Surviving the Holidays

Last week my parents and I went to a seminar at a nearby South Bay church called Journey of Faith which my brother's extremely close friend invited us to. During the two-hour seminar, we watched a video of testimonials whom share their own grief and experiences, along with coping skills and tools. We were also divided into two groups to speak amongst a smaller circle. "My name is Yolanda and I lost my brother two months ago". I listened to others cry and share their very similar feelings of loss and anti-holiday sentiments. My parents cried, saying that they don't feel the holidays- they don't care. And truthfully, neither do I.

I moved into my brother's house a month ago with both the encouragement of the positive people in my life and the nay sayers who thought (and still think) "how could she? he died there." Charley is not going to haunt me. There's such a significant difference between haunting and visiting; haunting causes distress and anxiety and disturbance. This is real-life, people. Charley doesn't drop items, slam doors and walk down the hallway ferociously banging metal chains against the wall. He is a spirit who protects Mia and myself, who has engaging conversations with Mia and makes her laugh, a soul who wraps his energy around me and comforts me when I cry and plead for him to return. Most of the time I talk to him and hope he'll reply.
The things I do to experience a visual presence are so silly: As I bathe I write his name "Charley" on one of the glass shower walls and ask him to reply with "Yolie", I intentionally leave pennies laying around or items out-of-place so that he can move them, I intently stare at my hanging lanterns to see if they sway, I stare into the darkness (which I'm now terrified of) and strain my eyes to see him swiftly glide by. ANYTHING. I'll take anything.

My brother loved the holidays and always looked forward to Christmas even though the shift he was on at the station usually had him working the holidays. Last year we spent Thanksgiving here at his house for the first time in seven years. Thankfully we took pictures and snagged a video of him...thank God we did that. It's our last Thanksgiving with him. For the Christmas holidays, he bought a tree, decorated it and placed it in front of his huge dining room window, posted a picture to social media and exclaimed, "I loved the holidays!". He was so proud of his tree. He hadn't purchased one until last year and he purchased his house four years ago. Do I put a tree and lights up? Do I celebrate for Mia and for him? Would he want us to mope and sadly skip the holidays? No, he wouldn't. We will try to do what we can. But Thanksgiving....it's in 5 days and we don't even care. We're thankful for each other, but how are we supposed to sit around a table and see that Charley is missing? HOW??!!!

I'm Idle, Not Suicidal

Death is so final. It's absolute. There's no coming back from it...no "I changed my mind" or "maybe that wasn't such a good idea". When someone takes their last breath and they see the dimension they're drifting off to, they move forward and they are gone from this Earth-bound life with us. Believe me, I wish death weren't so final so that I can call my brother and tell him not to take his life.
"Charley! I have so many resources (as if he didn't know about them) and have so many answers. I will help you surface and use all my strength to save you". If only...

The week of my brother's death and the heavy days leading to his funeral services, I was mute and lifeless. I remember people coming to my parents house and I felt them hugging, holding and talking to me, but I was deaf. My eyes were downward-facing, my head hung as though I had no spine and a force was pulling me to the floor. I wanted nothing more than to be told none of this was real. The day we chose his plot at the cemetery, it felt like buying real estate. The far back was the most affordable, the center was the most desirable and expensive, so we chose a median which I visit every other day. It's peaceful and quiet and it's deep and vibrant like the colors in my brother's heart.

Surreal wasn't the word. It was more like a hypnotizing trick that I would never come out of. And it was frightening. All the emotions and thoughts I had been having began to swell and turn with such paralyzing force that I, too, began to have suicidal thoughts. "I can't live without Charley. I can't do it." At the time it didn't matter that everyone was encouraging me to think about Mia. My anguish was so bottomless that I couldn't fathom coming back up. I had many many nights of desperation and dark confusion. My only refuge was to be with my brother. I had two choices: get through this (which seemed impossible at the time) or take my own life to be with him. If he could do it, so could I. BUT, my thoughts never sought out the action. I never thought HOW to do it- all I wanted was the relief of seeing him again.

One night, I felt so overwhelmed with tears and panic that it occurred to me in that same moment that I was experiencing a fraction of what Charley had felt. A fraction. And it scared me. And I felt him tell me to calm down and rationalize. Breathe, Yolie, Breathe. So I did, I breathed. I breathe everyday.

I began therapy so that I can have an open forum to say and feel whatever I want with absolutely no judgment placed on me. Guidance to help me healthily grieve and a coach to push me in a brighter direction. It's not an easy journey--in fact, it's a long one assembled with high highs and low lows and the occasional "meh" days. I'm very conscious of how I'm living, but I'm also very honest with myself (as I've always been) about the realities of my feelings. I don't expect to be fine by now or in a year...I truthfully don't expect anything. I'm just being me. Taking the time for me. And doing as best I can with how I feel.
I'm also on homeopathic medication called 5-HTP which is a precursor to serotonin and helps to produce melatonin, Holy Basil which protects the body from stressors that can cause inflammation in the nervous, endocrine and immune systems. As a nice addition to my cocktail, I sometimes take a droppersful of Kava at night to restfully sleep. I actually tried the legit organic root while I vacationed in Fiji six years ago. I have to say, it works so well. I don't feel lethargic, groggy or drugged. It's simply soothing.

At the suicide walk, a suicide loss survivor spoke one poignant statement that resonated within me,
"When you lose someone you love so deeply to suicide, all of a sudden, all the people close to that person become suicidal as well". I thought, Aha! I'm not crazy. I'm not the only person thinking this way. However, once I heard that, my gears shifted into neutral and I began to slowly push on my gas pedal of survival. I will get through this season of clouded affection and misplacement. It'll take some time, but I'm still me. I'm still Yolie. I'm just a different Yolie. Fiercely loving my daughter more than I did before, embracing my family with such comfort and support, and tenderly appreciating my friends.

Two Months Too Long

My Dearest Brother,

I washed your truck today and made it shine so brightly that the evidence of your passing 60 days ago looked like a glint in the rear view mirror. As I cleaned the dirt and gunk that accumulated and clouded your sight, I thought deeply about how self-sufficient you are. How every time I need something for the house or for myself, you have it. My organization and cleanly skills pale in comparison to your pro-activeness and ever-ready traits. I feel like a fool in my own shadow and I'm completely fine with it because I have you as my inspiration. You. Always have but now that I'm throwing myself into you, I see the bar has been raised.

After washing your truck, I drove it to the cemetery to visit you. Seems silly because you're always with me, but I wanted to take your truck to you to say, "See, it's clean!! And I used all your tools and gadgets and didn't spend a penny!" (beaming with pride). It was very early in the morning and I was the only visitor in the entire lot. So I did what I've been wanting to do and screamed as loudly as I could. I heard the pain echo against the mausoleum walls and cross the wet, dewy grass and bounce back into my lap. It felt so good to scream again. To scream as loudly as I did when I found you.

Friends and family got together today in your memory~ celebrated you and all that you are to each of us. Stories were exchanged along with sorrows and the very present feeling of lingering shock. I'm still in shock. I still wait for you everyday and hope you'll come home in your physical form even though I know you're not alive....I still wait. I clean your house everyday in the very same manner you might. I buy the foods you eat and cook the meals you enjoy--all very sensible and healthy. I warn Mia against touching "Nino's things" and how you wouldn't like her to play with them. The other day I opened up the pantry and threw out all the snackages you would disprove of when you came home. In the trash they went. I live my life sometimes as though I'm you. Decisions are made based on what you might want because I know you so damn well. Your thoughts are my thoughts and I have to be careful not to get lost in you. But it makes me feel closer to you. It's the only way I know how to feel you--when I'm in pain and sad--which is everyday. I don't have "good days", I have "ok days" or "really bad days". Extremes.

People have encouraged me to accept your loss and live my life but it's too early. You once told me, "there is no timeline for grief" on a day when I apologized for seemingly judging you and encouraging YOU to move forward and not backwards. Funny how a lot of the advice we exchanged to one another has surfaced and I'm eating my own words. Even then, I can't move on yet. It's too fresh and a lot of people don't understand me...and I will accept that you're gone when I feel it's time. Right now I'm simply doing what I feel is right in my heart and not in my mind. You and I are so much alike. I love it.

Love your sis,
Yolie

Seeking Serenity

No matter how diligent I am, how defiant I am with my brother's loss, the people I speak to, the people who don't want to speak to me, I will never know what happened during Charley's last hours.
The first couple of weeks, I was numb with shock and in an emotional place I never thought I'd find myself in. I always thought I'd go first- I had a terrible fear of getting into a car collision on the freeway. I WOULD GO FIRST because Charley and my family could handle my loss. I wouldn't be such a tremendous loss. My brother, on the other hand, would die of old age, not because of deteriorated health, or perhaps perish in the line of duty. Those two are acceptable. Suicide? Taking his own life? His own precious, impressive, strong-willed, infectious, lovable, selfless life? No way. Absolutely not. Never a thought in my mind. Never a thought in his own life until he thought about it his final night.
I've read countless articles and facts on suicide. Spoken to professionals, knowledgeable individuals, suicide survivors, families of suicide victims. VICTIMS. My brother, and anyone who commits suicide is a victim to the illness. At the opening ceremony of the suicide prevention awareness walk, the MC spoke one very true statement: "Suicide victims have an illness- a chemical imbalance. They do not go from happy-go-lucky to taking their life in one day." That is a fact. Charley hadn't been sleeping well~ sleep deprivation played a huge role in his demise.

I've stated this before in a previous blog, but it helps me to repeat this over and over again. The logic helps me make sense of his illogical death. Charley swam against the waves, swam against the current as hard as he may. He kept swimming without the thought of calling for a life saving device because he didn't know he needed it. He was a firefighter. He'd been on suicide calls. He knew what the signs and precautions were. He didn't ever believe he'd take his life.

I spoke to a medium three weeks after his death and she provided some jaw dropping experiences. Shared a few things with me that she couldn't have known.
Then I saw a Reverend, who is straight and honest and provided a realistic perspective~ Charley sought MY love and insight and companionship. Mine. "There was nothing you could do. You did everything a loving sister does. He knew that. Specifically you."
Next was a spiritual pastor who encouraged me to "snap out of it" and create a spiritual relationship with my brother. To put away his clothes and belongings (not give them away) because the material things "are not Charley".
I also spoke with Charley's Captain whom I won't be seeking support or comfort from anytime soon- "You are the female version of Carlos and your presence is very powerful. Very. It's like seeing a ghost and it freaks people out. So when you come in and you're crying, we don't want to say anything. We freeze. Don't want to add to your pain". Needless to say, we both agreed that I should stay away from his home away from home, his extended family, his life of nine years. Wow, I should stay away.

People grieve differently and process in their own unique way. Grief is not like mine or my parents or his closest friend. I don't expect people to feel just as I do but I do expect my closest people to listen and try their best to be patient. Just listen. Just be there. Even if I'm not crying and talking about Charley. I would do the same for anyone. Anyone.

Channeling Charley

I went almost 45 minutes today without thinking of my brother because I was so absorbed by Mia's presence and the fun she was having in her first day of music class. As I danced around the class with a tambourine in my hand and moving my hips to a big band swing song, I watched my daughter gleefully stomp her feet and smile with such life that I forgot all about my pain. Then I paused and consciously thought, "I haven't thought about Charley", and then I was thinking of him. Duh. Then I thought, "You're here, too, and I'm sure you're enjoying me and Mia outside of you loss for once". And I proceeded to bask in Mia's life.

A couple weeks ago a friend of mine called me in a tearful panic, reaching for me while trying not to take away from my own pain. His own nephew tried, and failed, to commit suicide. My mind tipped over and I lost my balance. It dizzied and all the fright and fear I felt weeks ago, surfaced and was placed in my lap via the other end of the phone. Think, Yolie, think. I shoved my personal feelings behind the door I've held open for all to see, and focused on him and his family instead. Out poured all the resources and questions and warnings I could think of. Everything I feel I should've done with Charley, I acted with this family and nurtured my friend as best I could with words of fierce encouragement and straight talk. This would not be an easy feat, heck, no feat in sight for some time. If I could reach through the phone and shake all my post-suicide awareness knowledge onto him, and knead it into his skin so that he reeks of salvation and rescue, I would.
I anxiously awaited a call. A visit. Offered to personally talk to his nephew to provide insight and hardcore perspective. I was willing to answer almost anything, by sharing honesty and a loving attitude. The next day the family had him hospitalized and evaluated. And I received the following message:
"You helped us save his life. I cannot thank you enough. There are no words for how grateful both my sister and I are to you. We both would have been directionless without you. I mean that from the deepest part of my heart and soul".

I. Helped. Save. Someone's life.

It's bittersweet. I'm numb with envy and electrified with relief. I couldn't save Charley, but I channeled my thirst for comprehension and I channeled Charley's energy. Thank you, bro. Thank you for helping me save someone else. I couldn't have done it without you.

People Judge Because They Don't Understand

Charley taught me what it takes to process and grieve. He would walk me through logic vs. emotion and how the latter affects and clouds your judgment. "think logically" he would say. "Logic first, emotion second". It took me years and several situations to grasp his mind of all masters and look to him for objective guidance. Never weary, never judgmental, Charley would provide two sides of the spectrum, what was best for me, and how to bite my tongue and choose battles. "You're level-headed" is what he recently told me. I like to think so. I'm not quick to judge, I'm compassionate, patient, loving, sometimes selfish, and anything but uptight. My brother shaped me and always always always allowed me to make my own decision with very little weight from his own opinion. Or if I'd go to him with an issue he'd politely ask, "Do you want my opinion?" before unleashing any unwarranted insight. He respected me and everyone he knew. And if I wanted sound input- Charley was the man.

It's taken me weeks to try to comprehend HOW his mind made up his mind. How emotion superseded logic in his darkest hours, when he always taught me NOT to do that. Depression hit him so quickly he never came out of it. It took a matter of weeks for my uber-strong of a man to fall, stagger, push push push and never get back up. A trigger that was unforgiving and selfish. A trigger that hit him by surprise. A trigger that my brother, of all men, did not deserve.
Do you know that there are two types of depression? Situational vs. Neurological. I have both. My brother had both. I envision him living life with an invisible boulder on his back. Living as if that boulder is normal. I mean, come on, we ALL have baggage and some sort of depression to some extent. Who hasn't thought of leaving this life at one point of another. That thought is honest and normal.
Charley hadn't been sleeping very much, so in steps sleep deprivation. Situational depression is self-explanatory. Neurological Depression is a chemical imbalance. It has to do with the chemicals your brain isn't creating--all the "feel good" chemicals like epinephrine, endorphins, serotonin. Charley had a combo. No physical rest, no brain rest, no "feel good" chemicals, working out twice a day to exhaust himself, social social social, upbeat, positive and fighting. Fighting for a life he loved. If you know him, and I mean really know him as an individual (and not on the surface), and know him as a skilled and trained professional, then you can easily gather that he did everything LOGICAL he could think of to feel good. But when all the "feel good" chemicals were absent, how was he supposed to get through his quick-mannered depression? How?

What the general population does is judge. People judge because they don't understand. People who take their lives are cowards, losers, pussies, easy out, etc etc. Charley was none of those things. And fuck everyone (I'm entitled to anger and will not be swayed by insensitivity) who say ignorant and crude comments like that. Suicide victims do not want to die, they just want relief from the pain. RELIEF. Their pain and anguish is so desperate that they see no other way out. None. No matter how much we love them, no matter how much they have to live for, no matter their awesome careers and striking good looks. None of that matters. Only relief does. A pure dark moment of both courage and surrender. In that scary moment of sadness and irrationality, Charley took his life. Charley was embraced by God and my father and all the dearly departed. He had a relationship with our Lord while alive and even stronger in spirit. Screw all religions that state my brother went to Hell. We have a merciful God,  forgiving God. A God that opened his arms to my brother and welcomed him home as he encouraged, "Finally. I've been waiting for you". That's what I believe and that's all that matters. My faith. Charley's faith.

He Is What You Know

 

Man. My brother dressed up for 5K's and competitions and beer fests or just for fun. He was that guy. He was the life of the party. The guy who would get the dance floor started. The one who would create fun out of nothing but laughter and jokes and good-spirited people. He was da man.

This Halloween, as I lagged behind in getting Mia her costume, I came across his would-be costume for this year---he was going to be Gambit from XMen. (sigh). I found it unsealed amongst his previous costumes of a monkey, a pirate, a onesie, a 70's get up, Zorro...and I cried. Just cried. It's what I so often do. Don't even ask why my eyes are swollen. That's a given. So I thought of the best way to represent Charley by channeling his inner-most Mia.

Mia would be a mini Firefighter with a tutu. I hit the second hand store and pieced it together myself. Used hot glue, glitter, and the drive to get it right. To make Charley proud. She was the cutest Firefighter I've ever seen. And it warmed me to think Charley was walking with us while she collected candy and later crashed from a sugar high.

Just as people wear masks for Halloween and dress up as someone they aren't ordinarily dressed as, I couldn't help but think of all the crap people have speculated. YES, CARLOS IS ALL THE THINGS YOU BELIEVE HE IS! No, he wasn't depressed and keeping it from his family. No, he isn't someone who sold himself to be someone he isn't. No, he wasn't false advertisement.
He is positive, upbeat, happy, loving, respectful, giving, honest. So yes, it's shock. I can't go around policing his circles and protesting his life. Don't judge him by the way he died, remember him for the way he so joyfully lived his life. His death does not define him, damnit. His unconditional love does. So for all of you who experienced him in all his element, you are blessed and fortunate. 

Celebrate Him

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.
 

One Month In and Several Years to Go

My Dearest Charley,
One month ago this morning, you breathed life and love for the last time. You were here for 36 years and now you're freely flowing in a peaceful place I wish I could follow you to. I dreamt of you last night and you looked so sad sitting on the floor. I walked over to you and took your face in my hands and softly said, "I love you and need you. You're my inspiration and my everything. Please don't go anywhere. Stay with me". You didn't say anything but looked at me and your eyes said it all. I was broken for you. And I still am. Your loss is so profound and has created a vast ripple effect that extends to friends you went to paramedic school with 10 years ago and childhood friends from 30 years ago. Everyone wants to know why. Others have already accepted and moved on. And others still are uncomfortable with their feelings and don't know what to say to me. But one emotion is universal: you are deeply loved. I bet you never knew and are now thriving from everyone's prayers and thoughts.

 I've been raw with emotion and not caring that I'm expressing myself. After all, it's you who taught me how to properly grieve and process. I battle with time and frustration everyday. People don't know what to say so they suggest ignorant things like "It'll get better". Really? I lost my soulmate of 32 years and it'll get better? How am I doing? The ground has fallen out from under me. I see your name and it burns. I stare at your pictures all day and cannot comprehend that you're not alive and here.
It'll become BEARABLE over time. People want to provide words of encouragement but they don't know unless they've experienced a very similar loss. And since it's only been one month, that management will take years for me to get a handle around. I have our own family, a handful of my own supportive friends, and your loyal friends to help me live again.
Charley, I credit you with the very little strength I have and owe you the life you always wanted for me. I will see myself through. I will adventure the trips you wanted to take and the runs and competitions you wanted to achieve.
I'd ask you to come back, knock on my door and say,"SIKE!".....but we both know that can't be. Still, come back, please please please come back. I love you.
I will continue keeping you alive and throw you in everyone's faces. Cross my heart, hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.

Crumb of Peace

It's almost been three weeks and it's as fresh as three minutes. Three weeks means that time has in fact passed and time didn't stop. I wish this were the case so that I could process my trauma and every detail surrounding it. The most ridiculous advice is "be strong"- as though I can rummage through all my pain and anguish to be a character of stealth and survival. Sometimes I'm a rag doll with a happy face and other times I'm just a doll with a low battery life and just enough energy to move about my day. There is no time frame for grief. It's not three weeks or a month or a year. Grief occurs several times a day. I yearn to hear my brothers laugh or smell his scent as he walks past me. I want to see his wide smile and feel his reliable high-five. It's an interesting dimension- death. You never know what it feels like to lose someone you love until it happens to you. Obviously. And not just a distant cousin or acquaintance or childhood friend. Someone you unconditionally love and cannot fathom your life without. Picture your rock, your person. Now picture your beating heart being yanked out, a chunk removed, and that same heart being placed back into the cavity where your lungs are already struggling to function and your nervous system has been shocked. There's a significant void that will never change. And the world turns, as much as I don't like it. To everyone else, poof, Charley is gone. He's been laid to rest and life is back in session. But to me and my family, life is different. So I'm going to struggle and stumble and move slowly until I gain this strength everyone speaks of. Allow me to be me, please...even if it's my brothers force holding me up.