The World Sounds Different

I've always been a small-portion eater. Within the first two months of losing my brother, I lost 15 pounds. Lack of appetite, skipped meals, no exercise, no sunshine, no…nothing. I've re-gained five of those disappearing pounds, but I still have zero appetite. Nothing tastes the same anymore. I used to love fruit and yogurt and rice. I can't taste sweet or appealing. The sight of food makes my stomach turn and I'd rather not eat. In fact, I only eat because I have to, and when I do it's very little. It's not as though I'm starving myself, I simply don't want to eat because I can't taste anything.
Music has always been the white noise in my lives. When I want to reminisce and feel good, I listen to Motown and Stevie Wonder- these melodies and happy lyrics take me back to my childhood when my mom would turn the music up, open the windows and wake Charley and I up with, "Rise and shine!". She'd play record after record on her living room stereo while we meticulously cleaned the house. She'd grab my brother or me to dance with her and sing along. Charley would reluctantly dance with her but he always smiled while I looked on. We grew up to the soothing sounds of baritone Barry White and the tempting Temptations. Sun and light filled our home with Mom's smiling face and our dancing feet. As Charley and I grew up, our taste in music also grew into Michael Jackson and old school hip hop. Slick Rick was our favorite as we memorized "Children's Story"and sang along to it over and over again. I can picture us now, laughing on the living room floor as we would hit pause on the tape player, catch our breaths, and hit rewind, play, pause, play…any happy memory makes me cry.

My fondest  memories in my life all include Charley. After all, he's been in my life since I was born and has always been a constant. Even when he was in paramedic school and working two jobs. Even during his first year of probation as a rookie Firefighter…he always made time for me. And I'd always call him to tell him, "I love you, Charley". I miss telling him that. I miss hearing him bashfully reply, "Me too, Yolie". I miss my brother.

He's irreplaceable, as all people are. But HE really is irreplaceable. Friends, co-workers, neighbors, pets, distant relatives…are all outside of my personal circle. Charley is always first in line. I cannot replace his presence with someone else. I won't have another brother. I can't ask for a refund or an extension of his presence. I feel like I'm glued to the floor in a room with transparent walls and everyone is pointing at an unlocked door as an exit to my solace. And I see the door, and I see everyone, but I can't move unless Charley comes in to hold my hand and walk me out of the room. I am waiting for something that will never happen in real life but may happen with our spirits. I. am. waiting.

Sounds have ceased to encourage any type of indication that I'm living. I hear the parrots squawk outside in the trees but I really only see them. The airy breeze will brush my hair away from my face but I really only see my hair. Mia will laugh with such veracity and I only see her smile and miniature teeth. But I hear the fire engine and ambulance sirens. I hear my cries and sobs. I hear the silence in the backyard and in the house as I enter it. Conversations and words are noise, sometimes. It's a challenge for me to follow or actively listen, so I stay away from people most of the time. I suppose they prefer not to have me around anyhow because all I do is talk about Charley and my pain. Plus, no one really knows what to say to me (and that's okay), so I bet they'd rather wait for me to come around.
Life became a switch so quickly that when it became dark, I naturally acclimated. This is life. This is life without Charley. I know it can be better if I want it to…I know it's all mind control. When my heart decides to catch up with my mind, life won't feel as blue, won't sound so gray. Life will just be.