I Forgive Myself

I forget where my car keys are, to return phone calls and text messages as I'm looking at them, to put Mia in the car, why I'm at the store and what I'm saying even as I'm saying it. And because I can be dramatic, my tone also loses momentum and the sentence goes thud. But I forget. All the time. My mom bought me an organizer to jot down my plans and reminders that can promise redemption from guilt, but I never seem to get around to using it.

I was never like this. I was the punctual person who made lists for the sake of making lists and to keep myself organized. I was the coordinator who kept everyone in check and played mediator- I didn't  mind it because I was a control freak. So instead of organizing myself as I used to, I instead talk to myself with conviction in my thoughts. Because I'm also forgetful on a deeper and ultimately more damaging level than birthdays and phone calls. I forget that I'm doing the best I can with how I feel. I forget that I'm a lovable, capable, talented woman. I forget to forgive myself for being forgetful. For being less than perfect. For feeling emotionally lost. For being spunky, prickly, a dental hygiene perfectionist, awkward and unpolished. I forget that I'm a vessel that houses my true soul and being and that I can choose to do only the things that contribute healing for my life. Even if that means that I hermit myself for days on end in an effort to just be with my forgetful self.

The sticky side of life is quite honest. This place allows you to be yourself with zero judgment and liberty. There is a hustle in everyday life that requires us to go-go-go! It is in these moments where we just want to breathe with absolutely no pressures, that we are also prodded to slow down and see the magnificence hidden in the creaky floors we walk on. Just to be present. Listen to your inner wisdom and and act when you feel comfortable doing so. Choose meaning over "what's right".
I know that I've fully embraced being in a moment or heck, moments of time whether it's hours or an entire night of solace and barefoot walks in the backyard. The cool grass dew reminds me that I'm alive. The soft chirping of crickets running their wings together like the teeth of a comb play a soothing sound to serenade my wandering thoughts and bring me back to focus. The dark silence encourages me to free my thoughts into a wild spree of love for my brother. Sometimes, I catch myself smiling at the thought of him and the millions of memories that feel real. Because they are real and he truly happened. So what if I visit a grave where his body lies with no spirit and no heavy breathing. Afterall, the cemetery isn't his final resting place, his home is. My heart is where he infinitely lives.

I'm inspired to deal with my excruciating feelings and those of my brother's. I am not taught nor encouraged to turn my back on grief and sorrow. I call on my courage to help me manage my open self and imperfect soul. I love that I'm imperfect more than I've ever been. I love that I'm human and openly scratching at my itchy wounds. Why is it so difficult for most of us to choose to do what is best for ourselves? Why don't we practice self-kindness more and share this sentiment with our worlds? I don't have answers for myself, but I choose to try to understand myself and the circumstances I'm facing. I allow. I choose. I will try to remember to embody my brother's way of living and happiness by being honest and forgiving myself for living.

Loss Doesn't Make Emotional Sense

Charley, My Heart...

I'm so lonely for you. My eyes slowly scout every detail in every picture I take hoping that I catch a glimmer of you in the background, as a blur, as a shadow as a light. I zoom in and search for a face that I miss and only see in my memory bank of delight. Even as I walk through the house at night to shut off all the lights and close the blinds, I look to my reflection in the mirror or my own shadow just praying that I see you right beside me. But what do you look like? Will you appear to me in your human form so that I may recognize you? May I hear the sound of your voice calling my name? Might your energy be so abundantly clear that I see you in your spirit form illuminated by heavens and love? Have you been present, reached for me, spoken to me and yet I have no idea? Questions, questions, and no answers.

My therapist tells me that I'm mourning, still. STILL. Of course I am. Your passing is fresh and I gladly participate in freely feeling. So what if I'm consumed by you, our memories together and your life. Another therapist has cautioned me not to idolize you so, that I want to be you and lose sight of myself- not to identify mysef with the consequences of your loss. Truth is- I've always idolized you...I've always looked up to you in hopes that I would be you someday. Like a child with her hero, I wear your name embroidered into my cape. It flows with brisk attitude and encapsulates strength, devotion, courage and unconditional love. My right arm raises high in praise of all that you do-the good in you and the human in you. With your imperfect flaws and no-nonsense atttitude, you never do any wrong for my hero is forgiven for being himself. I, as an avid admirer, strive to measure up to a man I'll never be. And I've always been comfortable knowing that I'll never be you but have been beyond happy navigating life immediately at your side.

I miss you deeply, Charley. It's a longing that I can't comprehend. Time doesn't help to heal my pain- it only reminds me that you're gone. Time darkens my pain and settles further into a reality without you. I'm comfortable with pain. But I'm also frail and vulnerable. It's as though every emotion I can possibly feel is hitting me at once and I'm either being smacked in the gut with it or dodging every other launch because I'm afraid that I can't manage anymore than I am. I'm afraid of what rock bottom looks like for me. Thing is...I'm there. My emotions affect my mental balance which affect my physical strength. I'm tired all the time, Charley. And not just tired because life effen sucks or from working or from being a Mom. It's all of me combined into all of you. You survived for six weeks and one night you couldn't see or feel straight. I'm experiencing a fraction for eight months now and I honestly question myself, Am I going to feel this way for the rest of my life? Not that loving and missing and mourning you is negative, but how will I manage my sorrow? I suppose you felt this multiplied by an unknown force so I tell myself to quit thinking and just feel.

A friend asked me a pretty honest question yesterday, "Has anything good come from losing your brother?" I yanked all my feelings from all the hazy clouds hovering over my heart and tried to make sense of it all so that he could stumble through my grey.
After verbally chicken scratching my thoughts, he instead said to me, "Say exactly what you feel".

(Quick deep breath) I want to continue living his life as though he were alive. I want to live his life for him so that nothing changes and I still have him. That's the honest truth. And the added truth is that all of you is mostly all of me. Your character, your jubilant smile, your athleticism, your drive, your ambition, your physical nature, your travel goals, your inspiration...that's me too on a smaller scale. So why not? Then he peacefully offered, "You lost your brother and your best friend and your life is forever changed". Simple words created complex thoughts and provoked hot tears. I felt like he shoved a slab of concrete into my hands and asked me not to drop it. "Too much?", he offered. Yes, too much.

Living a life without you is too much. We've been synced for 32.5 years...and synced for the rest of my years without you is how it will remain.

Love you, adore you, want to be you,
Your Sis, Yolie

Mother's Day Minus One

Sometimes I put myself in the shoes of a person who doesn't have a relationship with their mother, whose mother has passed on, or someone who's never met their mother. Would I prefer to be a blank slate and expression when it comes to owning and experiencing the virtues of a mother-child relationship or would I rather have the strongest relationship I've known from the comfort of my womb and have it disappear like a magic trick from my life? "Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all"?

The last couple of weeks have been more than rough- deep-saddened tears and desperation in search of my brother to support me in fulfilling my role as a mother, and for my own mom not to experience the loss of her only son. I. cannot. fathom. her pain. It hurts me. My only son. I wonder how empty her own soul is and how much more she searches for Charley than I do. When she reaches for him and does everything in her power to bring him back, where is she pulling her strength from? Does she rummage through a barrel of "Only a Mother Can Feel This" in search of the very tool to lure him back into the safety of her arms? What color is her heart and how thick is her fog....

As a mother myself, I can only speak to the empty role in my daughter's life in which he is so excited to share in. When I found out I was pregnant, I drove to the fire station and walked in on Charley who was cooking dinner in the kitchen. I lightly tapped on his shoulder to get his attention as my smile grew in length and my mouth said,
Hey Charley.
He looked behind his left shoulder as he does so well and smiled his gorgeous smile.
Oh hey, Yolie. What's up?
So....you're going to be an uncle!
You guys bought a dog?!
(laughter)
No, Charley. You're going to be an uncle. I'm pregnant.

I've never seen him smile so brightly. There were no words for his happiness as he embraced me tightly. I couldn't wait to bring my child into our lives so that he could single-handedly be the force in her life she doesn't know she needs. And what a lucky girl to have him for the rest of her life.
Our relationship grew fifty-fold as he nourished my soul in preparation of the little Lopez to add to our duo. And when she was born...he was speechless. He held her little body in his arms and all I could see was the life they would lead together and the man that would help me raise her. Another woman would take my first place in his heart and I gladly relinquished that position.
We had a year and a half together with him. He once sat quiety in bed of his truck while he held her face to the warm setting sun as I looked on watering the front yard. Every few seconds I'd look over at them in complete awe and admiration- they are bonded and he's so in love. I trust this relationship and I rely on him to live for her as much as I do. He said to me," I promised Mia two free passes in her life. She is allowed to call me twice to get her out of a jam and it will stay between me and her. Whether it's a ride she needs or my support, I won't ask any questions. But she has to promise to always be honest with me and never lie. As long as she can keep this promise, we have a deal." I smiled at him and nodded in agreement. My favorite man is going to be her favorite man. Life was sweet.

The weeks leading to his passing, the three of us spent nearly everyday together at the beach, playing in his backyard, hanging out on the balcony patio while we colored together, napping together and just existing as a unit. He would kiss her tenderly and gaze into a face he could never abandon.

So when he took his life, he unintentionally abandoned us. The life I fantasized about having with him has become exactly that~ a fantasy with temporary memories and conversations.

The other parent I looked to for reinforcement, is gone. I grieve the relationship she'll never have. Nevermind the "He's always looking over her..." because she'll never know the force he and I planned for her. She'll never experience the laughter and love he reserved just for her and the soft pallet only she could have developed. She will never get to use those two free passes. And I? I feel inadequate without him and try as I might, being her Mom isn't enough. If I could bring him back just for her sake and hers alone, I would. She doesn't know it yet, but she needs him. I desperately need him. And Mother's Day communicates only one sentiment for me: I'm not a mother without my brother.

Lesson Number: Never

My mind and heart are made up of emotional layers which collapse on top of each other like a sandwich with one too many heavy. Navigating death provokes so many unknown factors which don't come with an end in sight nor an empathetic gesture of "this will only sting for a few seconds". Nope, it's not a toddler injection or a prick to the hip; it's excruciatingly painful and a needle that breaks your skin in search of a vein it'll never find.

Charley loves me like no other person has. And I in turn love him equally. As I grew in spirit and maturity, I also often felt guilty for allowing him to love me as much as he does; never expecting me to reciprocate my love for him. I questioned the degree of my love knowing very well that he certainly deserved more than I was providing and hoped that I could someday love him as much as he deeply loves me. It wasn't until he passed away that I realized I always loved him more than I love myself and always validated my self-worth and value according to his perspective. He consistently told me I'm beautiful, resilient, strong, driven...a phenomenal mother and his rock. These are words I trust and believe from no one else's mouth but his. It is Charley who is a constant and consistently invested in my growth and reassured me that I am valuable. In every event in my life from childhood to now, Charley has been at my side, within reach and never more than a millisecond thought away.

As I stated in my eulogy, Charley has been the man in my life...and unfortunately for everyone else in my life who loves me and wants to build a prosthetic limb for me, they will never be Charley. No one will ever fill his shoes and meet the standard that bears his name and glorifies his soul. I measure everyone's love and loyalty against his...which I know is unfair for those who genuinely want to help me, but unfortunately for all involved, I cannot accept love from anyone if it's not his. Giving into this unconditional love to two handful of people who want to embrace me, makes me feel as though I'm betraying Charley. So I stoically stay on the defense and sit on a fence that guards my heart from any further rejection or pain. I simply cannot endure anymore. Losing Charley has been the most devastating and worse event in my life that didn't just occur almost eight months ago...it occurs everyday and spans across my now-life and that of my daughter's. I'm often at war with myself- some moments I'm angry because Charley left me knowing how much I love and need him. How could I not "despair in his departure" when a bond like ours depends on the other to thrive and live? The other side of me apologizes for being angry because I completely understand how pain took over. I grant him the desperation and hold nothing against him but my own embrace. Of course he wasn't thinking of me. Of course he didn't understand the consequences. Of course he was thinking of only his pain. Of course I'd be left behind to mend him and myself. Even in his death, I'm fighting for him. Even as his soul visits mine in the middle of my dreams, I'm guarding him and holding his hand tightly.

I'm broken. And damaged. And dysfunctional. But we all are to some extent, right? This is how I justify my state of mind- by comparing my personal trials to a culture that is all kinds of fucked up. How can anyone really want to be my friend or family or confidante or partner when I come equipped with so many layers of work? So instead of letting people in, I keep them out. I'm giving them a jump ship card before I even burden them with...me.

Life Is But a Dream

Even if I were the brightest, most intuitive mind in my circle of life, I can't describe how skewed my perception has become in terms of our lives here on Earth and how our souls survive the thrashings we continually experience.
Whether it's conscious movements or emotions we naturally feel, our souls also participate in each of these markers.

As you know, I search for my brother everywhere. Sometimes I pretend I'm not searching for him in hopes that he appears to me because I'm not looking for him. But even then, I'm pretending to pretend and I'm sure he can see right through me (literally) and knows what I'm doing even as I'm thinking it.

Just last week as I hurried home from work to quickly change before picking up Mia, I walked into the house and immediately smelled Charley. The hollow sounds of my footsteps sprung off the now decorated walls and my heels clacked across the customized hard wood floors. Walking towards Charley's room and past his firefighter memorabilia, I reflexively called for him, "Hey Charley, are you home?". But as I entered his room and only recognized half of it as his, the veil fell from my eyes and my heart dropped. Charley's not here. My shoulders slumped and my footsteps sank into sorrow as though I allowed ocean wave after wave to bury me tightly around my ankles. I couldn't move. I didn't hear myself calling for him but I somewhat did in the same breath because I really hoped I'd walk into his room and he'd stick his head out of the bathroom with toothbrush in mouth and smiling eyes. A slow walk to the bed, loud shoes came off and I sat staring at my ugly reflection with reality pointing its finger at me in mockery.
Or a couple weeks ago when I walked through the parking lot at work and saw a Tacoma drive into the lot. It was gray in color, two-door and the driver was wearing a cap. I slowed my pace and took a sharp left so that I could eye this guy in hopes that it was Charley. But after he hopped down and turned to face me I saw that his eyes were not my brother's and his height was much too short. He smiled at me and I nervously looked away, Damnit, it's not him.

My mind combats my soul every waking hour in an effort to shake truth into it and speak the fact that I know, but don't believe.
When I sleep, I often wake up with wet eyes and disappointment in my breath. My jaw hurts from clenching all night and my hands hurt from keeping them tightly fisted. Dream of him? Yes, sometimes. The first few dreams were vivid and real. He visited me and answered questions in a tone and form only his soul could and expressed neutrality in the lines of his face. It's taken months to see him smile. It's taken almost eight months for him to tell me what I've always known.
The last dream I had was a few days ago...I put Mia down to sleep and walked through the house in search of him. Music serenaded my thoughts and led me to the guest room. I opened the door and there Charley stood by the closet that cradles all his clothes and personal belongings. He motioned me in and sweetly smiled at me. I walked towards him and saw that he was at least 15 years younger with smooth brown skin and lots of hair crowned his head as it did years before age and stress took over. I reached to touch him but my arm went through his transparent figure. He encouraged me to try again and so I did. My right hand touched his shirt and it was then I realized he was dressed in white. I fingered his shirt which felt soft and warm. I looked up into his eyes as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in. I locked my arms around his waist and cried into his chest while inhaling his scent. All I wanted was to have that moment for always. My mind searched for questions but I knew better than to break the time we were being blessed with. Then he whispered, "I want you to know that I'm okay". I nodded I know and prayed that this beautiful moment was real, so real.

Then I woke up crying and wiped my face from the dream that was only a dream.