Death is Apologetic. Life Isn't.

It doesn't matter how you move forward or progress, as long as you move.
Backwards, a leap, walk in circles...as long as my heart is pumping life and my soul feels emotion, I should move. And I suppose that I am, unwillingly so for the most part, but I am.

You're familiar with the centuries-old Christopher Columbus story which states that people were afraid that the world was flat-edged and they'd fall off if the end were discovered? When my brother passed away, I felt that way for at least the first year and change; afraid of the end of the day in fear that life around me would fall off and I'd stay in place. Or I'd get to the end of a night as I watched the sun fold into the sky and the moon glow against the dark and wonder if this day was my end and I'd fall away just like my brother did. One day he was here and the next he wasn't. A year and eight months have passed and his belongings are here, all tangible, and yet he's still intangible. As much as I know no one can come back from death and no one can negotiate a return, my soul years for a miracle that will never happen.

I've begun to meet new people who don't know my past or my inner-present. Who look at me and speak to me with fresh words and newness inquiries. They are meeting the new me, the "she seems normal" me, the woman with a thousand truths and average-sized thoughts, the child who is vulnerable, do-eyed, green with loss and colored two shades of mystery.

"Do you have any siblings?"
Yes. "A big brother and a younger sister".
"Are you and your brother close?"
Yes. "Very". I fight the urge to tear up and my lip trembles and my breath gets short and I change the subject. I fear the fall of falling fast, divulging too much, entrusting my emotions to a stranger and being pitied. If you aren't a part of my when-Charley-was-here life, then you get no access to it. Period.

When I do speak about my brother to new people I share him as though he's alive; my brother does this or that, he and I are each other's backbones, he is a runner, he loves life, etc. etc. until all my etcetera's feel tangible and I pretend to believe myself. My omission is sacred as it is tragic and recognizing the inevitability of reality only makes my sadness worse. I instead lose myself in all of my to-do's so I don't have to think but when I do stop thinking, my brother's face surfaces, blankets my eyes and I clearly see that as much as I refuse to live without him, I am living without him, dragging feet and all.

Something of Nothing is Still Nothing

If what you are experiencing, involved in, receiving doesn't make you happy, then why would more of it make you happy? This is the bain of my emotional existence as I explore a life without my brother.
I kid you not, very often I am lost in my own thoughts people watching or just watching my world as it moves about me and I think Wow, this is life without Charley, which looks and feels quite the opposite of when he was alive and chucking cheesy jokes at me. I continuously wonder how my pain is going to end and when I'll hit a valley that is green in experience and blue with peace. A place I am meant to be with the people for me and the life with me. Partnership- it's what I seek in every relationship I have. Reciprocation-it's what I blindly have faith in. Respect- it's an expectation with a high standard. Sincere love- it's an Aha! sentiment that never ceases to surprise me.

New Orleans Cemetery, April 2015

My now-standards are flight-high and rigorous~ though I find myself making the same conscious mistakes in hopes that this life will stick and I don't have to go any further to find my brother in all the days without him. I believe that we are meant to meet the people we have and are meant to come across very specific people who will supply us with guidance for our next deep breath. We exchange notions, support, mistakes and learnings to take with us as we motion through, mud-deep in life and in love. I suppose my hope (and I use this word loosely because it's yet to solidify much for me) guides me like a blind person with a walking stick...looking for safety and keeping me from severe danger. So, I believe that moments that feel good to me is a last stop. As I interact with someone I keep my eyes alert in search of my brother's nod in approval or throwing me a sign that Yes, Yolie, this is good or No, Yolie, keep moving. I'm looking for inspiration to stay. Work, love, family, my refection, my life, or just one more day. While it isn't my brother's word whose I should live by, I do know what his word and voice sound like, so I listen nonetheless. Mostly, I hear myself berating myself time and time again. I'm not very kind to myself, I admit, and have a difficult time convincing myself that I'm a good person who deserves good thoughts. Yes, I should be careful with my words when I'm alone and my words with other people, and I try, but I fail most times. Suppose this is part of my process-I don't accept because if my brother didn't receive as I have (and am) and wasn't blanketed as I am, why should I. Instead, I filter what feels right and what sounds sincere in true belief that they'll come together in unity and provide me with just one moment of quiet solace.

Human Emotion is Very Off-Putting

Most people would rather deal with logic than with emotion, wouldn't you say?
Up until my brother's passing, I was always a bit rough around the edges-focused on a tough exterior that hardly allowed for much show of emotion-never wanting to show my cards but wanting to show the sincerity I so often fight for. My childhood also didn't allow for unnecessary tears as Dad would discourage, "crying doesn't help" and Mom would be easily aggravated if my brother or I cried in fear of her consequential lash, "I'll give you something to cry for". Sadness, as it was, had no room in our growing lives so we instead closely reached for each other; serving as a backbone for our lives together.

Losing my brother was a fear I always lived with and losing him to death was an intangible thought that would bring me to tears when I'd think about being alone without him. But I would never lose him to himself-he was much "too" of anything to lose.
There's something to be said about death and how quickly it robs our human space of allowance and control; life is a choice we have until we're left with one of two and then there's clearly no choice at all. My brother had a choice when he felt he had none and I am left with a choice to live or to die. Same choice, similar elements of grief and sorrow, different circumstances but same textbook versions of what control signifies.
Simply put, Charley crashed into himself and what he was feeling was clearly so tumultuous that he fought himself until he saw an end to his sight. I envision him in my mind, swinging and swinging and swinging, trying with all that he could muster to make contact with his inner beast, his inner sensitivity. Bashing with such force that he was sure he'd beaten all the fury, all the hopelessness, all the deception out of himself so that his exasperation was well worth the fight and he'd win. But maybe he did win and maybe his inner demon lost. Maybe his suicide was a feat he conquered.

Just as emotion fuels the bodies we house, closure is also natural motivation to have an answer. With an unexpected loss, closure is a therapeutic need that satisfies the spirit and the mind. My brother's suicide offers lack of closure and ensures the absolution of uncertainty. The only person who is certain of the emotional cause is him. If only preventing it were so simple. Tell me why and I'll dispel you of all reason. If only...

As a society we misunderstand emotion and misinterpret the forgiving need to feel...to feel loved, to reciprocate love, a desire to feel wanted and to be sincerely wanted, to feel important and to feel significant, to be understood and very seldom feared and finally to be loved unconditionally by some one person.
We are thrust into this world as naked and raw as God created but it should be our spiritual responsibility to live beyond the constraints of our human existences. Forget logic sometimes and feel.
I love you just the way you are.

The Pursuit to Live A Life I've Always Wanted

One month after my brother's tragic passing, the notion of newness was planted into the broken pockets of my heart. "This is your opportunity to be anyone you want and everyone you've always wanted to be. You're in a fortunate position to start over", she whispered into my crying eyes and across my sleeping daughter's angelic face.
I had no idea what she meant when all I wanted was to lose myself in someone I never was. Maybe I could take up excessive intoxication and drink myself to death or maybe I could explore the lows of being high and binge on street drugs that would numb me medicated. Or even have meaningless sex in an effort to be close to someone without the strings of being emotionally attached. I didn't want to feel anything but feel him alive.

Yes, I could be someone I'm not. Yes, I could do anything because nothing matters anymore.
I wanted to lose myself and escape the pain and devastation of losing my only brother, except losing myself also meant losing him because he is me and I am him~ one person separated by years. When Charley passed away, I can say that I lost my life. There is no one else in my life that loves so deeply, thinks so deeply and lives at his depth as he. I always felt as though life was bearable because I had someone just like me in this life, and that alone was comforting. I could wrap my brother around my soul and spirit...the thought of him felt like I was wrapped in blanket fresh out of the dryer. It's the feeling of all is right in this world. And when he died, nothing kept me tethered to this life, not even my daughter. I wanted to lash out at something tangible, something I could punch my hand into, shake until it broke, beat until there was nothing left...and do it all over again. But life isn't a person and I had no one to hold responsible but myself. Guilt and remorse was instantaneous and occurred in the same moment that I found my defeated brother, lifeless and beyond a sadness I can never adequately explain. Charley may be gone and took his pain with him, but I'm left here to struggle and deal and manage and hate an anger in my gut that I can't shake.

I'm angry everyday. And man, am I hot and cold. I'm easily agitated, my attention span is shorter than that of a toddler's and I cannot find a happy place.

To be honest, I don't want to define happiness.We live with morsels of happiness- doses if you will. Sip by sip, sometimes large gulps. Sometimes we're gluttonous and and take in all we can only to hibernate like bears do because who's to tell when happiness will feel this good again.  So we take what we can get but no matter how much I try to find life in my life, I don't feel the same anymore because I'm not the person I was when Charley was alive and we'd laugh together at his corny jokes. I loved watching him laugh at himself- his laughter and his smile was soothing.
The weight of my brother's death is heavy and drains me of joy. Yes, it's been a year and a half and I cannot function as I'd like. Yes, he's gone and why am I living against his divine wishes for me? Yes, I agree he wouldn't want me to be in so much pain but I am. All of this is a consequence of losing a life that meant life to me, and all of me is changing because of him.

Infect Me With Life

I collect pieces of people like I collect books-hoping to be inspired with a new wealth of knowledge or fill myself with the magic I know others have to offer. Their lives reflect much more motion and routine; absent-mindlessly going through their lives untouched and unscathed by deep sadness. I take as much as I can listening to the way they speak their words and the watch the speed of their eyes in quiet wish to be like them someday...or maybe never be like them- living life in robot fashion. 
There's a large, vacant hole in my family and in my heart that refuses to be refilled or repaired, for the hole belongs to my brother in all his existence both alive and un-alive. I've made room for this sadness that moves around my other emotions like vinegar with water; they don't mix but they maintain their own space. And it's okay that I'm not okay because I don't have to be. It took a lifetime for my brother and I to build the bond we actively nurtured, so it makes sense (to me) that it would take the second part of my life to work through his loss. There is no time limit for grief nor acceptance but what I have accepted is that I don't need to accept to make others feel better about me or to help myself feel better. 
The pain of my brother's death is long-lasting and very prominent- maybe I should accept the confusion...as my friend suggested last week. This tip, I absorbed and thought through, Accept the confusion of losing him and not the acceptance of losing him. 
Another person offered up, "Maybe if you do you, you'll feel better" in an attempt to offer up an alternative to embracing life again. Hmmm, I think I'll try the former. 

Keeping busy is something I've become a master at- occupying my time with life's errands and to do's, hoping that I lose myself in so many things that I have no energy or time left for love...because love hurts. Whether it's exercising, dance class, my daughter Mia, work or grad school, I leave myself in those places each time I touch them and walk away so that I can come back around and pick them up like the bread crumbs of Hansel and Gretel. In short, I know that I am lost and I have no idea how to get back home, a home that includes Charley very present and alive. So instead I wander with aim knocking on the doors of new experience, new lives, and opportunities in an effort to find something or someone's to help me feel semi-alive again. 

People compliment me with words of strengthening encouragement, "You're one of the strongest people I know" or "How do you do it all" and even, "From the outside you look like you have it all together. You make it look easy". 
But what's IT? Life? The emotional turmoil I'm managing? Raising a child on my own AND all the other stuff typical life has chucked at me? Just when I think I can't handle anything more, the stars smile down at me and add another load of heavy dust...and as I think God won't give me more than I can bear, he gives me more and I shrug my shoulders and resign. This is life. This is life. This is life. 

I seem to think that Charley's passing is mine and only mine and I'm affected in this way because he's Charley. And there's never been a Charley without a Yolie or a Yolie without a Charley. I'm participating in my own loss without agreeing to do so, and learning to navigate this solo self with my brother's spirit riding close to my heart. Lost is an okay place for me and it feels safe because you see, being lost means that love will find me again while I'm searching for a way to live. 

Living Parallel to Time

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

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

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

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

A Village of One

I miss my brother. And even now, when I think it or say it or write it, the character count and the space between the sentiment...doesn't suffice. When I tell him I miss you so much, Charley it falls heavy into nothing air and I plead that he is listening. I pray that I'm not talking to myself and I hope that he misses me too. His face or laughter would make my insides settle and smile. I don't feel smiley inside anymore. 

It's been my intention for quite some time to share my love for the village lovingly created by my brother's loss. There've been countless new experiences, new friends, pleasant surprises, rekindled relationships, unexpected encounters and in-my-face realities that are all consequences of his passing. In short, SO much is occurring because he took his life and left us all to fend for him, for one another and for each other.

Still, I miss him because he's gone. And if he weren't gone, I wouldn't have a village whom I love and loves me in return. It's amazing what a people can accomplish when their genuine intent generates love and support. Real support. Not the empty promises of  "I'll come by" or "call me if you need anything" only for these individuals not to follow through. Because if you're like me, I have faith in word and I have faith in people. I trust and am open. If someone disappoints me when I'm truly looking to them during a moment of grief, it hurts. I suppose I hurt myself for having expectations but what sort of friend or family would I be if I didn't meet others' expectations? Reciprocation.

Receiving love and support has surprised me. In so much that my faith in people is strengthened. I never knew I could be so loved and nurtured. I never knew people, my friends, some family and distant friends cared so much about my pain. It's as though the pain of losing my brother created/s a pain for them, too, even though they either didn't know him or didn't know him as well. But they feel it. And they feel my pain. This is wondrous for me, it really is.

When Charley passed away, I naturally looked for him for comfort, and to be told by only him that he would never leave my side and get me through the darkest phase of my life. My soul reflexed for him and he so obviously couldn't take my hands and assure me that he would hold me up. But before I could corner myself into solace and isolation, a village of his friends and my loving web of friends came in and held hands so I could turn in any direction and see an empathetic, sympathetic, I love you face holding tough and holding me. Now my web of love consists of his friends who deeply love him, friends of mine who have bonded even more closely with me regardless of the frequency of my pain and their own fear of loss, and family who hug me with their eyes and sweetly kiss me. Who knows how long this emotional support will last, but I am grateful. I feel secure and padded into space reserved only for me with absolutely no judgment placed on me or Charley.Even if it were one person, a handful of people or someone I barely know, I'd be thankful just the same.
Blessed. There's no secret to getting through grief and loss and tragedy. But there is someone who cares for you and wants to be the person you call in the middle of the night. Choose someone, choose a web and get tangled in it. You'll be glad you did.

What Goes Up, Sometimes Comes Down

Can you imagine how difficult it would be to always be up, high as the clouds, hanging on so you don't fall? Sounds terrific, huh?
Do you know anyone whom when you ask how they're doing, they're "great" ALL the time?

This is where I am currently in managing the loss of my brother: I'm okay most days but I caution myself (and others) that I'm not permanently okay. Some honestly think, "Phew. she's OKAY", in which I see the expression on their faces elated with relief and happy for me. This is not the case. Charley just passed away. Charley just called me last night. I just saw Charley this morning. I smell his beautiful scent, still.
I'm expected to have bad days. In fact, I allow myself to have bad days just as I did a couple days agowhen I made a significant move in my personal life which rattled my spirit and yearned for my big brother to soothingly speak to me and hold me tightly. Instead, I washed his truck and for the first time since he passed, I slowly explored the insides of his car. Receipts, random papers, a first aid kit, photos, old school Hip Hop CD's littered the pockets of his car. But the most difficult and sentimental find was in his glove compartment where birthday cards I'd given him lay neatly and quietly. I opened each one with a delicate touch and sobbed until my vision blurred and my entire insides ached. Lifeless like a doll on a shelf, my thoughts scoured my memory for stability in the reality that is now mine. Holding the loving words I'd written to him, I felt defeated. It was clear to me that no matter how much I love him, support him, live for us, I couldn't prevent him from taking his life. In this card alone, I expressed my unconditional love, the joy of growing together and growing old together. I counted on growing old together. I counted on having my best friend my whole life. We're both healthy, we both take care of ourselves, we're both driven. NEVER would've thought that mental health would take one of us, and almost both of us. I sat and cried over all the birthdays we wouldn't have together anymore. No more cards from him expressing his love for me. No more smiles over the glow of dozens of candles. No more.

I spent the rest of the day crying uncontrollably as I balled up his dirty workout clothes from his truck and held them to my face and chest in an effort to hold him. I. could. not. stop. crying. I watered the front yard and my neighbor walked up and opened his arms to me. I dove in and exhaled all the pain I could in that moment. I miss him so much. He rubbed my back and encouraged me to cry. I so obviously needed to be embraced.

We have triggers which evoke happy thoughts and happy feelings and we have bad, bad, hurtful feelings. Truth is, we don't need to lose someone to have triggers, but most often triggers are a consequence of loss- many types of loss. And I've always encouraged such relief and dispel of emotion. It doesn't matter if it's been months or even years because grief never goes away nor does the pain of loss. My brother and I shared 32 years together- it's the longest, most consistent, incredibly loving relationship I've ever had. No one will trump him or us, but I have faith in love. Love lasts.

Life Isn't A Rat Race

We wake up and move pretty quickly with our mental to-do lists and our feet hitting the cold floor. Our moves are in-motion as is our hearts as they keep us alive for further life and encouragement. And we spend so much of our time with a desire to be better, get better, live longer, live better.
I've slowed down dramatically while keeping my thoughts hungry and open. My mind feels weightless sometimes, especially when I block myself of all things hurt and make my way to my cove of self. Could it be selfish that I've made a decision to put my mind and heart before that of my daughter's? Sure. My Dad has gotten on my case for not acting more aware, although I can argue that I've never been more awake as I am now. I'm aware that the behavior I exemplify and the actions I gesture both in front of and away from her make me a more influential mother for her childhood experiences. She is first. Her life is first although my mind crosses finish before she does. I'm lunges ahead of her so that I am strong enough to have adult conversations about my grief and why her Nino is dead. Dead. A term she doesn't yet fully understand though she asked me just yesterday as we placed fresh flowers on his grave site,
"Why are we giving Nino flowers?".
Hmmmm. What to say, what to say. The truth. 
"We bring Nino flowers because we honor him with the beauty of life. We miss him, we love him, and when you care about someone, you extend a gesture to communicate so. It's like when Mommy gives you tight hugs for no reason. I squeeze you with all my love so that you feel it. We squeeze Nino with flowers sometimes".
No "why?" followed but she understood, I think. I hope.

This is an example of slowing down to ensure that what I'm speaking into this life is true and intentional. So that someday everything I extend, both verbally and physically, is almost effortless, second nature.
I'm thriving on a conscious level I've never experienced, and existing so in ways I can't fully comprehend just yet. I'm cognizant of other people's circumstances and realities, providing reactions and replies that only feed our spirits. This doesn't mean I'm walking on eggshells or treading water all the time, instead it means that while I naturally get angry or hurt or wish to express myself, I'm doing it with firm tenderness and honesty; honesty in my intentions with the present in mind and not the far-fetched future. Hey, I'm no preacher and full of myself, but I can say that losing my brother is teaching me to be my best everyday without trying to please everyone. I MUST try not rescue myself so much and maybe, just maybe, I can inspire myself via my own mouthful of words and wisdom. Hopefully, and I pray to the Lord for such, that my life will happen, and when it does as slowly as it does, I'll have the courage to walk out of the doors thrown open for me.

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.