Living Parallel to Time

I took more than a hiatus from writing here, knowing very well that my readership severely dropped as has my desire to accept reality. In fact, I make conscious efforts to deny time and the encouraging words, "it's almost been a year and a half since he passed..."  and instead cradle my brother's loss as though it's been a week and a half. 

My brother, young in age and also in spirit, passed into tranquility during the early morning hours of September 17, 2013 while I simultaneously slept in peace. He closed his eyes hours before my Mom called to invite him over for his favorite Mexican breakfast of chilaquiles. His last breaths of human air were desperate and emotional, as they are forgiving and empathetic, and resigned at the devil's hour of heartache and darkness. The world around him unknowingly slumbered at a level he couldn't achieve for weeks, and as a consequence of insomnia, his brain and body also severely suffered from lack of rest and thus, production of healthy chemicals.

The suppressed and judgmental refuse to face the realities of severe suicidal depression, turning their memories off and their eyes away in conscious attempt to forget that their friend Carlos, an honorable and intelligent Firefighter Paramedic, took his own life. He is gone. Just as quickly as my brother surfaces into a happy memory, a sad and awful reminder shoves in and the thought of Carlos is quickly shooed away. 
I know this because I sometimes do this. I think of him, I smile, and I almost simultaneously "remember" he's dead as though I "forgot". I don't forget, I don't suppress, I don't put off or distract myself and I surely don't convince myself "I'll always remember him" as though I won't. C'mon, he's my most favorite person and my only brother. 

My brother was robbed of a lifetime of love and opportunity and happiness and life. He was disregarded and emotionally abandoned time and time again, like a misunderstood foster child who is used and dumped when convenience has worn off. His pain ran deeper than anyone could feel or even attempt to feel. Obviously. 
There is no medication or guaranteed amount of time that would soften his wound as though it were artificial. His love for love ran hard and was far from being juvenile love. His love, my brother's love for anyone and everyone he loves, was unconditional and selfless, like that of the Ancient Greek. 
Love was my brother's grace and also his downfall. He attracted people that needed saving or needed to be rescued, and maybe, if he felt needed he mistook that need for love. I can't speak for him but I suppose I try to think as though I'm him so that I can make sense of his suicide and ultimately, find closure for him. 
Every situation is different but the end result is the same; no matter how much I go over his last few weeks like a movie reel- pause, rewind, play, pause-he still dies and I can't change it.