What You Leave Behind.

You know the time right after a really heavy rainstorm? When it’s quiet and peaceful and all of the ugliness is over – Honestly, I’ve always been a little afraid of heavy rainstorms, especially when there’s lightening and thunder. But I love when it’s over – I like to stand outside and smell the fresh air, and breathe a sigh of relief – not nervous anymore. I’m hoping that’s what we’ve finally come to – the end of the thunderstorm. I don’t want to be nervous anymore. It has been what I have dubbed “the winter of our discontent” – a seemingly endless series of horrible events that make your bones ache and your brain race.

We have all changed, the core of my family. I guess we were due for it, we haven’t experienced much loss or crisis in our life – we’ve obviously hit snags, but for all of the suffering in the world, we’ve been so lucky, so left behind from pain. But it hit heavy this winter – the loss of our own. The changing of the tide for all of us, but some more then others. I worry desperately for my parents, even more desperately for my brother. I ache for it every morning that I open my eyes. It’s always a stark reality, and I think about it – every time. And I ache on my own. I ache more then I probably should – He was not my real brother, not my best friend or my roommate, not even my closest confident – I saw him at family holidays and gatherings, or whenever we could squeeze in a visit to our respected cities. But I miss him – I miss his presence in this world. In thought and feeling, he was indeed my brother, I respected him as a brother, I thought of him as part of the fold, I loved him – loved spending time with him, loved when we all laughed together, drank together, celebrated together. He was at my graduation from grad school, he took pictures at my wedding, he was a part of birthdays and Christmas’s – he lived at my house, he was my people. And now he is gone. And to add to that – he chose to go. We loved him, but we obviously could not keep him here.

What a sickening thought, that I will never see my friend again. it’s a thought that gives me panic attacks and makes me want to drink heavily until I don’t think about him anymore – don’t remember he was ever part of my brain or my heart. It doesn’t seem real – when I think about it too much I just want to talk about him, for hours and hours. I need to make sure he still stays as part of our lives and part of our thinking. But nobody wants to talk about him – it’s too painful for my family and too taboo for the rest of the world. He hung himself – nobody wants to talk about that. People think it’s too hard for me to talk about, so when I bring it up, they quickly change the subject or look at me with pity in their eyes. Or, a favorite move of most people in my life, tell me why they have a story that is better then what I’m talking about – more painful, more shocking blah blah blah.

So I will write about him because I have not. I will write that he was beautiful and funny and talented and this time last year, he was alive. And last May we sat at a table outside on vacation, next to the poo,l and listened to him talk about business ideas. And the next day my husband and I would talk about how good he sounded, how clear and driven and happy. He would be dead 7 months later – gone forever. He would hang himself and my brother would find him and his poor beautiful body would be cut down by a random police officer who didn’t know him – didn’t know that he was funny and bright, that he was a talented musician and graphic designer. That officer would cut his body down and they would bring it to the hospital where he would lay, alone. Alone like he hung in the apartment. He didn’t want to try anymore – he was tired. And now we are tired in turn. We are tired for him – we are tired because now we are trying to survive without him. And there is a hole – such a hole. And I will obsess, even though I’m not sure I have a right to. I will constantly think about my friend hanging in a closet, in his pajamas. My innocent friend, who never hurt any of us. He didn’t deserve to hurt like he did and neither do we. I know we are supposed to be healing, but its too soon. It will be too soon 10 years from now. It will always cut so close to the bone – the loss of a person who was supposed to get married with us surrounding him. Whose children were supposed to know my children, supposed to spend holidays with us. We will never be the same, we will never be completely whole again.

Be aware of who loves you. Bask in their love, their concern. Don’t take yourself away from people who would do anything to keep you there. You can never measure the things you leave behind.