Reach Out And Connect

We all live lives that we either expected to have or imagined it would be a bit different. What we don't expect are the number of connections we make with other forces of nature such as ourselves.
The childhood friend we hold close to our hearts like the first infatuation of our teen years. Or the colleague we met in our early career that not only changed your day, but also changed your life. How about the passerby who smiled at you and exchanged a few words that have moved with you as you move through your day. Life is lived as a series of time, where it begins the moment you wake up with the one thought that follows you from teeth to pajamas, and is marked as another 24 hours of whatever "yesterday" may have been.
But how do we get to today? How much have we gone through to get to this exact moment? Losing my brother still dumbfounds me, as I expect it will for quite a significant number of years. I drive around in my car and gaze out the massive front-view mirror wondering, How the fuck am I living without Charley? How the fuck did we get here? I shake my head as if to shake off the fact that still stands true. I look up at the sky wondering if he looked up at the same sky that reflected a sadder shade of blue. I wish upon city stars that I never see and talk to a moon that doesn't smile nor tell a story of a cow jumping over it. And I realize that unfortunately, to my pain and denial, my brother is gone and never returning. No matter what I do, my love cannot bring him back to life.

Here's the thing though, he touched lives- this is true and factual. He impacted hundreds of lives, and it's proven by the numerous number of loving messages and sincere gratitude my family has received. These gestures have personally impacted me with such concrete force that I am actively striving to change for myself first and for others secondly. I admit, that like all people, I have character flaws and make mistakes but I won't apologize for who I am and what I stand for. I don't compromise my values to accommodate others unless it's for a greater cause. Call me stubborn (because I can be), but I will fight for my family and my brother's legacy. Think about it...when you weigh your "I wish i weren't so..." against all the qualities you are, don't you truly believe that the pros outweigh the cons? I do. I believe they do. I'm not a complete mess, despite my setbacks and devastations. And I believe this as a fact for everyone else. Again, I believe that beneath tough exteriors and laughter or ignorance and cruel intentions, there is a soul that deserves all the love and acceptance in existence. I stress the importance of this theory because I'm hopeful and have faith. I hope to someday live a life that is peaceful most of the time and positively challenging at others. That while others intentionally take another down to justify their feelings, I speak truths. And faith will drive me to the point I seek and the truth my brother is. I'm inspired daily to live lovingly and unconditionally. And if you don't live this way, I hope to pass you by on the street so that you may experience my smile and feel a fragment of my hope. Believe that I believe in you. I DO.

Some Kind of Peace of Mind

"You need to be at peace," she said. Those words were meant to be communicated as encouragement but came off as hard-handed instead.
A handful of people have spoken to me as though they know exactly what happened to my brother- as though knowing him for ten years gives them the authority to know "the story". There is no story. Try as people might to reference his character flaws or mistakes, they have no right to justify his death. So what- you hung out with him every couple years or exchanged text messages with him here and there, or he showered you with unconditional love for six months, and he made you smile everytime you saw him? Umm, no, you don't know him as I do. You don't know why he took his life. Speculate all you want and side with the undisclosed enemy, but I'd rather you keep your judgments and opinions to yourself. This goes for anyone who is on the other side of devastation and loss.
Loss changes us with time. Whether it's a relationship, a fallen friendship or a death, it's mind-blowing to experience going from darkness to some sense of life.
Truth is, I have one foot in pitch dark and one foot out of a sun-lit window pane. Some days I'm completely in the dark with all lights shut off and cowering in my closet.

Where can peace be found and what does it look like? Again, there is no booming voice overhead that announces, "You have arrived, my dear". I haven't been searching for this place people speak of and live to bask in it. In fact, I hear that it exists and admit that I don't care for it. Not externally, at least. "Peace from within", my brother Charley would encourage. And so I'm working on a peace I know I can feel; a peace that is tangible and reflects off the shattered pieces of my heart into my own mirror reflection. Peace for me is a moment of complete bliss' which is often a consequence of living love with my toddler daughter. She's grown rather quickly and is a gentle soul who caresses my face as I cry and holds it in her tiny hands sometimes. She tells me that she dreams of her Nino and describes the things he does or the words he speaks to her. Just today she sat up in the car seat in search of him as though he were standing across the street waving at her glowing face and excitedly happy to see her. The innocence of her soul brings me peace. If only I could live my life looking for my brother and being blissfully ignorant to his passing.

Peace, like memories, come and go. It's here for a couple of minutes and then it dissipates as I remind myself that my brother has passed. Do you want to know what my FIRST thought was this morning when I woke up? Charley is dead. Peaceful sleep but rude awakening. And so no matter what I do or how I spend my day, there is no choice with thoughts of tranquility and serenity. Reality taps me on the shoulder every few minutes to tell me what is and what isn't. I can hysterically laugh at a comedy for two hours but as the end credits roll, I'm crying and having an anxiety attack because I've crashed from my fake high. No matter the encouraging thoughts for me and my family, my wonderfully jovial brother is gone. And this tragic fact alone robs us of all peace.

Nine-Month Reality: Death Is Resolute

My Lovingly-Active Brother,

I'm running streets and strands with you in mind while running away from the pain of losing you. When I run, I am temporarily relieved of all the chronic heartache and pressure you felt- my mind clears and opens up to you in hopes that you're soaring with me and wrapped in my the peaks of my energy. Do you feel me? I focus all my thought into you and fantasize about the life we treasure together and the life you left behind. People say you had an amazing life; while this is true, your internal emotions were a daily struggle the last weeks of your life and should be respected. I too, smile and move about but it doesn't mean that I'm okay or in a better place. There's no sigh of relief exhaled from my bosom even though that's what everyone wants for me. I'm with you, bro. I absolutely understand your pain and accept why you're gone but utterly despise the anguish and trigger that cornered you into your darkest hours.

I suppose I'm coping now and I do so by running. This has become my life: Mia, You and running. Not very much socializing nor "having fun"...I'm just living with myself in mind and actively trying to reach you. Your passing has put my entire life and thoughts into perspective- everything is temporary and nothing but love and legacy truly last. THIS moment is all that matters. Not the material objects we purchase, not the jobs we maintain, not the funds in our pockets---none of that is of any significance. Because when we die, these things are picked up by others and pushed forward with the motions of life. Love, memories and honor move swiftly like the current of a strong tide; the low tide paws at our toes and soothingly caresses our flesh while high-tide and rough waves wobble our knees as we grasp the ocean air for balance.

Memories of you and I together are now flooding my mind and my heart. Most every other day I experience a trigger that sets me back for hours and places me back into day one. Day one was the most hopeless, helpless, devastating hours of my life. I can hear my screams still, as they antagonize my senses and remind me of reality. When I screamed, it wasn't a sound of fright, in fact, it was a fury of defeat and anger at the universe for allowing yourself to have felt defeated as well. I get so angry now knowing that in those last minutes, your entire life was gone. In your last weeks, you were quickly dying. I screamed because I couldn't change how death looks and feels and I still can't change that death took hold of you, Charley. I want to scream, still, in the same way I did nine months ago...exactly nine months ago on this hour and at this minute.

"Suicide is not the answer"- so posters, hot lines, resources shout. I say that for some, for some as you who felt(feel) desperate, lost, confused and besides themselves, death is the answer. There is no magic pill that dissolves anguish. There is no therapist messiah who may reach in, grab hold of, and pull pain from its roots. There is no voice on the other end of a hot line who may permanently talk you through your darkest hour and pull you back to life.

There is progress. There is struggle. There is patience. There is hope and there is faith. But to wait for all that only to experience that suicidal thoughts exist on the ocean bottom of your thoughts? I'm fortunate. I took anti-depressants immediately because I too, became suicidal at the idea of living without you and wanting nothing more than to be with you in heaven. And I have been in therapy for nine months. BUT I didn't have a chemical imbalance. I masked the deepest sorrows of losing you until I felt I could deal with it. And I am, finally. By running into your angelic arms and hoping to have the type of faith that you and I will embrace one another again and FEEL it.

I run for you. I run for hope. I run to escape. I run for our family. I run to live.
Your little big sister,
Yolie

The Hardest Words to Speak Are Also the Most Courageous

I truly believe there's good in all of us. Whether you were born to be "bad" or have had a series of "life sucks" episodes, it doesn't mean you're unworthy, undeserving or a bad person. Even if unfortunate people in your life have tried drilling negative words to rattle your core or throw rocks and hide their hands (I used to know plenty of these people), there just has to be some untouched gold in their souls that's waiting to be discovered or encouraged to be revealed. At least that's what I like to believe. It helps me to understand what I don't know.

Don't we all deserve to be heard, to be selflessly spoken to, to be loved? Love is expressed in different forms, you know. I think the challenge many of us face is 1. how to express and 2. how to receive.

Despite how much my brother was struggling with his thoughts and managing how his time was spent, he reached. People didn't know it then, but he did. Missed phone calls, canceled plans, rescheduled outings, text messages, questions, smiles…he reached in his own way even though it wasn't loud and he wasn't waving a red flag. Those who genuinely listened and loved, latched onto him, reached and pulled him in. I did~ I never released his hand. Not only did I put a life vest on him, not only did I lovingly chain myself to him in his last weeks, but I listened, I kept quiet as he spoke, and Lord- I love him. I love him hard. And I love him immensely even if he hadn't been struggling because my love is sincere.

There are terms I don't use loosely anymore. Such as "I'm going crazy" or "I'd kill myself" or "I'm devastated". Why? Because those few words speak volumes for me and my family. They're dramatically overused to express the magnitude of a sentiment. But since we know that all three phrases exist and come true, I don't use them and I don't condone them. They hurt. I'm cautious and hyper-sensitive.
And to add to this point: I NEVER say that my brother killed himself. That sounds violent and murderous. He took his life- albeit it he's dead. He committed suicide. And even then, the word suicide is ugly and stings to hear it, read it, speak it. So instead I say that he took his life. I pad the cause of his death because I can. I don't require anyone's permission to verbalize as I do. And if I could create a word that exudes compassion, empathy and love, I would. If only our culture and society would catch on…

Another thing I don't do? I don't lie. Why would I lie about my brother's cause of death. In the beginning I was in a position to say nothing. His passing spread like a plague gone wild which provided my family the courtesy of not having to place phone calls or share the devastating news. As time progressed and poked at me, I was faced with having to open my mouth not knowing what was going to be said. So when the first stranger asked me how my brother passed, I hesitated. My mind raced in circles, What do I say? How do I say it? Will she judge him? How will she react? Will she ask me how? Truth.
He took his life, my voice quivered and my shoulders shook. Silence ensued. She embraced me and held my heart to hers as I fell into her arms and cried the truth I had spoken. Her eyes locked into mine and silently allowed me to feel.

And I feel. And I cry and I deal with all of me head on. And while I do this and learn how to do this, I maintain who I am. Give yourself permission to be you.

The Stigma is Ugly. Embrace the Truth Instead.

My brother, a Firefighter Paramedic, took his life almost nine months ago on September 17, 2013.
He was a loving, vibrant 36 years-young soul who invested in everything he touched and all the lives he impacted. Loving life was his style and it showed whenever he walked into a room, chuckled through a social environment and jokingly moved about our existence with such intent and naturalness. He is loved by hundreds and respected by all.
He was not "secretly depressed" as those who speculate what happened and was not "deceiving his family" as others have discussed. He is not a coward, a pussy, weak or a disgrace to his station, his city, his profession and his brotherhood. I KNOW of the ignorant comments many firefighters have stated when they hear that he took his life...yes, he saved lives and he couldn't save himself. Try as he might, and man did he try, he was emotionally lost, had a lapse in judgment and removed himself from his life- it was the only escape for him.
I think of him all day. What a feat it was for him to wake up every morning in his last weeks and think, "(Sigh). I have to do this all over again". And though we, as "healthy" individuals may wonder why he couldn't just keep going, we don't fully understand because we're not him. We aren't in his mind. We aren't in his thoughts. The only person who can tell us what happened in those last minutes is him. And he's no longer with us, so we'll never know. What we may do is understand. Sure, we have books, websites, workshops, YouTube, grieving groups, clinical studies, but we'll still never know. I have a suggestion: be empathetic. Try compassion. Don't judge. Don't diminish, disregard or dismiss the facts. Suicidal depression and all mental conditions are to be taken very seriously.

I imagine my brother heavily tugged with the idea that as a hero himself,  how can he feel this way? I'm sure he wanted to deplete his sorrow and mental anguish...and just throw it to flames. Burn it. Char it. Disintegrate it to pieces so that he could move forward in his life. Don't you know that he tried? Therapy (his therapist assures me she noted zero signs of suicidal thoughts), self-help books, bible study, church mass, exercising, small doses of melatonin to aide with lack of sleep, and complete confidence in me to see him through. But as I've read time and time again- nothing truly works. Nothing truly takes away the pain or the depression. Victims learn to live life with depression like a bout of baggage and manage. Manage? No one should live their life in pain. I often think of the immeasurable pain my brother was in the night he surrendered to his emotional anguish and feel If he had to live another day in that level of despair-no. No he doesn't deserve it. No it's unfair. No. No. No. 

Depression is not an emotion that our first responders are encouraged to share and communicate with one another. Chances are they will be ridiculed, made fun of, mocked and be told to "snap out of it", "deal with it", "this is your job", blah blah bullshit. The stigma is ugly. The truth is beautiful. We are human. Everyone has feelings and inner thoughts. NO ONE should be blamed for having suicidal thoughts or mental struggles. The thoughts are so powerful they take over your heart, soul and body. Nothing else matters but their own pain. Just theirs. Forgive these thoughts and reach for someone with a nurturing heart and a strong hand. Seek others who may speak to their pain or yours. Know that you are not alone and others love you more than you love yourself- and they mean it. Believe yourself. Believe you are worthy. Believe that there's a chance you will make it through. Believe someone will genuinely listen. Believe that someone is willing to take over and hold you hand. Believe.

I Forgive Myself

I forget where my car keys are, to return phone calls and text messages as I'm looking at them, to put Mia in the car, why I'm at the store and what I'm saying even as I'm saying it. And because I can be dramatic, my tone also loses momentum and the sentence goes thud. But I forget. All the time. My mom bought me an organizer to jot down my plans and reminders that can promise redemption from guilt, but I never seem to get around to using it.

I was never like this. I was the punctual person who made lists for the sake of making lists and to keep myself organized. I was the coordinator who kept everyone in check and played mediator- I didn't  mind it because I was a control freak. So instead of organizing myself as I used to, I instead talk to myself with conviction in my thoughts. Because I'm also forgetful on a deeper and ultimately more damaging level than birthdays and phone calls. I forget that I'm doing the best I can with how I feel. I forget that I'm a lovable, capable, talented woman. I forget to forgive myself for being forgetful. For being less than perfect. For feeling emotionally lost. For being spunky, prickly, a dental hygiene perfectionist, awkward and unpolished. I forget that I'm a vessel that houses my true soul and being and that I can choose to do only the things that contribute healing for my life. Even if that means that I hermit myself for days on end in an effort to just be with my forgetful self.

The sticky side of life is quite honest. This place allows you to be yourself with zero judgment and liberty. There is a hustle in everyday life that requires us to go-go-go! It is in these moments where we just want to breathe with absolutely no pressures, that we are also prodded to slow down and see the magnificence hidden in the creaky floors we walk on. Just to be present. Listen to your inner wisdom and and act when you feel comfortable doing so. Choose meaning over "what's right".
I know that I've fully embraced being in a moment or heck, moments of time whether it's hours or an entire night of solace and barefoot walks in the backyard. The cool grass dew reminds me that I'm alive. The soft chirping of crickets running their wings together like the teeth of a comb play a soothing sound to serenade my wandering thoughts and bring me back to focus. The dark silence encourages me to free my thoughts into a wild spree of love for my brother. Sometimes, I catch myself smiling at the thought of him and the millions of memories that feel real. Because they are real and he truly happened. So what if I visit a grave where his body lies with no spirit and no heavy breathing. Afterall, the cemetery isn't his final resting place, his home is. My heart is where he infinitely lives.

I'm inspired to deal with my excruciating feelings and those of my brother's. I am not taught nor encouraged to turn my back on grief and sorrow. I call on my courage to help me manage my open self and imperfect soul. I love that I'm imperfect more than I've ever been. I love that I'm human and openly scratching at my itchy wounds. Why is it so difficult for most of us to choose to do what is best for ourselves? Why don't we practice self-kindness more and share this sentiment with our worlds? I don't have answers for myself, but I choose to try to understand myself and the circumstances I'm facing. I allow. I choose. I will try to remember to embody my brother's way of living and happiness by being honest and forgiving myself for living.

Loss Doesn't Make Emotional Sense

Charley, My Heart...

I'm so lonely for you. My eyes slowly scout every detail in every picture I take hoping that I catch a glimmer of you in the background, as a blur, as a shadow as a light. I zoom in and search for a face that I miss and only see in my memory bank of delight. Even as I walk through the house at night to shut off all the lights and close the blinds, I look to my reflection in the mirror or my own shadow just praying that I see you right beside me. But what do you look like? Will you appear to me in your human form so that I may recognize you? May I hear the sound of your voice calling my name? Might your energy be so abundantly clear that I see you in your spirit form illuminated by heavens and love? Have you been present, reached for me, spoken to me and yet I have no idea? Questions, questions, and no answers.

My therapist tells me that I'm mourning, still. STILL. Of course I am. Your passing is fresh and I gladly participate in freely feeling. So what if I'm consumed by you, our memories together and your life. Another therapist has cautioned me not to idolize you so, that I want to be you and lose sight of myself- not to identify mysef with the consequences of your loss. Truth is- I've always idolized you...I've always looked up to you in hopes that I would be you someday. Like a child with her hero, I wear your name embroidered into my cape. It flows with brisk attitude and encapsulates strength, devotion, courage and unconditional love. My right arm raises high in praise of all that you do-the good in you and the human in you. With your imperfect flaws and no-nonsense atttitude, you never do any wrong for my hero is forgiven for being himself. I, as an avid admirer, strive to measure up to a man I'll never be. And I've always been comfortable knowing that I'll never be you but have been beyond happy navigating life immediately at your side.

I miss you deeply, Charley. It's a longing that I can't comprehend. Time doesn't help to heal my pain- it only reminds me that you're gone. Time darkens my pain and settles further into a reality without you. I'm comfortable with pain. But I'm also frail and vulnerable. It's as though every emotion I can possibly feel is hitting me at once and I'm either being smacked in the gut with it or dodging every other launch because I'm afraid that I can't manage anymore than I am. I'm afraid of what rock bottom looks like for me. Thing is...I'm there. My emotions affect my mental balance which affect my physical strength. I'm tired all the time, Charley. And not just tired because life effen sucks or from working or from being a Mom. It's all of me combined into all of you. You survived for six weeks and one night you couldn't see or feel straight. I'm experiencing a fraction for eight months now and I honestly question myself, Am I going to feel this way for the rest of my life? Not that loving and missing and mourning you is negative, but how will I manage my sorrow? I suppose you felt this multiplied by an unknown force so I tell myself to quit thinking and just feel.

A friend asked me a pretty honest question yesterday, "Has anything good come from losing your brother?" I yanked all my feelings from all the hazy clouds hovering over my heart and tried to make sense of it all so that he could stumble through my grey.
After verbally chicken scratching my thoughts, he instead said to me, "Say exactly what you feel".

(Quick deep breath) I want to continue living his life as though he were alive. I want to live his life for him so that nothing changes and I still have him. That's the honest truth. And the added truth is that all of you is mostly all of me. Your character, your jubilant smile, your athleticism, your drive, your ambition, your physical nature, your travel goals, your inspiration...that's me too on a smaller scale. So why not? Then he peacefully offered, "You lost your brother and your best friend and your life is forever changed". Simple words created complex thoughts and provoked hot tears. I felt like he shoved a slab of concrete into my hands and asked me not to drop it. "Too much?", he offered. Yes, too much.

Living a life without you is too much. We've been synced for 32.5 years...and synced for the rest of my years without you is how it will remain.

Love you, adore you, want to be you,
Your Sis, Yolie

Mother's Day Minus One

Sometimes I put myself in the shoes of a person who doesn't have a relationship with their mother, whose mother has passed on, or someone who's never met their mother. Would I prefer to be a blank slate and expression when it comes to owning and experiencing the virtues of a mother-child relationship or would I rather have the strongest relationship I've known from the comfort of my womb and have it disappear like a magic trick from my life? "Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all"?

The last couple of weeks have been more than rough- deep-saddened tears and desperation in search of my brother to support me in fulfilling my role as a mother, and for my own mom not to experience the loss of her only son. I. cannot. fathom. her pain. It hurts me. My only son. I wonder how empty her own soul is and how much more she searches for Charley than I do. When she reaches for him and does everything in her power to bring him back, where is she pulling her strength from? Does she rummage through a barrel of "Only a Mother Can Feel This" in search of the very tool to lure him back into the safety of her arms? What color is her heart and how thick is her fog....

As a mother myself, I can only speak to the empty role in my daughter's life in which he is so excited to share in. When I found out I was pregnant, I drove to the fire station and walked in on Charley who was cooking dinner in the kitchen. I lightly tapped on his shoulder to get his attention as my smile grew in length and my mouth said,
Hey Charley.
He looked behind his left shoulder as he does so well and smiled his gorgeous smile.
Oh hey, Yolie. What's up?
So....you're going to be an uncle!
You guys bought a dog?!
(laughter)
No, Charley. You're going to be an uncle. I'm pregnant.

I've never seen him smile so brightly. There were no words for his happiness as he embraced me tightly. I couldn't wait to bring my child into our lives so that he could single-handedly be the force in her life she doesn't know she needs. And what a lucky girl to have him for the rest of her life.
Our relationship grew fifty-fold as he nourished my soul in preparation of the little Lopez to add to our duo. And when she was born...he was speechless. He held her little body in his arms and all I could see was the life they would lead together and the man that would help me raise her. Another woman would take my first place in his heart and I gladly relinquished that position.
We had a year and a half together with him. He once sat quiety in bed of his truck while he held her face to the warm setting sun as I looked on watering the front yard. Every few seconds I'd look over at them in complete awe and admiration- they are bonded and he's so in love. I trust this relationship and I rely on him to live for her as much as I do. He said to me," I promised Mia two free passes in her life. She is allowed to call me twice to get her out of a jam and it will stay between me and her. Whether it's a ride she needs or my support, I won't ask any questions. But she has to promise to always be honest with me and never lie. As long as she can keep this promise, we have a deal." I smiled at him and nodded in agreement. My favorite man is going to be her favorite man. Life was sweet.

The weeks leading to his passing, the three of us spent nearly everyday together at the beach, playing in his backyard, hanging out on the balcony patio while we colored together, napping together and just existing as a unit. He would kiss her tenderly and gaze into a face he could never abandon.

So when he took his life, he unintentionally abandoned us. The life I fantasized about having with him has become exactly that~ a fantasy with temporary memories and conversations.

The other parent I looked to for reinforcement, is gone. I grieve the relationship she'll never have. Nevermind the "He's always looking over her..." because she'll never know the force he and I planned for her. She'll never experience the laughter and love he reserved just for her and the soft pallet only she could have developed. She will never get to use those two free passes. And I? I feel inadequate without him and try as I might, being her Mom isn't enough. If I could bring him back just for her sake and hers alone, I would. She doesn't know it yet, but she needs him. I desperately need him. And Mother's Day communicates only one sentiment for me: I'm not a mother without my brother.

Lesson Number: Never

My mind and heart are made up of emotional layers which collapse on top of each other like a sandwich with one too many heavy. Navigating death provokes so many unknown factors which don't come with an end in sight nor an empathetic gesture of "this will only sting for a few seconds". Nope, it's not a toddler injection or a prick to the hip; it's excruciatingly painful and a needle that breaks your skin in search of a vein it'll never find.

Charley loves me like no other person has. And I in turn love him equally. As I grew in spirit and maturity, I also often felt guilty for allowing him to love me as much as he does; never expecting me to reciprocate my love for him. I questioned the degree of my love knowing very well that he certainly deserved more than I was providing and hoped that I could someday love him as much as he deeply loves me. It wasn't until he passed away that I realized I always loved him more than I love myself and always validated my self-worth and value according to his perspective. He consistently told me I'm beautiful, resilient, strong, driven...a phenomenal mother and his rock. These are words I trust and believe from no one else's mouth but his. It is Charley who is a constant and consistently invested in my growth and reassured me that I am valuable. In every event in my life from childhood to now, Charley has been at my side, within reach and never more than a millisecond thought away.

As I stated in my eulogy, Charley has been the man in my life...and unfortunately for everyone else in my life who loves me and wants to build a prosthetic limb for me, they will never be Charley. No one will ever fill his shoes and meet the standard that bears his name and glorifies his soul. I measure everyone's love and loyalty against his...which I know is unfair for those who genuinely want to help me, but unfortunately for all involved, I cannot accept love from anyone if it's not his. Giving into this unconditional love to two handful of people who want to embrace me, makes me feel as though I'm betraying Charley. So I stoically stay on the defense and sit on a fence that guards my heart from any further rejection or pain. I simply cannot endure anymore. Losing Charley has been the most devastating and worse event in my life that didn't just occur almost eight months ago...it occurs everyday and spans across my now-life and that of my daughter's. I'm often at war with myself- some moments I'm angry because Charley left me knowing how much I love and need him. How could I not "despair in his departure" when a bond like ours depends on the other to thrive and live? The other side of me apologizes for being angry because I completely understand how pain took over. I grant him the desperation and hold nothing against him but my own embrace. Of course he wasn't thinking of me. Of course he didn't understand the consequences. Of course he was thinking of only his pain. Of course I'd be left behind to mend him and myself. Even in his death, I'm fighting for him. Even as his soul visits mine in the middle of my dreams, I'm guarding him and holding his hand tightly.

I'm broken. And damaged. And dysfunctional. But we all are to some extent, right? This is how I justify my state of mind- by comparing my personal trials to a culture that is all kinds of fucked up. How can anyone really want to be my friend or family or confidante or partner when I come equipped with so many layers of work? So instead of letting people in, I keep them out. I'm giving them a jump ship card before I even burden them with...me.

Life Is But a Dream

Even if I were the brightest, most intuitive mind in my circle of life, I can't describe how skewed my perception has become in terms of our lives here on Earth and how our souls survive the thrashings we continually experience.
Whether it's conscious movements or emotions we naturally feel, our souls also participate in each of these markers.

As you know, I search for my brother everywhere. Sometimes I pretend I'm not searching for him in hopes that he appears to me because I'm not looking for him. But even then, I'm pretending to pretend and I'm sure he can see right through me (literally) and knows what I'm doing even as I'm thinking it.

Just last week as I hurried home from work to quickly change before picking up Mia, I walked into the house and immediately smelled Charley. The hollow sounds of my footsteps sprung off the now decorated walls and my heels clacked across the customized hard wood floors. Walking towards Charley's room and past his firefighter memorabilia, I reflexively called for him, "Hey Charley, are you home?". But as I entered his room and only recognized half of it as his, the veil fell from my eyes and my heart dropped. Charley's not here. My shoulders slumped and my footsteps sank into sorrow as though I allowed ocean wave after wave to bury me tightly around my ankles. I couldn't move. I didn't hear myself calling for him but I somewhat did in the same breath because I really hoped I'd walk into his room and he'd stick his head out of the bathroom with toothbrush in mouth and smiling eyes. A slow walk to the bed, loud shoes came off and I sat staring at my ugly reflection with reality pointing its finger at me in mockery.
Or a couple weeks ago when I walked through the parking lot at work and saw a Tacoma drive into the lot. It was gray in color, two-door and the driver was wearing a cap. I slowed my pace and took a sharp left so that I could eye this guy in hopes that it was Charley. But after he hopped down and turned to face me I saw that his eyes were not my brother's and his height was much too short. He smiled at me and I nervously looked away, Damnit, it's not him.

My mind combats my soul every waking hour in an effort to shake truth into it and speak the fact that I know, but don't believe.
When I sleep, I often wake up with wet eyes and disappointment in my breath. My jaw hurts from clenching all night and my hands hurt from keeping them tightly fisted. Dream of him? Yes, sometimes. The first few dreams were vivid and real. He visited me and answered questions in a tone and form only his soul could and expressed neutrality in the lines of his face. It's taken months to see him smile. It's taken almost eight months for him to tell me what I've always known.
The last dream I had was a few days ago...I put Mia down to sleep and walked through the house in search of him. Music serenaded my thoughts and led me to the guest room. I opened the door and there Charley stood by the closet that cradles all his clothes and personal belongings. He motioned me in and sweetly smiled at me. I walked towards him and saw that he was at least 15 years younger with smooth brown skin and lots of hair crowned his head as it did years before age and stress took over. I reached to touch him but my arm went through his transparent figure. He encouraged me to try again and so I did. My right hand touched his shirt and it was then I realized he was dressed in white. I fingered his shirt which felt soft and warm. I looked up into his eyes as he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me in. I locked my arms around his waist and cried into his chest while inhaling his scent. All I wanted was to have that moment for always. My mind searched for questions but I knew better than to break the time we were being blessed with. Then he whispered, "I want you to know that I'm okay". I nodded I know and prayed that this beautiful moment was real, so real.

Then I woke up crying and wiped my face from the dream that was only a dream.