, for myself who has always wanted more substance, more structure, more light and more love, for my parents to whom I look to for unconditional support and love, for my sister who has also decided to return to school and build a career in the medical service and for my daughter Mia, for whom I would not be alive if it weren't for her. Right now, I'm in machine-mode where I'm driven by an electrified panel of voltage and power. This doesn't mean I'm not grieving nor does it mean I've accepted my brother's loss- it merely means I'm taking a detour to explore a different atmosphere one that hopefully helps me to see more clearly and more honestly.

I suppose I can say that the loss of Charley's life and his being has shown me the "realness" in my life and the people who pulled away only to attempt to return with an apology or a shrug of the shoulders- those people I don't need in my life. The situations that were dragging me down while my brother was alive, I am also shaking myself off of those energies and opening myself to new ones. I can't even tell you how many more people I know now, or the limitless possibilities that have introduced themselves to me. Sadly, so deeply devastating, that all this enlightenment has been illuminated at the expense of my brother's passing. I hate it and am also guilt-fully thankful for the legacy he has left me with. I can only hope and strive to be just like him so that when it's my time to pass, I leave everyone with not only Charley's legacy, but my own as well. Double the "BOOM!".

Going Against the Grain

Charley, my heart...

How did we get here? Here. And here to six months so damn quickly? I hear myself ask for you in the clouds of my mind and as I whisper your name all day long. Sometimes I run my voice against your name to ingrain my longing into a reality I won't accept, Charley I miss you. I miss you, I miss you, I  miss you, Charley, Charley, I miss you, as if sending your name into energies of our universe will think you back to life. I'm reading books on the Afterlife in an effort to find a truth, a real truth, or at least a truth that makes sense to me. Are you a beam of light or an energy that exists within us but on a different dimension? Does your soul vibrate on a frequency I clearly can't access? I say that I understand why you left us but what makes more sense to me is why you left you. Why you wanted to escape yourself. If only we were assured by God or some force of immense life that the way you saw yourself that dark night, the emotions you flooded yourself with, were all things psychological that were so convincing you would feel THAT way for the rest of your life. And to be reassured that you would feel that way for always, then I could say I wouldn't want that for you. No, not for you, even if that means that the only way to end your pain is to leave yourself. But then again...I could've saved you. I know I could've- I am your little big sister, Charley.

Yesterday I ran a St. Patty's Day 5K with you in mind. I organized a run with our closest friends and family and planned it with nothing but the yearning in my heart to continue seeding the beauty you would've lived. Whether that means "celebrating" you with a word I'm not quite comfortable with or extending my love for you into others who are willing to share in your memory, than I do it. I do what feels good in my being and uplifts your spirit in hopes that you will feel our love and the emotions that surround our efforts for you.

Do you feel us? Does your now-existence thrive from our outpour of love and hope for you? Because you know we have faith that when you left, you also left behind the physical pain that caused you fright, despair and self-infliction. I pray that in one swift motion, all the pain you didn't deserve was shed from your soul and left for us to dissect and honor. And I believe, against what the majority of our culture has been ingrained to believe, that you-your soul- didn't instantly feel peace because you had a traumatic exit that required soothing and nurturing counseling. Maybe your transition was a slow one that involved embraces, a love you've never felt and a soft explanation of what your soul endured. Maybe you're still feeling the effects of the loss you left behind- because bro, I know you would've never taken your life if you had thoroughly thought about how devastated we would be. Of course you weren't thinking about us when all you could think about your own pain. And that's okay. But again, had I crossed your mind and had Mia's tiny voice and tiny hand held yours, you would've stopped- whether you would've tried again some other day or not is beyond us. But you would've made it through another torturous night. See, torturous, No more torture.

When everyone left our home after a very loving and fulfilling day for you, I cried. I reluctantly admit to you that you're never returning. No matter how many imaginary conversations I have with you, no matter how much I change for you, you're never coming back. Oh, how I cried all night refusing to believe that six months is today. That I haven't seen your sensational face in six months. That I'm sleeping in your bed because you're gone. It was a very long, dark night and I didn't want morning to come. The only sound was Mia's light snoring and a sliver of light that teased my thoughts from just outside your bedroom windows. Life sucks. It really sucks. And it also offers itself to do everything that feels right. So today, then and always, I will live right by you...whatever that means to me.

Love your sis,
Yolie

Connecting the Dots

Last night I dreamt of my brother's funeral. I was wearing black- a color I didn't wear in real life- rain fell hard against the pavement, deep green leaves swayed with the wind and his casket shined with light and solace. I stood at the back of the outdoor ceremony and watched a plethora of umbrellas pop open as I allowed heavy drops shower me with sadness. I wiped my eyes and shook my head-no, this isn't happening. Then I woke up to wet eyes and a heaviness in my throat. Charley's soul stood in the bedroom and watched me cry. Acknowledging his presence encouraged my tears to stream faster as the nape of my neck began to heat up and my bosom heaved with bricks of panic. It's just a dream, my mind nurtured. It was just a dream. But Charley's presence said otherwise. Back to sleep I went hoping to wake up again and find that all of this is nothing but a slow-moving nightmare of a dream.

My brother has ex-girlfriends, ex-friends, distant colleagues, amazing friends, true brothers, positive experiences and things that were left in question. Or rather, conversations to be had. Whether he had them or I've spoken for him, I'm also working with a mental checklist of "errands" I'm executing for Charley to cleanse the life left behind and the space his soul now resides in. I want to create a "better" life for him, fix the unresolved relationships, iron out the kinks in people, blossom his house into a home, speak words for him that he may have never spoken, defend him and fight for his honor, be his bodyguard and shove the bullshit people out of our lives, severe ties with folks who are not worth our time or his, and above all, lay out this "improved" life so that I can beckon him back with, "Look Charley. It's fixed. All fixed. Even the things that didn't need fixing are better for you. See. Now, come back". This, in addtion to an infinity of reasons, is how much I love my brother. He's gone and yet I've taken the baton from his hand to ambitously run his race for him. Call me consumed, but also be quick to admire our bond.

I'm his foot soldier reaching out to people I know he deeply loved and others that are so far into his past that they are an afterthought-but I think about them. It's so important to me that they know I think of them and remind them how much my brother adores them. Suddenly, right now is about them. Charley isn't an openly sentimental guy for he is the guy who always joked and laughed and made others smile. But he is a tough, sensitive guy with support that was a tidal wave of love and hope. He can hope his way through and out of just about any situation. I know for a fact he hoped his way through his last night and came out on the other end still hoping and loving us all.
Throwing myself into the trenches and onto the wolves doesn't frighten me- it empowers me. I'm so far beyond aching that  sticks and stones don't break me and harsh words don't hurt-my threshold for pain is higher than I've ever felt and nonsense deflects off of me like a sharpened boomerang aiming for the fool who threw it. So some people don't want to talk about my brother, don't know what to say to me so they say nothing or (I imagine) can't talk about Carlos and suicide in the same sentence. I don't blame them- I'm still in disbelief. Not Charley. Not my brother. Not my better half. Life is lonely and I've become a bit withdrawn grieving his absence and wanting to resuscitate his darkest night to bring him back to light again.

Latching Onto Light

It's been a horrible, low couple of weeks. My base feeling is sadness and a sense of no direction except for the air my heart balloons when I'm with my daughter. A few mornings ago while we bathed together she asked me to sit down on the floor. I obliged. She stepped forward to caress my face, looked longingly at me as I have never been seen before, her tiny hand soothed across my eyes, leaned forward and her lips kissed mine, "I love you mommy". If I could have stayed in that moment and be coddled in a net of security and devotion, I would elect to have those frozen seconds for the rest of my human life. How can a tiny innocent of a being love me so deeply with no natural regard for life outside that shower stall?

It's incredible to me how much I can move daily for my daughter's sake only. I force myself to get out of bed, not because I'm lazy and tired, but because I don't want to face another day without Charley. In fact, my most peaceful time is when I close my eyes after long hours of denial, lay my head on my pillow and exhale. In these interrupted hours of REM, I allow myself to forget Charley is gone but I'm also looking forward to a possible visit with him. Dream after dream I search for him and his face. I'm at parties, in an airplane, being flooded by water, holding a fire extinguisher against flames, telling people, "it's okay, wait for Charley", walking a moist garden at night, being held by a person I don't know....and when I don't see my brother, I wake up disappointed only to fall back asleep with hope on my mind and prayer trickling from my mouth. Over and over again I dream, wake up, get frustrated, go back to sleep. When I finally wake up for the morning my first, immediate thought is, "Charley is gone". Forget trying to wake myself up with a positive message or light-hearted encouragement- I can't. I celebrate my brother on my terms and in my time. I hooray his life in ways I know he would approve of or bashfully embrace. And so, most of my movements are for Mia and my brother. I come in third.

A couple months before Charley passed, we talked about getting new tattoos. What we wanted, no idea but we agreed the tattoos had to be significant, stand for a message we ambitiously believe and will carry with us with no regret. Days after he passed I knew my tattoo was going to be tribute tattoo-inked against my brown skin and boasting vibrant colors that signify my love for Charley, our shared interest in music and the drive to follow our dreams. And so I scheduled appointments with a shop to ensure that the cat engraving a never-can-undo stencil into my skin is also a true-to-heart artist. We explored my thoughts and feelings and designed a delight that I will always love-nestled into my left wrist is color that emanates from Charley's heart and the limb I feel I've lost. It's honor and devotion.
It's classy and well-designed. It whispers subtle attention and beauty. It's me and my brother in the form of emotion and needle. This gesture is one of hundreds I will create with my Mia, and for the mornings I actually want to wake up to move with Charley's spirit and continue absorbing the light he shines into me.

Permission to Fall Apart

Selfishness, just like weakness, comes with a negative stigma. If you're selfish you're concerned with your own interest and have no regard for others. If you're weak, it must mean you lack strength, you're likely to break under pressure, collapse, you're frail and fragile. Negative energy and judgment is such bullshit. What our culture really needs is to make conscious efforts to be compassionate and feel empathy. Sometimes these are natural traits...but most times these need to be developed.

Everyone has a right to be selfish for themselves. I encourage selfishness, almost, because it can also mean that you are doing what you know is in your best interest or taking care of yourself. I believe that everyone is weak because it's a natural, human emotion. WE ARE HUMAN. We feel. We love. We have souls. We hate. We desire. We are selfish. We are weak. But we can't identify weak or selfish if we don't experience strength and selflessness.

I've felt weak countless times in my life when a situation was a challenge to overcome, when I've been intimidated by a new environment, when facing a different circumstance and even becoming a Mom for the first time. So when I look back at all that I bulldozed through, I can't motivate my current state of mind- simply put, I've never felt this weak....and I don't know how to come out of it. What I do know, is that I will someday. I don't know what it will take. I know that there isn't a magic day when I'll wake up and think Well, I'm glad that's over. Nope, I didn't just lose a job or a friend, I lost 32 years of someone who will never return. Sometimes I measure the depth of my broken heart to that of a broken heart. Let's see..I don't eat much, low energy, lack of appetite, sleepless nights, weight loss, uninterested in "normal" activity, endless crying episodes, triggers, can't listen to love songs, everything reminds me of Charley, and no end in sight. Looks like a broken heart, sounds like I'll recover when another man comes along, but truth is my heart will never mend and there is no other man like my brother. Sometimes I even think I can or may meet someone who reminds me of him and I'll supplement. But that's just stupid. So I'm back to mending my broken heart with aching memories and selfish longing.

I continually fall apart in bits, feathered pieces, slim splinters, a chunk of foam falls away and a patch of hair cascades down into the shower drain. When I'm sitting in the backyard watching Mia play, I'm also fading in color just as much as Charley's blue beach chair is. My skin is always dry no matter how much water I drink, my muscles ache as though I workout three times daily, my heart is sore from all the extreme beating and I'm just tired. All the time. Grief does that. It's uncontrollable and it occurs in waves. Up and down goes my blood pressure like an a bad apple bobbing in water. Head dizzies sometimes from lack of balance and thud goes my mood when I remind myself that Charley is gone. I have to tell myself that my thoughts, emotions and behavior are normal for me and abnormal for other sane, ungrieving people. Have to remind myself that I'm exactly where I should be..no rush. Like my brother, I need a marker or something to measure progress and retrogression. But with grief, there should be none. I am entitled to take my time and feel weak as long as it takes me to feel some sense of strength again. The thing about falling apart and ultimately just fall and hit the ground, is that I will put myself back together again. Even if I linger on the floor to comfort myself before reaching for some glue and quick-hardening love, I will lift.........and be someone different when I do. My pieces won't fit quite right and neither will my core, but that's the beauty of craft. I'm serious about life more than I've ever been. And with seriousness comes change. After all, that's what time does.