It's the Same As It Ever Was

Anyone I've spoken to who has compassionate in their heart and kindness in their words has told me, "Your brother didn't want to die; he wanted to take away his pain". This, I believe without a doubt in my mind. Had he even strategically thought about the impact his suicide would have on us, he wouldn't have taken his life. Sure he may have thought, "With time they'll be okay", still, as well as I know my brother, I KNOW death wasn't the intention.
However, no matter the times I repeat his last weeks and his last hours and the experience of discovering him...nothing will bring him back. The past has passed. He has passed away and time is passing.
I've resigned to knowing I can't change what has already occurred but it doesn't mean I have fully accepted. You may wonder why I haven't and what's holding me back if the truth is what it is...I haven't accepted that my brother is dead because he lives with me and among my family still, in spirit and in memory.
I look at my hands and I see his, I wiggle my long toes and I see his bony toes, I run my hand across the hairs on my arms and I feel the strength in his forearms as I do the breath in his soul. I believe, without a doubt that my brother is with me when I call on him, when I cry for him and when I rejoice. He's here- I just can't see him with my human eye. My faith sees him instead.

I don't want to feel deeply sad as I do everyday. It's a painful feeling that agonizes me when my mind searches for him or when my reflex looks for him. Oh yeah, he's gone. He reminds me of what's important and how to live a life I enjoy, to reject opposing forces that hold me down rather than empower my inner beauty and to uplift others with no agenda of my own. Sometimes I simply picture Charley in the next room watching TV or in the backyard weeding the garden- these notions soothe me and comfort my state of mood knowing very well that the continuity of my life has purpose.