Reach Out And Connect

We all live lives that we either expected to have or imagined it would be a bit different. What we don't expect are the number of connections we make with other forces of nature such as ourselves.
The childhood friend we hold close to our hearts like the first infatuation of our teen years. Or the colleague we met in our early career that not only changed your day, but also changed your life. How about the passerby who smiled at you and exchanged a few words that have moved with you as you move through your day. Life is lived as a series of time, where it begins the moment you wake up with the one thought that follows you from teeth to pajamas, and is marked as another 24 hours of whatever "yesterday" may have been.
But how do we get to today? How much have we gone through to get to this exact moment? Losing my brother still dumbfounds me, as I expect it will for quite a significant number of years. I drive around in my car and gaze out the massive front-view mirror wondering, How the fuck am I living without Charley? How the fuck did we get here? I shake my head as if to shake off the fact that still stands true. I look up at the sky wondering if he looked up at the same sky that reflected a sadder shade of blue. I wish upon city stars that I never see and talk to a moon that doesn't smile nor tell a story of a cow jumping over it. And I realize that unfortunately, to my pain and denial, my brother is gone and never returning. No matter what I do, my love cannot bring him back to life.

Here's the thing though, he touched lives- this is true and factual. He impacted hundreds of lives, and it's proven by the numerous number of loving messages and sincere gratitude my family has received. These gestures have personally impacted me with such concrete force that I am actively striving to change for myself first and for others secondly. I admit, that like all people, I have character flaws and make mistakes but I won't apologize for who I am and what I stand for. I don't compromise my values to accommodate others unless it's for a greater cause. Call me stubborn (because I can be), but I will fight for my family and my brother's legacy. Think about it...when you weigh your "I wish i weren't so..." against all the qualities you are, don't you truly believe that the pros outweigh the cons? I do. I believe they do. I'm not a complete mess, despite my setbacks and devastations. And I believe this as a fact for everyone else. Again, I believe that beneath tough exteriors and laughter or ignorance and cruel intentions, there is a soul that deserves all the love and acceptance in existence. I stress the importance of this theory because I'm hopeful and have faith. I hope to someday live a life that is peaceful most of the time and positively challenging at others. That while others intentionally take another down to justify their feelings, I speak truths. And faith will drive me to the point I seek and the truth my brother is. I'm inspired daily to live lovingly and unconditionally. And if you don't live this way, I hope to pass you by on the street so that you may experience my smile and feel a fragment of my hope. Believe that I believe in you. I DO.

Some Kind of Peace of Mind

"You need to be at peace," she said. Those words were meant to be communicated as encouragement but came off as hard-handed instead.
A handful of people have spoken to me as though they know exactly what happened to my brother- as though knowing him for ten years gives them the authority to know "the story". There is no story. Try as people might to reference his character flaws or mistakes, they have no right to justify his death. So what- you hung out with him every couple years or exchanged text messages with him here and there, or he showered you with unconditional love for six months, and he made you smile everytime you saw him? Umm, no, you don't know him as I do. You don't know why he took his life. Speculate all you want and side with the undisclosed enemy, but I'd rather you keep your judgments and opinions to yourself. This goes for anyone who is on the other side of devastation and loss.
Loss changes us with time. Whether it's a relationship, a fallen friendship or a death, it's mind-blowing to experience going from darkness to some sense of life.
Truth is, I have one foot in pitch dark and one foot out of a sun-lit window pane. Some days I'm completely in the dark with all lights shut off and cowering in my closet.

Where can peace be found and what does it look like? Again, there is no booming voice overhead that announces, "You have arrived, my dear". I haven't been searching for this place people speak of and live to bask in it. In fact, I hear that it exists and admit that I don't care for it. Not externally, at least. "Peace from within", my brother Charley would encourage. And so I'm working on a peace I know I can feel; a peace that is tangible and reflects off the shattered pieces of my heart into my own mirror reflection. Peace for me is a moment of complete bliss' which is often a consequence of living love with my toddler daughter. She's grown rather quickly and is a gentle soul who caresses my face as I cry and holds it in her tiny hands sometimes. She tells me that she dreams of her Nino and describes the things he does or the words he speaks to her. Just today she sat up in the car seat in search of him as though he were standing across the street waving at her glowing face and excitedly happy to see her. The innocence of her soul brings me peace. If only I could live my life looking for my brother and being blissfully ignorant to his passing.

Peace, like memories, come and go. It's here for a couple of minutes and then it dissipates as I remind myself that my brother has passed. Do you want to know what my FIRST thought was this morning when I woke up? Charley is dead. Peaceful sleep but rude awakening. And so no matter what I do or how I spend my day, there is no choice with thoughts of tranquility and serenity. Reality taps me on the shoulder every few minutes to tell me what is and what isn't. I can hysterically laugh at a comedy for two hours but as the end credits roll, I'm crying and having an anxiety attack because I've crashed from my fake high. No matter the encouraging thoughts for me and my family, my wonderfully jovial brother is gone. And this tragic fact alone robs us of all peace.

Nine-Month Reality: Death Is Resolute

My Lovingly-Active Brother,

I'm running streets and strands with you in mind while running away from the pain of losing you. When I run, I am temporarily relieved of all the chronic heartache and pressure you felt- my mind clears and opens up to you in hopes that you're soaring with me and wrapped in my the peaks of my energy. Do you feel me? I focus all my thought into you and fantasize about the life we treasure together and the life you left behind. People say you had an amazing life; while this is true, your internal emotions were a daily struggle the last weeks of your life and should be respected. I too, smile and move about but it doesn't mean that I'm okay or in a better place. There's no sigh of relief exhaled from my bosom even though that's what everyone wants for me. I'm with you, bro. I absolutely understand your pain and accept why you're gone but utterly despise the anguish and trigger that cornered you into your darkest hours.

I suppose I'm coping now and I do so by running. This has become my life: Mia, You and running. Not very much socializing nor "having fun"...I'm just living with myself in mind and actively trying to reach you. Your passing has put my entire life and thoughts into perspective- everything is temporary and nothing but love and legacy truly last. THIS moment is all that matters. Not the material objects we purchase, not the jobs we maintain, not the funds in our pockets---none of that is of any significance. Because when we die, these things are picked up by others and pushed forward with the motions of life. Love, memories and honor move swiftly like the current of a strong tide; the low tide paws at our toes and soothingly caresses our flesh while high-tide and rough waves wobble our knees as we grasp the ocean air for balance.

Memories of you and I together are now flooding my mind and my heart. Most every other day I experience a trigger that sets me back for hours and places me back into day one. Day one was the most hopeless, helpless, devastating hours of my life. I can hear my screams still, as they antagonize my senses and remind me of reality. When I screamed, it wasn't a sound of fright, in fact, it was a fury of defeat and anger at the universe for allowing yourself to have felt defeated as well. I get so angry now knowing that in those last minutes, your entire life was gone. In your last weeks, you were quickly dying. I screamed because I couldn't change how death looks and feels and I still can't change that death took hold of you, Charley. I want to scream, still, in the same way I did nine months ago...exactly nine months ago on this hour and at this minute.

"Suicide is not the answer"- so posters, hot lines, resources shout. I say that for some, for some as you who felt(feel) desperate, lost, confused and besides themselves, death is the answer. There is no magic pill that dissolves anguish. There is no therapist messiah who may reach in, grab hold of, and pull pain from its roots. There is no voice on the other end of a hot line who may permanently talk you through your darkest hour and pull you back to life.

There is progress. There is struggle. There is patience. There is hope and there is faith. But to wait for all that only to experience that suicidal thoughts exist on the ocean bottom of your thoughts? I'm fortunate. I took anti-depressants immediately because I too, became suicidal at the idea of living without you and wanting nothing more than to be with you in heaven. And I have been in therapy for nine months. BUT I didn't have a chemical imbalance. I masked the deepest sorrows of losing you until I felt I could deal with it. And I am, finally. By running into your angelic arms and hoping to have the type of faith that you and I will embrace one another again and FEEL it.

I run for you. I run for hope. I run to escape. I run for our family. I run to live.
Your little big sister,
Yolie

The Hardest Words to Speak Are Also the Most Courageous

I truly believe there's good in all of us. Whether you were born to be "bad" or have had a series of "life sucks" episodes, it doesn't mean you're unworthy, undeserving or a bad person. Even if unfortunate people in your life have tried drilling negative words to rattle your core or throw rocks and hide their hands (I used to know plenty of these people), there just has to be some untouched gold in their souls that's waiting to be discovered or encouraged to be revealed. At least that's what I like to believe. It helps me to understand what I don't know.

Don't we all deserve to be heard, to be selflessly spoken to, to be loved? Love is expressed in different forms, you know. I think the challenge many of us face is 1. how to express and 2. how to receive.

Despite how much my brother was struggling with his thoughts and managing how his time was spent, he reached. People didn't know it then, but he did. Missed phone calls, canceled plans, rescheduled outings, text messages, questions, smiles…he reached in his own way even though it wasn't loud and he wasn't waving a red flag. Those who genuinely listened and loved, latched onto him, reached and pulled him in. I did~ I never released his hand. Not only did I put a life vest on him, not only did I lovingly chain myself to him in his last weeks, but I listened, I kept quiet as he spoke, and Lord- I love him. I love him hard. And I love him immensely even if he hadn't been struggling because my love is sincere.

There are terms I don't use loosely anymore. Such as "I'm going crazy" or "I'd kill myself" or "I'm devastated". Why? Because those few words speak volumes for me and my family. They're dramatically overused to express the magnitude of a sentiment. But since we know that all three phrases exist and come true, I don't use them and I don't condone them. They hurt. I'm cautious and hyper-sensitive.
And to add to this point: I NEVER say that my brother killed himself. That sounds violent and murderous. He took his life- albeit it he's dead. He committed suicide. And even then, the word suicide is ugly and stings to hear it, read it, speak it. So instead I say that he took his life. I pad the cause of his death because I can. I don't require anyone's permission to verbalize as I do. And if I could create a word that exudes compassion, empathy and love, I would. If only our culture and society would catch on…

Another thing I don't do? I don't lie. Why would I lie about my brother's cause of death. In the beginning I was in a position to say nothing. His passing spread like a plague gone wild which provided my family the courtesy of not having to place phone calls or share the devastating news. As time progressed and poked at me, I was faced with having to open my mouth not knowing what was going to be said. So when the first stranger asked me how my brother passed, I hesitated. My mind raced in circles, What do I say? How do I say it? Will she judge him? How will she react? Will she ask me how? Truth.
He took his life, my voice quivered and my shoulders shook. Silence ensued. She embraced me and held my heart to hers as I fell into her arms and cried the truth I had spoken. Her eyes locked into mine and silently allowed me to feel.

And I feel. And I cry and I deal with all of me head on. And while I do this and learn how to do this, I maintain who I am. Give yourself permission to be you.

The Stigma is Ugly. Embrace the Truth Instead.

My brother, a Firefighter Paramedic, took his life almost nine months ago on September 17, 2013.
He was a loving, vibrant 36 years-young soul who invested in everything he touched and all the lives he impacted. Loving life was his style and it showed whenever he walked into a room, chuckled through a social environment and jokingly moved about our existence with such intent and naturalness. He is loved by hundreds and respected by all.
He was not "secretly depressed" as those who speculate what happened and was not "deceiving his family" as others have discussed. He is not a coward, a pussy, weak or a disgrace to his station, his city, his profession and his brotherhood. I KNOW of the ignorant comments many firefighters have stated when they hear that he took his life...yes, he saved lives and he couldn't save himself. Try as he might, and man did he try, he was emotionally lost, had a lapse in judgment and removed himself from his life- it was the only escape for him.
I think of him all day. What a feat it was for him to wake up every morning in his last weeks and think, "(Sigh). I have to do this all over again". And though we, as "healthy" individuals may wonder why he couldn't just keep going, we don't fully understand because we're not him. We aren't in his mind. We aren't in his thoughts. The only person who can tell us what happened in those last minutes is him. And he's no longer with us, so we'll never know. What we may do is understand. Sure, we have books, websites, workshops, YouTube, grieving groups, clinical studies, but we'll still never know. I have a suggestion: be empathetic. Try compassion. Don't judge. Don't diminish, disregard or dismiss the facts. Suicidal depression and all mental conditions are to be taken very seriously.

I imagine my brother heavily tugged with the idea that as a hero himself,  how can he feel this way? I'm sure he wanted to deplete his sorrow and mental anguish...and just throw it to flames. Burn it. Char it. Disintegrate it to pieces so that he could move forward in his life. Don't you know that he tried? Therapy (his therapist assures me she noted zero signs of suicidal thoughts), self-help books, bible study, church mass, exercising, small doses of melatonin to aide with lack of sleep, and complete confidence in me to see him through. But as I've read time and time again- nothing truly works. Nothing truly takes away the pain or the depression. Victims learn to live life with depression like a bout of baggage and manage. Manage? No one should live their life in pain. I often think of the immeasurable pain my brother was in the night he surrendered to his emotional anguish and feel If he had to live another day in that level of despair-no. No he doesn't deserve it. No it's unfair. No. No. No. 

Depression is not an emotion that our first responders are encouraged to share and communicate with one another. Chances are they will be ridiculed, made fun of, mocked and be told to "snap out of it", "deal with it", "this is your job", blah blah bullshit. The stigma is ugly. The truth is beautiful. We are human. Everyone has feelings and inner thoughts. NO ONE should be blamed for having suicidal thoughts or mental struggles. The thoughts are so powerful they take over your heart, soul and body. Nothing else matters but their own pain. Just theirs. Forgive these thoughts and reach for someone with a nurturing heart and a strong hand. Seek others who may speak to their pain or yours. Know that you are not alone and others love you more than you love yourself- and they mean it. Believe yourself. Believe you are worthy. Believe that there's a chance you will make it through. Believe someone will genuinely listen. Believe that someone is willing to take over and hold you hand. Believe.