Let's Talk About Time

Infamous words for just about anything: It takes time.
Does it really? Does time smear your heartache with imaginary sutures and hardening glue? Does time build a ramp for you to disengage from pain and confusion? Does time wrap it's forceful arms around your frail-like being and mend you back to life?
Maybe for some it does, maybe for some it doesn't. I'll tell you what time has done for me: nothing. I personalize time as an unruly nature that we have no control of. We can't speed it up nor slow it down. We can't ask time to freeze while we grasp onto a moment or memory. We can't bend and manipulate it into a sculpture of lucidity and permanency. Time just is. And it sucks.
Change occurs within oneself. How we manifest it, suppress it, own it, discard it, is completely up to us. I personally ignore time and instead focus on myself and what I can control versus what I can't (but it doesn't mean that I don't try). In fact, because I don't like time, I've also grown to not like people very much. Call it a phase or a consequence of my brother's passing, but because I don't trust time, I'm also distrusting of people and what they think is best for me.

What is best for me is running. I run. I run thoughts in my mind as though the very action of thought will change the world I live in. I run my hands and wring them through water several times a day as though I can wash away what I've touched and frequently grasp for. I actively nourish my body with healthy meals and water to ensure that my blood is running at full capacity to support my aching insides. I run with my feet a few times of week in a desperate attempt to feel my brother running with me on my left. My knees ache, shoulders tense up, face burns from the early morning sun but my voice says Run, Yolie, run. Don't stop. C'mon. Keep going. I run to keep Charley alive and breathing and within the beats of my heart. Who cares that others who have fallen wayside don't understand why I run when he's since passed- what does he care and how does that help him? It does. I believe that while I run, my soul channels his with intents of positivity, warmth and support. Although the place he dwells may offer all the love he could manage, I firmly believe that he feels our love for him, too.
Don't you feel loved? Don't you know when someone is basking you with genuine embraces and commitment? Can you not identify fakeness, a phony or call out pure bullshit? I can. I know when I'm being coddled or toyed with. And I have zero tolerance for anything or anyone who doesn't belong in the realm I'm dizzied in.

So, I run; run to provide myself with endurance and strength for myself, my family and for Charley. While I run and seek prayer, I am feather-light and withered. I have not a thought about anything else but rallying my pain and the loss of my brother. While I run I contemplate the time that's passed and I dismiss it with all the cliche's that come with loss. As my feet tire and swell, I envision my brother's own tired mind and swelling heart and actively remind myself that no matter how painful the pavement is to my knees, no matter the amount of tears I sweat, no matter how fatigued I am, my brother Charley felt insignificantly more on such a painful level. Perspective. While I run, I have perspective. And this is how I manage time: I run. And I celebrate a life that never quit.

Your Pain Is Yours

Loss feels personal. When you're crying and confused and broken into bits, it feels like you're the only one who is experiencing such breathless tragedy. No one knows how you feel, no one can climb into your heart and soul and feel the strain of absence of and longing. No one has ever felt the way you do. And guess what? You're right. You're rightfully isolating and personalizing your pain as yours and yours only.
When someone tells you they're brokenhearted, you try to empathize as best you can with words of comfort, offer consolation for happier days and ensure the confidence they aren't feeling.
Everything is temporary, right? Everything is a phase? I believed that when I told my brother weeks before he took his last breathe, "Charley, remember, this too, shall pass". Stupid me. Stupid, stupid me for offering words I thought may resonate with his spirit and lift him out of his sadness if only for a moment. And maybe it did...for a moment. Or maybe he agreed with my sentiments because "it" did "pass". There was no way of knowing how all the words I embraced him with would quietly express duality.

I DO feel like my brother's unfair and untimely death affects only me. He and I are connected and bonded like no other duo I know. The majority of siblings aren't close or as tight as Charley and I are- I'm eternally grateful for our relationship. The majority of people aren't close or as in sync as Charley and I are- I recognize this blessing and treasure it now as I always have. But my selfish and solitary feelings doesn't mean that others aren't hurting on their own scale and carrying that sorrowful weight in a very real way. I hurt for their loss, too. I hurt for the companionship they no longer own in their lives- they own their friendship with Charley if they invested, made genuine efforts and managed it just as we take ownership of anything we may say, do, and act on. The laughter and smile they no longer rely on and the clownish jokes? Gone. The reliability of high-fives, "bro", costume get-ups, interest in their lives, social energy, etc, etc, etc? Gone. Of course they're hurting. Of course they miss him. Of course the closest to him feel some level of guilt.

Charley has two sisters, a mom, a dad and a niece. We are all hurting very differently. Can you even imagine what it's like for my Mom to have lost her son? To feel like a failure for not saving her child? No one knows. Not one person knows but maybe a parent can empathize. My Dad keeps busy with house projects by using his hands and constructing. He's in control. He's in control of the tasks Charley had in mind and the projects they are currently working on together. He's quiet but I see the loss in his eyes and the the way his smiles linger. His hugs are longer. My sister? She's shut down. She won't talk about him and doesn't come around much- but it doesn't mean she's not hurting. She lost her brother, too. She lost our only brother…a man who is a man of all sorts. The golden child. is. gone. And my daughter? His niece, his goddaughter and the little love of his life? She wakes up to a sweet thought and tells him good morning. During the day she calls for him, waves at him, tells him she misses him, has conversations with him and sees him. She sees him. Lucky girl.

I Don't Know What I Believe, But I Believe

I haven't written in several days because my feelings have been somewhat numb in regards to my brother's death and what has become of him. It's always a tricky subject-religion- whether to believe in God, a higher power or a place some of our population refers to as Heaven. I suppose I can say that I've always pondered what Heaven is but I've never deeply contemplated-and question-where it is. What does Charley do there? How does his soul expend energy and how does he thrive? How often does he tune into our human lives and is he truly, undeniable happy?
My philosophical mind dreams thoughts that sway my logic into thinking that there just HAS to be another dimension our soul returns to-one that offers comfort, serenity, education, peaceful livelihood and treasured memories of the lives we once lived here on this earth. My logic surrenders to the romance of light that is so intense we are immediately thankful for such an embrace and don't "miss" the human life, but instead continually celebrate the lives of those we love. We don't "wait" for others to join us because time isn't kept, we just are...as Mia so surely told me the other day when I told her her Nino is asleep. She argued, "No, Nino no sleeping. Nino no mimis. Nino is". I encouraged her sweetly mature selection of words and asked again where he is. She shrugged her shoulders matter of factly and said again, "Nino is". How can a two-year-old be so sure of what she is communicating to me and how can her brightly engaged mind process this thought? But she is right. Charley is. His soul is. He is neither here nor "up there". And why doe we say "up there" anyway when love exists "on earth as it is in heaven"?
What I believe is different from what another believes or what you even believe. Truth is, no one knows what happens to our souls once we pass on and leave behind the vessel of our body.
When I discovered my brother, I could only look at him as my brother and not as a body. His hands and hair were his still and his scent was his presence still, though I knew he was dead. I clung to the thought of how long he had been alone waiting for me and how lonely his soul must've felt. I punished myself for showing up mid-day rather than four hours before when I woke up to a terrifying feeling and the instant disconnect my heart cried for. I felt guilty for ignoring the persistent voice in my mind telling me to "go to the house" when it was the same voice asking me to go discover a love I lost. It wasn't until a month ago when I realized the guilt I'd been carrying was unnecessary- by the time I found my brother-even if I had stayed with him while the paramedics arrived-was no longer my brother; it was his body. My brother Charley was gone but it was his soul who waited for me and wrapped his energy around my body to brace me for the impact that I struggle with everyday. This impact hits me at random times even when I'm looking.

So today, on a Sunday when Jesus Christ rose from the dead, I visited my brother's grave and caressed his headstone as though I were running my hand over the soft skin of his face while I looked deeply into his eyes and hugged his heart, "I didn't go to church today, but it doesn't mean I don't believe. I will try to maintain peace in my heart today, Charley. I will try". And so I tried all day and I held it together, believing that my Charley dwells in a tranquility I can't reach...but exists.
When my brother died, I did as well. I died with him at a young age when life was in shambles and I could only turn to him for guidance. I died. And although I know now, today, that I can't bring Charley back to life, I can keep him alive and I can also allow others to help me bring myself back to life. I can.

Grief Etiquette Doesn't Exist

What's personal and applicable to one person doesn't translate into a universal sentiment. When someone says to me, "You'll be okay" it's because they're coming from a well-intended position that wants to extend comfort and a promise of a brighter outlook. But because our culture doesn't prep us for mortality and death, we are ignorant to what to say and do for someone who is grieving.
We go online and search for retail prices, images article and information…it takes minutes to search "support grief" or "how to support a grieving person" and I'm sure the majority of folks don't take the time to research so they imagine what's best to say.

I realize that my emotional state makes others uncomfortable. I visually experience the discomfort as I observe how people act around me and dance around me like I'm the estranged dog in the room no one wants to rescue.
"What do I say, how do I approach her, what shouldn't I say, I don't want to say anything to hurt her, I'll talk about her daughter", etc. It's almost as though I have an invisible barrier around me that people make a conscious effort to stay away from. I have a missing limb and rather than acknowledge the pain and tragedy of losing my limb and forcing myself to manage without it, people would rather not look, not make eye contact and make silly conversation with me- or no conversation at all.

Here's some advice: if you truly care about someone who is experiencing what is possibly the worst times in their human life, be compassionate even if it makes you uncomfortable. Be real. Address the obvious and ask how the week has been or how this month is different than the last or what this person is currently missing most or just hug them. Be there. Don't ask, just do. Believe me when I say that 90% of aching hearts would rather you extend a heartfelt gesture than to say nothing at all. Everyone in my world knows I'm lost and broken- I communicate this frequently so I naturally expect the world surrounding me to see that. What I don't expect is to be accepted as I am now: different Yolie, hurt Yolie, lost, Yolie, broken without Charley Yolie. My eyes see the world different and my heart thumps at a slower pace than it did before. I'm distrusting and am more raw that I used to be. I have zero patience for unnecessary bullshit or hypersensitivity to trivial matters; matters that can be solved by just letting it go or not taking it so seriously.
I envision myself walking through a demolished house all alone and am continually breaking down the remaining walls until I find myself standing with only the foundation beneath my feet and a hammer in my right hand. It's my house with my rules and my walls- don't confine me to the box I used to be placed in and don't wish that I would go back to the old Yolie or go back to being "normal". That's a person doesn't exist anymore. How could she when most of who she was, was created with Charley as a source of almost everything? I'm new Yolie with aspirations I will attain no matter the amount of people who don't want to venture with me and dreams which feature Charley as a constant source of guidance. I'd rather trek alone with sorrow as my forgiving companion that to hide my tears and my sad eyes. I give myself permission to feel exactly what is natural to me...

Fear of Abandonment- Among So Many Other Issues

I'm no expert in the subject of grief, much less am I a preacher of how to handle grief. I've only handled my brother's loss the best way I know how which is to emotionally communicate with zero filter without any judgment placed on myself.
Grief isn't the same for every person and it's not one size fits all; it's more like...the right size fits you. You meet grief as you do a nasty neighbor whom no one knows how to interact with but there's no choice in the matter- you live next door and there's no moving away there's only learning how to manage him. He's frightening, he scares the kids when grief makes you cry, he oversteps your comfort zone and won't apologize, he meddles in every space in your life without your permission, he reveals character traits you never knew existed and better yet, uncovers emotions within you that are magnified beyond manageability. He makes you feel helpless but he's inexplicably forgiving and you become fast friends. He becomes your shadow and you welcome his company...except you wonder when he'll wear out his welcome for it may be days or it may be years. In my case, it's going to be years.
I've been withdrawn as of late- a total 180 from where I was three months ago eager to be present in people's company and accepting of their offerings and support. Wanting nothing but to be embraced with their love for Charley, I reluctantly trusted their loyalty to him but subconsciously questioned their genuine interest in me. Still, I blindly ventured in a collaborative love with my arms and hands stretched out before me and my eyes on the back of my head...watching and waiting for anyone to swipe our frail legs out from under us and laugh at our unconditional love for my brother.

Suddenly, and without warning, this life and the world around me became a distrusting place. One that rejects and hurts without a moral compass or compassion. I evaluated the people we allowed into our grief and scrutinized what their hidden agendas may be. But when I found none, I also found that I wasn't convinced. So I did what my defenses suggested I do- I made my rounds and thanked each steady soldier for their service and offered the option to end their assignment with me and my grief companion. No one should feel obligated to check in on me, text me words of encouragement and positivity, offer to come over and help me out with Mia, listen to me endlessly cry with nothing to say to ease my pain or continue on this journey of loss with me. Just because his friends love him doesn't mean we have to be insta-friends...I don't have to be loved out of guilt or remorse. I gave them an out. Leave before you get tired of grief. Busy yourself with your life and don't worry about mine. "I appreciate your loyalties to me and my family but it's okay if it's time for you to move on. I understand you have your own life and don't expect you to be around while I grieve for always".
So during my therapy session yesterday and over sobs and self-abuse, my therapist looked over at me with sad eyes and empathy glowing from her face, "You're giving people permission to leave before they abandon you. You're hurting yourself before they hurt you. You're in so much pain that you are afraid to take on anymore". My heart opened with understanding and I nodded in astonished agreement. It's true- if the man who loves me more than anyone else, if he was able to leave me (although unintentional), who's to say everyone else won't? If HE hurt me, why wouldn't his friends who don't truly know me? Some of his fire crew abandoned me, his no-good unworthy callous ex-love abandoned me and my brother six weeks after his passing, and my own "friends" abandoned me the moment Charley passed. I'm terrified of being abandoned by no fault of my own. I'm keeping people at arm's length while keeping my heart guarded and my legs steadfast so I can run at any given moment. Truthfully though, while I'm terrified of feeling more alone than I already do, I'm also needy and hungry for a tangible love that I will never touch again. I can easily spend my life looking for him, tire myself out and will never trust in the bonded manner I trust my brother.

As It Turns Out, I Am Angry

A woman approached me while I was stargazed over my brother's funeral photo collage and encouraged, "It's okay if you're angry". I shook my head in disagreement and replied, "But I'm not angry" to which she of course reiterated, ""But you will be and it's okay".
I've spent almost seven months adoring my brother and openly being un-angry with him and his departure. I understand what he was enduring and it's not that I try not to be upset with him, I just am not upset. Others are-friends and colleagues and random people are because they can't make the connection between positive Carlos and in-pain Carlos. He was a private man who obviously wasn't going around tapping friends on the shoulder to say "Hey bro, I'm suicidal". He obviously tried to fight throwing in the towel. He obviously was no coward. And just because he didn't openly divulge his thoughts with my family, also doesn't mean he was deceitful.

This past weekend I encountered an experience that opened up a can of woes. Considering the power walker that I am, I pushed Mia in her buggy up a hill to the park two blocks away. A young woman was slowly walking just two steps ahead of us on the narrow sidewalk. In an effort to get around her I loudly said "excuse me" to which she ignored. I tried again, "We're coming up on your left". Nada. So I picked up our pace and walked around her. She kept on our heels and jumped around in front of us. Mind you, I'm about 50 feet way from our destination so I just let her be obnoxious at this point. She then slows down so that I have to go around her and calls me a bitch. I wasn't sure I heard correctly to which she repeated herself and threatened to spit in my face.
She evoked bullying emotions from high school that triggered confusion and a reflex to defend myself. I explained why I walked around her and to have respect for my daughter and to stop cursing and just leave us alone. She challenged, "I do have respect because if I didn't I'd beat your ass in front of your daughter". She continued to shout at me, followed me and my daughter into the park and threatened to call the police on me. Upon arriving at the sandbox, tears came pouring out and I could only sob. I was scared. And I was angry.
I encouraged myself to take deep breaths and control my anger for I could easily see that she wanted to hurt me, and I in turn, wanted her to try. With my daughter in mind and my friends as well, I went quiet and I froze. I didn't trust myself or my body and immediately prayed to my brother to help me contain what I so desperately wanted to do. Thankfully my friend swooped in with her cape and wand and put a lid on the craziness that had ensued. We left the park and ventured out to seek another. The rest of the day was a breeze until nightfall arrived.

Sitting in bed with silence hovering my mind and darkness hugging my soul, I wondered why I'd been feeling like I have something stuck in my heart that won't come up. Then it hit me-I'm angry, I'm so effen angry. Why? Why am I angry? Is it at Charley? No. Is it at the people who slander his character and his name? Not really. Is it his colleagues? Nope-I  dropped those guys a while back. Is it because he "left me?" That's not it. Got it---I'm angry because I can't change what's happened.
No matter what I do, the number of new friends I make, the amount of his friends that I reach out to, caring for his home and staying active as he would…I can't undo what's been done. I can't control this. I can't bring him back as much as I've tried, he won't ever return to this life. No matter how many times I go over his last few weeks and "make it better" for him, nothing changes. I want to bring him back in a healthy form- two very wishful thinking unrealities. I'm so pissed that I don't have another option besides CAN'T and absolution. I can't negotiate. I can't barter. I can't say to someone, "Let me speak to your supervisor" in an attempt to negotiate resolution. I simply can't.
After I identified this left-field emotion, I realized then that I wanted to hurt that girl. I wanted to release all of my pent up feelings and lash out. I wanted her to touch me so that I could vent every single wound I have onto her. I wanted an outlet that provoked me. And then I prayed again and asked for forgiveness for my thoughts and harmful feelings. I asked God to forgive me for feeling that way and wanting to hurt her. I apologized to Charley for the mere thought of wanting to project onto an innocent person (even if she was threatening me).
I was inconsolable Saturday night as I uncontrollably cried over a life I can't control. I cried until I verbalized my thoughts and accepted this newness.
I continually and lovingly pry into his life outside of me in search of consistency and assurance that yup, my brother is the same person I know within his social life and with me. The only difference is I know the best parts of him and experience his soul like no one else does. He's selfishly all mine. But I'm still angry.

Learning to Love Myself...For the First Time

I lose my brother all day, anytime that I think of him and can't tangibly touch him, see him, hold him, smile at one another. What I have now are memories that I'm afraid will slowly dissipate as my mind grows gray and my hair colors silver (which, by the way, has already begun with the years I've aged in the last few months). Memories that are molding me into the person I've always wanted for myself and the woman my brother encourages to see. I can admit that it's involuntary, in that I hear my brother rallying my strengths as I resist and tell myself I don't wanna. Magically enough, I'm growing with his spiritual love. Growing signifies change and change is not something I want...because for me, it also means I am moving forward without him, and that's something I won't force myself to do- live without him. I'm obviously living because I wake up everyday and move. I eat. I smile. I love. I cry. And I feel sorry for myself for the immense loss I endure everyday.

We're coming up on seven months of his passing and I wonder what I must sound like to people who listen to me unload the weight of my sadness and my utter and complete confusion. I try to express my desperate longing for his energy, but of course, I'm just a grieving sister who won't let go and let be. Who won't accept life for what it now is and won't move forward with my brother in my heart and not in the webs of my fears and guilt. There's no expiration with grief and the emotions associated with it, especially when the loss is a life. Why should I wake up one day, shake it off and tell myself to move forward? You know, I imagine my brother in my place and how he would be if I were the one who died and how he'd be handling my absence...and I know he'd be in the same emotional place, the same level of grief if not more. He'd feel like all of who he is failed me, question himself and how I slipped through his fingers which held me so tightly. I wouldn't want that pain for him just the same as he wouldn't want this pain for me.

He is my team of one and so much more than my brother. I lost my mentor, my guide, my cheerleader, my parent, my savior, my best friend, my pillow and my cold shower, my warm blanket fresh out of the dryer, my happy sun and my night's prayer, my athletic coach and above all, the man who loves me more than I love myself. I lost a lot of people beautifully embalmed into one. And I am blessed to have so many roles and so many loves growing with me. Now though, I don't tangibly have him here (and I say that for those who argue he's "still here") to be those people for me. I have been stripped down to my core and my voice is gone. I must identify myself with just my own eyes and my own heart, and let me tell you, it's scary; I'm vulnerable and fierce. I'm at war with everyone and anything that smites my way. I don't like who I am without him and fear that I'm not as good of a mother to my daughter without my brother. I'll continually eff up because I won't be able to look to him for reinforcement and giggles for Mia. I'm a less-than-average parent now...I rely on him to be my counterpart and all of my balances-failures and successes. Looking at myself for who I truly am ignites a fury of drive to not feel ugly and abandoned....to utilize the pain and channel the fury into love for myself. I have to love myself for all of me and all of my potential. I have to (slowly) put my little big sister pants on and step outside. Learning to love myself for the first time will take some time but I pray and beg my brother that I'm looking in the right direction, even if he's pulling me from a heaven I can't see.