Rewind. Play. Pause. Stop. Rewind.

Living in the past is never a good idea, right? What if living in the past helps to heal and desperately hold onto a life that no longer exists? Is that okay? I say that it is. I'm grieving a life that I will never see again and never touch the arm of a man whose strength was reflected in his words and actions. There have been a few times that I dream of my brother and I KNOW that his soul is visiting mine. I have asked him questions he has responded to. At first I didn't want to share these dreams with anyone because I was afraid that if I shared, he wouldn't return. And he did though he hasn't in some weeks now. I have even heard him speak to me in my heart- not with the sound of his voice, but with words he's gently caressing me with. I KNOW it's him because I don't speak those words to myself (even when I'm having imaginary conversations with him). I want everyone to know that the souls of passed loved ones do exist. Where would Charley go otherwise? I don't believe he hangs around me all day- that would be a snooze fest- but he does come and go. His soul is such a driving force and of course God has put him to work!

I press rewind quite often in my life of lives. I envision myself as a child running after Charley on his bike while he looks back and laughs at me with that larger-than-air laugh he has. I close my eyes and see him dancing with me when I was 19 years old at Jamie Fox's birthday party- he's swinging his arms and wearing burgundy as am I. I reach for his embrace all the time as I tearily finger his clothes and picture the days he wore each shirt. When I had to go through his closet to transfer them out so my stuff could replace his, the chore took me all day. Not because he has that much stuff, but because I took so many moments to sit with a shirt and cry, to hold a shirt curled up on the floor, to lay with his shirt and act as though he's laying next to me, to fold each shirt and run my hands over them knowing he will never wear these shirts again. Organizing my brother's daily wear into boxes, struck me with such a force and such a reality. Why am I here at his house? Oh, it's because he's dead. Why am I organizing his clothes? Oh, it's because he's gone. Why am I reserving his bathroom necessities into a cabinet of its own? Oh, it's because he's coming back and he'll need them. 

I hit play during moments of business and when I'm going about life as though Charley is still here. When I'm driving his truck to and from the gym, the beach or work, it's only because I'm borrowing it. In fact, his back seat is still littered with his dirty workout clothes. Each shirt and hoodie is perfumed with his dry sweat. Each cap smells of his hair and the long workout he had. I. will. not. touch. them. I am respecting his space and belongings. I'm also dancing along to play when I'm with my Mia. We play and laugh and go about her life. Just her life. I include her Nino in our conversations and she will sometimes engage in her own conversation with him. I have watched my daughter play or talk with him. I have listened to her tell me she was with him or he was here. Just today during her gymnastics class and on the ride home, she announced Nino was "jumping" with her. Sigh. She's not at an age where she's making up stuff just yet. I'm envious. I want my brother to appear to me. I press play when I don't even know I'm living and I'll catch myself living in the moment. I'm strange in such a way that I will pause just to tell myself I'm playing. I really do that. And then I go back to playing, but not before quickly hitting rewind to snag a mental memory of Charley.

When do I stop? When I have crying episodes an I'm consumed by nothing else besides the undeniable pain of never seeing my brother again. Last night while I waited in the car for food, I looked into an El Pollo Loco and saw my brother. He has a cap on, a causal T-shirt and his ears are sticking out from each side of the cap. He's looking down with his back to me. I held my breath as my heart skipped and my eyes widened. I couldn't even move because I wanted to make sure it was in fact Charley. Then he turned around with his order in hand and I sat straighter and peered. I rubbed my eyes. I reflexively reached for the car door to open it…then he lifted his face. It wasn't Charley. My entire body slumped back and my soul shook. I thought I saw my brother in the flesh. Alive. Tears rolled down my face and I shook my head. Stupid, stupid Yolie. I exhaled and loudly whispered his name. To think that I saw Charley alive fucked me up. I was hopeful and rejected in the same instance. I was slapped with reality and disappointed. What I saw defied reason. So this is what wishful thinking feels like.  Then I hit rewind and completely surrendered to the idea that it is Charley sitting at a fast-food joint munching on a burrito. He is sitting within reach and I am watching his chomp on food he would never eat. I imagined him smiling and shaking his head. Rewind hurt…and it comforted me.