Reality is TEN-fold. So I Make-Believe.

Charley, my Messiah of All,

I'm angry with you. Just a bit. Anger makes me feel bad for being upset with you but it's my current state-of-mind. I get angry when you receive mail and I stare at your name knowing that the typed name I'm staring at is no longer a physical recipient. Rather than write "DECEASED" with an angry sharpee and toss it back onto the mail slot, I use the moment as an opportunity to tear up your mail and ball it into my fist. I'm pissed that mail still comes for you but am afraid it will stop coming.
I'm angry that I'm counting months and keeping track of your death. I'm angry that this life is real and you're not returning. Would you believe that I tried with all my over-extended efforts to bring you back from death? Rummaging through the thoughts you shared with me and all your undeserved sadness encouraged me to make life better for you. Even though I haven't sorted through your belongings (I imagine this won't occur for at least another year), I tried to organize your stuff in the only way I know you approve of. I looked into science to find out if anyone has been brought back to life; excavated from 10 feet under, new organs, new skin, new eyes and with its rightful soul intact. I scoured my memory for any indication that you may have been alive still when you were gently sleeping in your casket the day before we buried you into a deep darkness I can't reach. I even contemplated sneaking into the cemetery in the middle of night with shovel and rope in hand to get you out and prevent you from suffocating in dryness and solace. You died alone and now your body is alone. I'm told I will never understand but Charley, I DO! I understand why you're gone and how you got there. What I don't understand is why you. Why, WHY, wHy, w-h-y.
I fantasize about you expectedly arriving home one day as Mia and I play in the backyard, running through the sprinklers, watering the garden, drawing with sidewalk chalk, sitting in the shade eating popsicles, riding her scooter and tricycle....all while patiently waiting for you to walk through the back door and saying, "Hey, I'm home". I raise my head and beam at you, for words won't express how emotionally overwhelmed I am to see you and your face again.

I pretend you're here and my soul hugs you tightly. All I want is to be in your arms and press my face against your chest so that I can hear your heart beat. And Charley, even if you come back with no beating heart, let alone a stone-cold heart, I want you here. I'll show you what I've done with your home and my plans to expand the kitchen. I'll walk you through all the decor I added which are inspired by the colors and vibrancy in your soul. I'll tell you of my plans to make a career out of writing and how I finally applied for grad school. I'll open my arms and offer to hold you as you cry the cry no one heard. I'll devour your presence and beg you to never leave me again and promise to ask you all the questions I should've asked you the moment I knew you were thinking of taking your life.
I cannot believe you're dead. Not you, Charley. Not my idol, my hero, my messiah, my every man. Why not someone else? Why not someone who I don't love so deeply (yes, I know. Because someone else does). I have selfish thoughts, so what? I'm real and raw and that what makes me, me. I spend a lot of time staring out the window wondering where you are and how the world I'm looking at isn't a world I care for without you in it. My mind can't comprehend the magnitude of loss and sadness my heart feels. HOW has it been ten months? You were here ten months ago, Charley?! So much has happened and I want to talk to YOU about it. My reflex still reaches for the phone to call you and talk about your death with you. Only you would understand because no one else does.
I'm trying, bro. I really am. Even if I'm tiptoeing over shattered pieces of glass and emotional mines.

I love you for all that you are and all that you signify,
Yolie

Bowing Down to Birthday Day

Why do we acknowledge our birthday? Is it due to customary reasons of celebration and happiness? Do we seek a unique attention on the day we turn yet another year older only to look back on the last year to see that not too much has changed?
Birthdays, as is change, is unwarranted and part of the messily packaged decor we call life. Some call it vida for a little extra flavor, yet it's still here. Whether it's an anniversary of an event, an eventful celebration or a celebration of life, it's rallied in such a way that makes you cry with sorrow or simply cry because you are feeling EMOTION.

When my birthday creeps up on me, I usually want nothing to do with it. I'd rather skim through my day as if it were just another day of insignificance and annoyance. This entire year thus far (and for many years), I want nothing more than to acknowledge each significant day with my brother in sight. But since this is nearly impossible (and I say that because I like to think almost anything is possible, lol) I keep him alive instead. I live my life as though he were here. As I walk into the house I announce, "I'm home, Charley" so that I don't startle him or myself. And I walk straight to his room in hopes of seeing his face. It never fails; he's never home.
This year, as we've snailed through holidays and get together's, Charley's birthday reached for us like an angelic hand from the sky. It asked us to bind to one another in an effort to morph him into a love we may see with our minds and our strengths. Knowing that Sunday, July 13th would be a day my Mom would scour the day for him, she suggested we take a few days for ourselves to honor him...as though a getaway together would soften the birthday blow.
To a rented beach cottage we went- tears sealed tightly into jars for later use and beach towels to wipe our bodies of sand and wrap ourselves as the sun sets and evening life swifts in. We trudged into the four-day home of our family minus the one boastful voice and presence our unit is missing. Effort was our goal and serenity was our target. Try as we might, it was as though we were talking and living about one another without talking and living about WHY we were there. But it seemed normal, relieving almost- to breathe without crying and to privately birthday-bash without blurred vision and cake.

As a family, we decided to invite friends and family over to the house for a birthday party for my brother. After all, he is a life to celebrate, glorify and magnify with his spiritual presence intact and love overflowing from everyone in attendance. And man, did people show up! We were touched and floored that the turnout was as abundant as it was seamless. Fire reserves who'd become his close friends, extended family whom we rarely see, our own personal friends and neighbors---ALL of which moved about his home with respect and adoration.
"You're such a cool sister," someone told me. "Don't hate me for saying this, but he's dead, and you live as though he's here and honor him as you do. You keep him alive. I love it". I blushed with pride and found comfort in those words because my brother Charley thinks I'm cool, too.
So cool, that I ordered 37 cupcakes to signify the 37 years he would've turned that day. I placed a sparkler candle in each one and passed them out so that they could be individually held. When I gathered everyone in the backyard to sing "Happy Birthday", my hands shook with anxiety and I prayed I could get through a yearly verse of the song. Eyes cast downward and surrounded by smiles of mixed emotion, we sang loudly and purely. Happy Birthday Dear Charley, Happy Birthday to you! Candles were blown out and I made a beeline for the house. Into the bedroom I scurried with a cupcake in my hand, the smell of a well-it candle and the taste of salt trickling into my mouth. I stood facing the mirror in complete solace with the blinds drawn and the sound of laughter and party just 10 feet away. My eyes were Charley's eyes. I paced and watched him. Deep breath. Happy Birthday, bro. Happy Birthday.
Shaking still, I wiped my face and returned to a party that will last an entire year.

Deviate From the Norm, Folks

It's been a very busy couple weeks with yoga classes, writing short stories and finding my way to a destination I have no clue exists. I also strayed from expressing myself here on the blog so that I may gather my thoughts in full.
Fourth of July was celebrated last Friday with Americans gloriously exhibiting their liberties and pride by display of colorful night fireworks, barbeques, beach time, flags and a day off from work. And while I sat in a new yoga class on the very same morning, I experienced a twist in the day and decided instead to take "a day on" from everything rather than "a day off". As though I haven't been focusing on myself as best I can, right? Still, the idea of meditating my thoughts and sense-of-self was more appealing to me than shoving out the standard everyday routine.

Do you believe we all have a destination or inevitable fate? If we stray from the blueprint of our lives will we ultimately end up at the same meeting point or may you argue that we instead map our lives and make our own choices based on emotion, thought, logic and desire? I'm torn between the two- and even then I don't quite agree that we, as a human race and beings, should be restricted to raising our hands for one or the other- black or white, stop or go, die or live.

My brother lived his life with only the restrictions that we live by. Of course he also made his own life with the ideals and style that only he could develop. He is a particular soul with particularities my family both accepts and adores. His home was spotlessly clean with every furniture piece in its place and every rug wall decor in its rightful spot. Dishes were washed immediately after cooking, counter tops were scrubbed clean, weeds were pulled as often as they obnoxiously snagged garden space, love was unconditionally dispensed and my brother's soul is stoic and present still in the choices he made for himself and for those he loves. With no map in hand, Charley navigated life with vigor I've never witnessed and tenacity that develops in the digital colors of motion pictures and made-up characters. I am envious of the life he lived not because I wanted his hard-earned fortunes but because I aspired to be a different version of him; moving through my 24 hours with delight, influence and intent. Admittedly, I wasn't. I was stuck in a rut that had been stagnant for quite some time with some intent of my own to change the life I was living but was too afraid to leave the comforts of predictability. I turned to my brother as I always do and asked him for guidance to a place of deserved happiness and fruits. A place I know exists if I derail from the norm of my then-choices and persevere without fear in my forethought and self-love in my gut.
As I began to work on this plan, my brother was simultaneously dying. I put on my big-little-sister pants and performed beyond my abilities to show him I am chasing happiness while promising that happiness exists for him as well. And I failed to hold us both up, I failed to drop all of me for him and I failed to keep him alive longer than I did. In disappointing myself I realized also that I never wanted to disappoint him in any form while we lived as brother and sister...and to his misfortune, I disappointed our souls for not shaking him of suicidal thoughts and putting my foot down. Ha, who am I to think I could rid him of such despair and sadness? I provided a love that doesn't exist beyond he and I. Charley once lovingly said to me, "We are a hopeful group" when stating how bonded of a family we are. This is true and more truer than ever.

My brother lived his life taking days on to maintain his external love for his worlds but didn't take nearly half as much time to work on love for himself. Love for life he performed naturally well as an overachiever and a smile on his face at nearly all times, but he never took days off. And if he did, it was subtle and coy and mastered with such selflessness that very few noticed. I noticed and still do.
He is my inspiration to live vicariously through myself as I desire.