The Magic Healing Wand

And so healing begins for me. I wish I could tell you there's a day when I woke up and thought, Alright, Yolie, time to heal. Loss and grief may take years-there's no set time and certainly no expiration date to stop crying, feeling thrashed, low on yourself and just tired. In all candid honesty, my sweetest advice is to embrace the sadness and depression. Squeeze it dry until all you're left with is pulp. The sweet juice quenches your soul and the meaty rinds will serve a higher purpose for you as you continue to heal.

I'm managing my sadness now- I see it coming like a big wave and I brace myself for the ones that hit hard and knock me wet. The smaller, daily ripples wash over my bare skin and lull my spirit into brief tears or a sad smile. And sometimes, sometimes I brave myself and dive right in so that I'm completely drenched and come out so the cold air hits me and wakes me to the reality of beach life without Charley life.

This life, my new life, I admit, is somewhat liberating. Tight shackles around my arms have been unlocked and are freeing my spirit to surrender and just live- it's my mantra. But what does that mean or look like for me? It means I'm centering myself and being present in my moments and in the relationships I attentively nurture. Losing my brother very swiftly showed me what's important versus what I can live without. How often do you listen to someone when they're speaking to you? Are you processing and digesting or thinking of your own thoughts or what you're going to say next when it's your turn?
The majority of our cultures are uncomfortable with raw emotion or being present. We have what Buddhists refer to as "monkey minds" which is a psychological term that means whimsical, restless and uncontrollable. We all do it-even when we try to be still and keep calm, our minds are constantly moving and continue to move as we're telling ourselves to stop.

Santorini, Greece * September 2014

Try meditation. It's a method I have failed to conquer because even when I try to silence myself, I busy myself with silencing myself. The goal is to align with your inner voice and develop an indestructible sense of well-being while engaging in any life activity. One of my goals is to practice this on a weekly basis first, before I commit to anything more than I can promise myself. Following through is important. It's important because you're committing to yourself and someone else and through this gesture, we connect with love and intention- afterall, these are the two spiritual impressions that truly last.

Time May Heal All Things but Love Does the Trick

My brother told me in his last weeks that when someone asks you, "How are you?" it's so general that he's more comfortable being asked, "How are you feeling, today?" because one day differs from the next.
He was telling me something so I began to ask him everyday how he was feeling. Sometimes he felt okay and other days he admitted a bad day, but what I did was extend compassion. I provided a comfortable, safe place to be open with our feelings. And even on his apparent bad days, he pulled me aside a couple times and offered to be my listener, "You can always come to me, Yolie. Anything you want to say, I won't judge you, I'll just listen. Come to me and cry it out". He looked into my eyes and held my hands. I silently cried while he embraced me. And still, I said nothing. Looking back, even though he was being the natural big brother, he was also reaching for me for himself. I can't tell you how often I dig my hands into themselves wanting nothing more than to hold him and have him cry it out. He needed a good, open, snot everywhere cry with nothing but love.

A year has passed, today on 9/17/13, when he took his last breath and closed his eyes for the final time.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't know how I would feel. My friend worried that I'd fall into a pit of despair looping his loss in my mind and the experience surrounding it. But I didn't fall as hard because the night before he passed away was the tough day...knowing he was in his desperate moments the night before he died- not the entire day of. By the time we woke up that morning, he'd been gone for a few hours and already in a place of love. Of course, I didn't think about that when I found him; it's taken me a year to discover a fraction of peace in that fact.

A year of denial and sorrow and guilt and desperate attempts to bring him back, has been beyond exhausting. Emotionally draining, tired all the time, mentally preoccupied and prone to a nap if given the opportunity. Geez, and so forgetful. Dramatically so. I forget things as I'm remembering them- I've truly become that absent-minded.
Anytime someone told me that I seem to be "doing better" or "managing well", I became defensive for having progress pointed out. Distance from the emotional core of my brother's passing meant losing him and the day he died-- pain makes me feel close to him. The initial shock and pain of "he's dead" is the last time I was with him in the same room. It's the last time present emotion ties back to him while he was physically present was with me. Does that make sense? And "doing better" also meant I was betraying him.
I've consumed myself with his life and his dailies and his activities and his friends and his traditions to keep him alive for me, to feel that he's physically here still. That was unsuccessful so I began to try instead, to do what his close friend says he began almost immediately, "I live my life according to the positivity in his life and not his last few weeks. His darkest life was at the very end and only in the end". I didn't understand this notion but I envied his optimism. How do I shut out the worst and live with the best?

A shift occurred a couple weeks ago when words and messages were communicated to me from him-and everything spoken to me was spot on- his words, his thoughts, my concerns, his love.
The gears shifted as I found my footing and fumbled with, "If you want to forgive yourself, forgive yourself for creating blame". Ahhh...here I was begging for forgiveness, profusely apologizing to the air and in my dreams, only to suddenly realize that he wasn't forgiving me because there's nothing to forgive me for.
How poetically beautiful and resigning this is!
It's taken a year, an entire year of deep-seeded grief to slowly make my way out of, and gravitate into healing. The last year I compare to the prior year with him when memories were tangible and he was physically alive. Now, as i move forward into the second year without him, I will compare my healing to my grief of losing him. It's only been a year, but the needle has moved and so am I.

I Want to Die Alive

I've never prayed so hard for an afterlife; a space beyond the one we dwell and give our all to.
Death happens. I've lived with the thought that my dad watches over me and all my days. I've spent countless minutes directly speaking to him and feeling embarrassed for mistakes that I committed and sins that he would disprove of. He was the only existence I believed lived beyond me--but I never thought of him as living in Heaven--I simply thought of him as a spirit who checks in on me from time to time, appears when I call him and sends me earthly signs to show me he's listening.
Then my brother Charley passed away and the idea of the source of all life took hold of me and my scarcely pray-prayers. No matter the certainty of my faith that Charley is with God and freely existing in nothing but love, I have a desperate need to know we return to love. That all the days and years spent here aren't in vain and that we are here to live and learn.
My hope is that when Charley's soul passed through this life and left his body behind, he immediately felt love and release. Nothing ached, his heart felt serene and his mind wondered where his pain went; but it didn't matter because Jesus, he is being embraced by a love he never felt here on Earth nor in the words people spoke to him. And then he saw himself, his lifeless body and felt some sense of remorse, some sense of aggravation for leaving us as he did. For dying and causing the immeasurable pain I'm in, for leaving the girl he's known for his forever and the woman he came to know.
When I stepped into the circle of death, I covered my mouth and violently shook my head. I wanted nothing more than to believe that my whole life span was not dead. That the eternal stinging in my soul was a mistake. I turned away and screamed a primal scream- a scream that released a fight I will never win. One that pierced the sky and rang in my ears and one that the love Charley stood in, could feel. I felt him there with me, sorrowful and inaccessible, he watched me drop to my knees and pound the floor with my fist until it throbbed and my eyes bled with inconsolable tears. I screamed into the warm air of that moment knowing that it was done. This was his end and my beginnings of this life without him.

This last year has moved as slowly as possible. I would gladly have labor contractions for eternity than to live life without my brother. Grief, as I've stated before, is my dark passenger. It goes where I go and seldomly takes a backseat. But when it does, man, am I living with smiles in my heart and naked emotion spilling from my gut. I want to live and love and learn and take my lessons with me back to our source of all. I want to show Charley that I will continue to live with him in everything I do. I want to travel to all the places I want damnit, and seed the relationships that are worthy of life and self. I want to invest in the opposites of the ugly hearts Charley invested in (athough I believe everyone needs love), I want to live my life hoping that I can be just as proud of myself as he is, but more than anything, I have decided to live today and again tomorrow, and heck maybe the day after.
It's true..."one day at a time"...eventhough these are empty words that fall upon emptiness, it's the only way to live when you're hurting. And when I cry, it's perfectly acceptable. And when I isolate myself, it's understandable. And when I smile, please let me without expectation that I will smile all day. I can only hope that when I die, I will know that I lived for most of it.

Life and Spirit Exist Within Us All

Al Green wrote a song about "Love and Happiness" and although the beat is soothing and so are the intent of the words, do love and happiness really exist? They exist as separate entities but do they coexist?
In loss, life, events, celebrations, and our everyday, we encounter people and create networks, don't we? The most valuable of all step into our circle of trust and we learn to move among one another with our limbs outstretched and our hearts set to "open". We form relationships which stem from the connecting of two souls under one love of hope and reciprocation even though there are those we lose, fall away or were temporary gifts we so needed. We learn from one another as do babies when they begin to learn the environment they are adapting to and the people they look to for survival. They lift their heads and scout their surroundings for newness, they focus their sense of sight in search of color and objects and trust, and they feel according to their core.
If we could go back and act according to only what we feel, would we? Or may I suggest that we already have this opportunity and really, never lost this innocent ability to live according to our internal senses.

Close your eyes and think of a particular challenge you're currently faced with. Take four deep breaths and visualize it. Picture it as a flood of water pushing against a water dam. Take another deep breathe and slowly release as you simultaneously open the flood gates. Imagine that the challenge is also gushing out and being freed of all pressure and expectation. Continue a relaxed state of breathing and feel the water permeate from your limbs, out of your head, to the tips of your fingers and toes...as all of the water falls from your body and into the Earth.

Listen to the sounds you hear. See what your heart wants. Feel what your gut and your inner voice say. Listen. And act. Don't apologize, don't make excuses. Just act. Because when you act according to truth and purity, you are in your truest form of self. And no one will have a right to question you and your ethic. I believe that when you live true to yourself, you are living true for others as well. No animosity and no contempt. Misinterpretations and consequences? Sure. The upside? Man, you. are. you.
And hopefully, love and happiness will fall into place whether it's one at a time or gradual...it exists within you.

Be-YOU-ti-ful

Beautiful. That's what you are in the truest sense. You were created and birthed into a world that automatically saw you as such. Your eyes opened to light, your lungs inhaled new air, and the faces behind the blur identified you as a beautiful notion. This sentiment carried on in a very perfect sense until you met life.
Unfortunately it's this same world that toys with you sometimes- negatively judges you, criticizes you- and there are people who only harm themselves (and others too) by intentionally projecting their internal emotions and self-ugly onto you. They pose as sweet and supportive but they aren't. Their goal is to get close to you because it's true, "misery loves company", but misery is really just miserable. Take your malice and self-destructing finger pointing and point it as yourself, darlin'.
DO this: Cut yourself off. Insta-permanent distance and know that your life is unchanged without them in it because this is the easiest thing about loss: severing ties with strangers who appear like dark magic and are flicked away just as quickly. This is called external control--celebrate the strength behind it.

There's good news, though.

You. are. beautiful. and that is unchanging.
The mirrors you turn your eyes away from reflect what you feel. What if mirrors were never created and we only had ourselves and one another to gauge self-beauty?
I admit that I have a very hard time looking at myself in the mirror because I too, don't believe my face exudes anything but ugly and guilt and pain. Sometimes I walk my days wondering if passersby see my insides written all over the drag in my step and the darkness surrounding my already-black eyes. I hide behind my face. Eye contact is tough as is sharing personal space, physical closeness and a heart-felt laugh. If I keep talking then I won't have to stop and think about why I don't want to talk or if I say nothing then I won't be noticed.
I completely understand what ugly and depressed and shame and guilt are either as singular emotions or meshed together into one, great ball of I'm so tired.
Listen, I never knew what internal beauty is until my brother passed away. Beneath all my grief lies a nugget of truth that beams and glitters from time to time. It took several months for me to understand that Charley's thoughts and deep love for me is unchanging- just because he's no longer here with me doesn't mean that our relationship is over. He said to me the night we baptized my daughter Mia, "If no one told you, you looked beautiful today. You are a phenomenal mother". These words resonate with me because he shared compassion and love for me, just for me, on one day that he was barely holding on. He put me first. He put my daughter first. And this crushes me. Still, for months I thought I'm not beautiful anymore and I'm unworthy of love. After sharing this sentiment with my therapist, she too, reassured me that these deeply-seeded words are alive beneath my shattered core. This nugget survives.

As unbearable as life is without my brother, I have learned to be present. My friend said to me just as we caught up last week, "You're alive now. You're awake. You speak differently and you see life differently. It's as though you were sleeping...and now you're not. You communicate with such force from your soul. And it's beautiful". I suppose it's true. I'm significantly more compassionate, fiercely loving, tender with emotions and words and careful that what I say is what I mean.
My brother Charley was very present in all the lives he touched and moved with. He's very present, still.
If it were minutes, hours or years, you had his undivided attention. He listens. He spoke with confidence and wisdom. He shines bright with his eyes and loud with his energy. He smiled almost all the time. I've never known or felt a smile quite like his. He is unique in his aliveness. He is beautiful for always.
And so are you. And so am I.

If You Can't Hear, Then Listen Instead

Charley...

When you escaped from this life and the pain it was thrashing you with, you also took an exceptional amount of my soul and being with you. People say we functioned as twins, walked hand in hand, stemmed from the same life and cloth, and bound together by our inner light. I  happily state to those who ask that, "Yes, I feel him still". I pray this never changes and I pray that you never stray too far from me. 

The morning your breathed your last breath, I woke up and immediately felt different. I firmly remember rising from bed and wondering, I feel so relieved! Since having Mia and becoming a parent, my nights and mornings are often tired. I go to sleep tired and wake up tired. However, this morning was different. I walked to the bathroom, stared at myself in the mirror and just knew. My phone reflected two missed calls from you but no text. My insides shook and went limp. I knew. I stalled and refused to go to your house. I waited because I knew that nothing was going to change and what I was going to see was going to alter my existence and your presence. You were waiting for me. I was scared. I was frightful for you and for me. I was nervous about how to handle the most devastating seconds of my life. But most of all, I broke because I knew you broken to an extent that could never be repaired. 

When you play hide and seek and you're tiptoeing around knowing that someone is going to find you but you're still startled from expectation- that feeling? I do that still, gently pacing the floors in your home waiting for your spirit to visit me. 

This morning I assured Mom that she did well raising you into a wonderful man and kind soul. I encouraged her to know this as not a fact but as a certainty; you lived your life with your own notions but always lived with respect for our family. Sure, you had your jerk tendencies and bluntly honest moments, and who doesn't have flaws and quirks and idiosyncracies? I'm stubborn and hard-headed and bratty and somewhat selfish, but those are my inferior characteristics and not the reasons why I'm loved and love myself. 

For Mom though, not saving you has made her feel inadequate and less-than-motherly. I'm his Mother! How didn't I see this? Why didn't I do anything?  

Just as Robin Williams took his own vastly larger-than-life, he was also severely depressed. He clearly couldn't stand to live anymore and clearly didn't have clarity. I read an article where the writer states, "I'm mostly angry because he wasn't under 24/7 suicide watch. Why didn't anyone help him and why didn't anyone listen?" Truth is, his family may have known and they listened, but I'm almost sure they didn't want to believe he'd take his own life. Not Robin Williams. Not this amazingly gifted and hilariously talented, funny man who provides the world with laughter and happiness. I believe Robin Williams wasn't a performer or an entertainer- I believe that he played himself as himself. He was happy, he was jovial, he was manically present. He wasn't crazy. And he was exhausted. In the darkest moment of his soul, he gave into liberation~ a liberation that freed  him from all pain and desperation.

Charley, I know that you know how deeply loved you are. You know that I love you more than I love myself. Love wasn't the problem I don't think. You and I used to say that love isn't enough. And it isn't. It never has been and it ultimately wasn't for you. This doesn't mean that because I understand you, that your blind-sided decision doesn't hurt me. This fact antagonizes me daily. Love alone couldn't save you. My love for you didn't save you. Life requires so much more from one another and the world we live in. 

One thing that helps to get us all by? Listening. Listening with your heart and not your ears. Hearing with your heart and not the surface. Delving deeper than ice skating on a thin sheet of sheer. Undivided attention. Engaging with someone and eye contact. Genuinely caring for friends and family. 

I listened with you your whole life and I felt every moment we spent together. I listen to you, still. Waiting patiently for the moment your voice speaks me to so clearly that I believe you're home again.

I stand with you for always, 

Yolie 

Faith Involves A Leap Of Imagination

We want to believe without questioning and love without expectation.
Some of us have faith simply by surrendering to what will be and some of  us still, want to have faith but also want to know if there's truth behind it. I'm the latter; I am struggling to have faith that "everything will be okay" and that our higher power in the realms of love, "knows what he's doing". Candidly put- since we don't know what happens when we die, since we don't know FOR CERTAIN, I instead allow myself to have hope that life is going to be just that: life. A daily existence with technically no end in sight and a short 24-hours of what we make of it. Though this perception sounds cynical, it comforts me because it means I have zero expectation and investment in tomorrow. For I now know that tomorrow-that overnight, heck, a moment, a curveball of words-changes entire lives. Whether the catapult begins when the sun falls and the moon shines, life also morphs into another rise and people fall...forever.

Many years ago my brother Charley and I once discussed the idea of faith and dissected it as though it were a psychology project. Is it religion that drives and encourages a people to drop their arms, cease the fight and worry, and extend their souls onto a master of all? Do we, as a culture, find life more manageable if we believe, "Let Go, Let God"? What I mean here is, do we unburden ourselves, liberate ourselves even, by handing over our deepest, saddest, uncertain thoughts and giving the holy universe permission to do as it pleases, as it wishes and as it knows best.~ "Here. I trust You". Maybe it's because I'm a control freak (lovingly, of course) that I want to know how and why and when.

When does faith become hope and hope become denial? At what point in the spectrum is it no longer faith? What if we're so blinded by hope that we can't see reality?
These are the philosophical sentiments my brother and I exchanged almost word for word. He and I sat together and pondered faith because we didn't grow up in a religious household and were guided and encouraged to believe in God and ourselves and each other. And I suppose I grew up with pessimistic notions because our childhood was rough, our adolescent years were challenging and our adults years have been nothing short of "ahh, so that's why I'm who I am". Life, right?
I've had writers block for almost a month; afraid of my thoughts and the darkness it feels, pain is much too heavy to formulate into words you may understand. What I did to get here was look back on the major events of my life to see the broader picture. Almost like taking a break from a performance to sit with the camera man and asking him to rewind and play in slow motion.
This is what I saw: Charley was always there. My Father's death, my Mother's grief, the lonely childhood, questions and vague answers or none at all, the silence in the house, the drawn blinds, skinny kids, brother acting as Dad, brother acting as man of the house, Mom remarrying...and so on and so forth. When I look at every moment that has shaped me to now, Charley was front and center, or front and on my side. And now he's not and never will again.
If you've ever lost someone, and I emphasize LOST because you will only see them in your mind's eye, then you know pain and you know loss. What I have faith in is that life ends. What I have faith in is that I am my best in the moments when I am living. After that moment, anything goes.
And what I believe is that we do not betray our faith by questioning it and seeking meaning, rather we strengthen it.

Reality is TEN-fold. So I Make-Believe.

Charley, my Messiah of All,

I'm angry with you. Just a bit. Anger makes me feel bad for being upset with you but it's my current state-of-mind. I get angry when you receive mail and I stare at your name knowing that the typed name I'm staring at is no longer a physical recipient. Rather than write "DECEASED" with an angry sharpee and toss it back onto the mail slot, I use the moment as an opportunity to tear up your mail and ball it into my fist. I'm pissed that mail still comes for you but am afraid it will stop coming.
I'm angry that I'm counting months and keeping track of your death. I'm angry that this life is real and you're not returning. Would you believe that I tried with all my over-extended efforts to bring you back from death? Rummaging through the thoughts you shared with me and all your undeserved sadness encouraged me to make life better for you. Even though I haven't sorted through your belongings (I imagine this won't occur for at least another year), I tried to organize your stuff in the only way I know you approve of. I looked into science to find out if anyone has been brought back to life; excavated from 10 feet under, new organs, new skin, new eyes and with its rightful soul intact. I scoured my memory for any indication that you may have been alive still when you were gently sleeping in your casket the day before we buried you into a deep darkness I can't reach. I even contemplated sneaking into the cemetery in the middle of night with shovel and rope in hand to get you out and prevent you from suffocating in dryness and solace. You died alone and now your body is alone. I'm told I will never understand but Charley, I DO! I understand why you're gone and how you got there. What I don't understand is why you. Why, WHY, wHy, w-h-y.
I fantasize about you expectedly arriving home one day as Mia and I play in the backyard, running through the sprinklers, watering the garden, drawing with sidewalk chalk, sitting in the shade eating popsicles, riding her scooter and tricycle....all while patiently waiting for you to walk through the back door and saying, "Hey, I'm home". I raise my head and beam at you, for words won't express how emotionally overwhelmed I am to see you and your face again.

I pretend you're here and my soul hugs you tightly. All I want is to be in your arms and press my face against your chest so that I can hear your heart beat. And Charley, even if you come back with no beating heart, let alone a stone-cold heart, I want you here. I'll show you what I've done with your home and my plans to expand the kitchen. I'll walk you through all the decor I added which are inspired by the colors and vibrancy in your soul. I'll tell you of my plans to make a career out of writing and how I finally applied for grad school. I'll open my arms and offer to hold you as you cry the cry no one heard. I'll devour your presence and beg you to never leave me again and promise to ask you all the questions I should've asked you the moment I knew you were thinking of taking your life.
I cannot believe you're dead. Not you, Charley. Not my idol, my hero, my messiah, my every man. Why not someone else? Why not someone who I don't love so deeply (yes, I know. Because someone else does). I have selfish thoughts, so what? I'm real and raw and that what makes me, me. I spend a lot of time staring out the window wondering where you are and how the world I'm looking at isn't a world I care for without you in it. My mind can't comprehend the magnitude of loss and sadness my heart feels. HOW has it been ten months? You were here ten months ago, Charley?! So much has happened and I want to talk to YOU about it. My reflex still reaches for the phone to call you and talk about your death with you. Only you would understand because no one else does.
I'm trying, bro. I really am. Even if I'm tiptoeing over shattered pieces of glass and emotional mines.

I love you for all that you are and all that you signify,
Yolie

Bowing Down to Birthday Day

Why do we acknowledge our birthday? Is it due to customary reasons of celebration and happiness? Do we seek a unique attention on the day we turn yet another year older only to look back on the last year to see that not too much has changed?
Birthdays, as is change, is unwarranted and part of the messily packaged decor we call life. Some call it vida for a little extra flavor, yet it's still here. Whether it's an anniversary of an event, an eventful celebration or a celebration of life, it's rallied in such a way that makes you cry with sorrow or simply cry because you are feeling EMOTION.

When my birthday creeps up on me, I usually want nothing to do with it. I'd rather skim through my day as if it were just another day of insignificance and annoyance. This entire year thus far (and for many years), I want nothing more than to acknowledge each significant day with my brother in sight. But since this is nearly impossible (and I say that because I like to think almost anything is possible, lol) I keep him alive instead. I live my life as though he were here. As I walk into the house I announce, "I'm home, Charley" so that I don't startle him or myself. And I walk straight to his room in hopes of seeing his face. It never fails; he's never home.
This year, as we've snailed through holidays and get together's, Charley's birthday reached for us like an angelic hand from the sky. It asked us to bind to one another in an effort to morph him into a love we may see with our minds and our strengths. Knowing that Sunday, July 13th would be a day my Mom would scour the day for him, she suggested we take a few days for ourselves to honor him...as though a getaway together would soften the birthday blow.
To a rented beach cottage we went- tears sealed tightly into jars for later use and beach towels to wipe our bodies of sand and wrap ourselves as the sun sets and evening life swifts in. We trudged into the four-day home of our family minus the one boastful voice and presence our unit is missing. Effort was our goal and serenity was our target. Try as we might, it was as though we were talking and living about one another without talking and living about WHY we were there. But it seemed normal, relieving almost- to breathe without crying and to privately birthday-bash without blurred vision and cake.

As a family, we decided to invite friends and family over to the house for a birthday party for my brother. After all, he is a life to celebrate, glorify and magnify with his spiritual presence intact and love overflowing from everyone in attendance. And man, did people show up! We were touched and floored that the turnout was as abundant as it was seamless. Fire reserves who'd become his close friends, extended family whom we rarely see, our own personal friends and neighbors---ALL of which moved about his home with respect and adoration.
"You're such a cool sister," someone told me. "Don't hate me for saying this, but he's dead, and you live as though he's here and honor him as you do. You keep him alive. I love it". I blushed with pride and found comfort in those words because my brother Charley thinks I'm cool, too.
So cool, that I ordered 37 cupcakes to signify the 37 years he would've turned that day. I placed a sparkler candle in each one and passed them out so that they could be individually held. When I gathered everyone in the backyard to sing "Happy Birthday", my hands shook with anxiety and I prayed I could get through a yearly verse of the song. Eyes cast downward and surrounded by smiles of mixed emotion, we sang loudly and purely. Happy Birthday Dear Charley, Happy Birthday to you! Candles were blown out and I made a beeline for the house. Into the bedroom I scurried with a cupcake in my hand, the smell of a well-it candle and the taste of salt trickling into my mouth. I stood facing the mirror in complete solace with the blinds drawn and the sound of laughter and party just 10 feet away. My eyes were Charley's eyes. I paced and watched him. Deep breath. Happy Birthday, bro. Happy Birthday.
Shaking still, I wiped my face and returned to a party that will last an entire year.

Deviate From the Norm, Folks

It's been a very busy couple weeks with yoga classes, writing short stories and finding my way to a destination I have no clue exists. I also strayed from expressing myself here on the blog so that I may gather my thoughts in full.
Fourth of July was celebrated last Friday with Americans gloriously exhibiting their liberties and pride by display of colorful night fireworks, barbeques, beach time, flags and a day off from work. And while I sat in a new yoga class on the very same morning, I experienced a twist in the day and decided instead to take "a day on" from everything rather than "a day off". As though I haven't been focusing on myself as best I can, right? Still, the idea of meditating my thoughts and sense-of-self was more appealing to me than shoving out the standard everyday routine.

Do you believe we all have a destination or inevitable fate? If we stray from the blueprint of our lives will we ultimately end up at the same meeting point or may you argue that we instead map our lives and make our own choices based on emotion, thought, logic and desire? I'm torn between the two- and even then I don't quite agree that we, as a human race and beings, should be restricted to raising our hands for one or the other- black or white, stop or go, die or live.

My brother lived his life with only the restrictions that we live by. Of course he also made his own life with the ideals and style that only he could develop. He is a particular soul with particularities my family both accepts and adores. His home was spotlessly clean with every furniture piece in its place and every rug wall decor in its rightful spot. Dishes were washed immediately after cooking, counter tops were scrubbed clean, weeds were pulled as often as they obnoxiously snagged garden space, love was unconditionally dispensed and my brother's soul is stoic and present still in the choices he made for himself and for those he loves. With no map in hand, Charley navigated life with vigor I've never witnessed and tenacity that develops in the digital colors of motion pictures and made-up characters. I am envious of the life he lived not because I wanted his hard-earned fortunes but because I aspired to be a different version of him; moving through my 24 hours with delight, influence and intent. Admittedly, I wasn't. I was stuck in a rut that had been stagnant for quite some time with some intent of my own to change the life I was living but was too afraid to leave the comforts of predictability. I turned to my brother as I always do and asked him for guidance to a place of deserved happiness and fruits. A place I know exists if I derail from the norm of my then-choices and persevere without fear in my forethought and self-love in my gut.
As I began to work on this plan, my brother was simultaneously dying. I put on my big-little-sister pants and performed beyond my abilities to show him I am chasing happiness while promising that happiness exists for him as well. And I failed to hold us both up, I failed to drop all of me for him and I failed to keep him alive longer than I did. In disappointing myself I realized also that I never wanted to disappoint him in any form while we lived as brother and sister...and to his misfortune, I disappointed our souls for not shaking him of suicidal thoughts and putting my foot down. Ha, who am I to think I could rid him of such despair and sadness? I provided a love that doesn't exist beyond he and I. Charley once lovingly said to me, "We are a hopeful group" when stating how bonded of a family we are. This is true and more truer than ever.

My brother lived his life taking days on to maintain his external love for his worlds but didn't take nearly half as much time to work on love for himself. Love for life he performed naturally well as an overachiever and a smile on his face at nearly all times, but he never took days off. And if he did, it was subtle and coy and mastered with such selflessness that very few noticed. I noticed and still do.
He is my inspiration to live vicariously through myself as I desire.