Here comes the sun...doorooroorooooo...
Even in times of glory and strength, I play tug of war with everyone's supportive arms and my own pain. People tell me I write beautifully and to continue expressing myself so that you all gain some insight into the turmoil of loss and what I'm enduring. Am I being honest? Yes. Am I being completely transparent and candid? Heck no. Am I changing lives? I really hope so. People also tell me I'm so strong-which blows my feathered mind away because THIS is my weak face. I may smile here and there but not full-heartedly and I don't feel the temporary happiness you may catch a glimpse of. I am plain sad and spend so much time playing memories and moments and experiences in my head over and over and over again. He is real. He exists. He impacts hundreds of lives (I know so because the church was maxed out and people spilled out of it). He had a distinct laugh and walk. Even the way he stood with his hands in his pockets and his legs and feet slightly apart- he exuded confidence and authority. I keep seeing his smile and the mischievous look he so often displayed. I HEAR HIS LAUGHTER. I hear him call my name, "Yoooo. Yolie". He is proof that he was here. And I do go back and forth between past and present tense because my brother is still here. He is still a Firefighter Paramedic even though he technically isn't a Hermosa Beach employee anymore. He is still Mia's Nino and she still plays with him and they blow bubbles together in the backyard. He is still my conscience as I wonder about my life and his. I will eternally speak to him and ask him to guide me.
It occurred to me yesterday as we drove back home from the Suicide Prevention Awareness Walk that no one can understand the shock of losing A CARLOS. Not just Carlos, but his type of Carlos. Does that make sense? People lose a cousin, a co-worker, a neighbor, the elderly- which few of us have significant and meaningful relationships with. How many people can you count that you absolutely believe you cannot live without? Mine are less than one hand. And here's something else...I never understood the phrase "I can't live without you"...and I would think "Uhh, yeah you can. You move on and you live life". But now, now I completely understand. Because I cannot live without my brother. I don't know how. I don't know how to think, what direction to go in, what to do with myself, how to raise Mia, how to educate myself without him. Will I be in a better place someday? Sure. In the meantime though, I enjoy the company of others because when someone comes to distract me for a bit, you're actually filling a gap in my day. You may not be filling his presence, but it's presence nonetheless.
Even in times of glory and strength, I play tug of war with everyone's supportive arms and my own pain. People tell me I write beautifully and to continue expressing myself so that you all gain some insight into the turmoil of loss and what I'm enduring. Am I being honest? Yes. Am I being completely transparent and candid? Heck no. Am I changing lives? I really hope so. People also tell me I'm so strong-which blows my feathered mind away because THIS is my weak face. I may smile here and there but not full-heartedly and I don't feel the temporary happiness you may catch a glimpse of. I am plain sad and spend so much time playing memories and moments and experiences in my head over and over and over again. He is real. He exists. He impacts hundreds of lives (I know so because the church was maxed out and people spilled out of it). He had a distinct laugh and walk. Even the way he stood with his hands in his pockets and his legs and feet slightly apart- he exuded confidence and authority. I keep seeing his smile and the mischievous look he so often displayed. I HEAR HIS LAUGHTER. I hear him call my name, "Yoooo. Yolie". He is proof that he was here. And I do go back and forth between past and present tense because my brother is still here. He is still a Firefighter Paramedic even though he technically isn't a Hermosa Beach employee anymore. He is still Mia's Nino and she still plays with him and they blow bubbles together in the backyard. He is still my conscience as I wonder about my life and his. I will eternally speak to him and ask him to guide me.
It occurred to me yesterday as we drove back home from the Suicide Prevention Awareness Walk that no one can understand the shock of losing A CARLOS. Not just Carlos, but his type of Carlos. Does that make sense? People lose a cousin, a co-worker, a neighbor, the elderly- which few of us have significant and meaningful relationships with. How many people can you count that you absolutely believe you cannot live without? Mine are less than one hand. And here's something else...I never understood the phrase "I can't live without you"...and I would think "Uhh, yeah you can. You move on and you live life". But now, now I completely understand. Because I cannot live without my brother. I don't know how. I don't know how to think, what direction to go in, what to do with myself, how to raise Mia, how to educate myself without him. Will I be in a better place someday? Sure. In the meantime though, I enjoy the company of others because when someone comes to distract me for a bit, you're actually filling a gap in my day. You may not be filling his presence, but it's presence nonetheless.
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