Death Sucker-Punched Us Both

My brother was fighting a level of pain he'd never looked directly in its face. He'd heard about it, he'd witnessed it on rescue calls, he'd read about it, but he never met suicide until he got sucker-punched and indefinitely knocked out. Charley never had the chance to get back up and fight some more. After all the times he placed himself in a ring with other challengers of life, fighting an opponent that manipulated his thoughts and physically wore him out, was ultimately his final defeat. Fuck Death.

I too, have been sucker-punched- I never saw Charley's death coming at me the way that it did; so quickly that more than breath was knocked out of me~ my soul is eternally scarred and shaken. I was fighting with my brother in his last fight. I was sitting in his corner showering words of encouragement and telepathically pushing him with thoughts of love and support. I. was. with. him. Everytime he took a seat between rounds, I loved him. I cared for him. I held his hands. I hugged him. I kissed his face. And no matter how much I made it crystal clear that I will never leave and love him more than I loved myself, Charley ultimately fought his last hours by himself. Totally alone. Knowing this happened while I slept, while I tended to myself, hurts. My guilt hurts. In one night, in a handful of hours, I failed him. And I hate myself for not rescuing a man who couldn't rescue himself. 

A friend of mine told me a couple weeks ago while we met for lunch at the beach, "You look lean and mean. Like you're at war". I truthfully am. I am in a mental place where no one should mess with me (in a very non-threatening way). Listen, I'm already down and the floor, so please don't kick me. And that's asking nicely. If I say something inappropriate or I'm blurting whatever I want to say or I'm acting out of character...let me. If I seem moody or defensive, it's because I am. My hourly feelings are unpredictable and I don't know how I'm going to feel from one movement to the next. That's a simple fact for anyone who is grieving. Period. If you can accept what I'm going through and respect me and my pain, then you will find a way to contribute to my struggle. Life hurts. A considerate and sensitive person wouldn't go to visit a friend in ICU who is suffering from a clotted heart valve, and say something like, "You'll be fine. One day at a time. Put the past behind you. Things happen for a reason". Oh man, don't say that latter. Don't ever say that. Because losing my brother has no reason. There is no reason for Charley dying. None. And just because you're on the outside looking in does not mean you're given a sense of entitlement. Or don't belittle his suicide by thinking you know him or what he was going through, because shit, I don't even know. No one truly knows what my brother endured his last weeks. So don't say ignorant, condescending, disrespectful words (to my mom no less), "I've been through heartache and I never killed myself". Had I been there to hear this, I would have sucker-punched that mother fucker right to his machismo jaw and spit in his face. Take that. Apples don't fall very far from the same tree, do they? 

I intended to write today's blog entry with a totally different angle and tone. But like I said, my mind switches just as quickly as a traffic light from yellow to red. Except I'm not stopping. I'm breathing so that my momentum builds up again. Patience.