On Birthdays

My birthday’s coming up this weekend. I’m usually able to take the weekend off because my shop’s done with inventory by that point and the holiday rush is done and over. My birthday hasn’t been too exciting as of late; but taking the weekend off to relax is always nice.

Something else is coming up, though, too.

The day after my birthday marks four months since you’ve left. I can’t help but be a little resentful; out of all days, you had to go on the 27th. The day after my birthday has to be a Marker of how long it’s been. It couldn’t be a couple days before or after.

I’m sure I’ll learn how to deal with it, but there it is. I’m mad at you. I love you still, dearest brother, but still — I’m angry. It’s my birthday, for crying out loud. One day out of the whole year I shouldn’t have to be upset, and I am.

I miss you.

I miss you, and I should have protected you, and I still wish this were all a dream and that you’d call me. Or that I could call you. Or that you could still respond to all the texts and messages I’ve been wanting to send to you these last four months.

With love,

Kelly

Christmas Wishes

Merry Christmas, little brother.

A Dark and Stormy Night

I fear I am not strong enough for this. Each day we crawl closer to Christmas, I crack a little more inside. It feels like huge fissures make their way deeper into my soul.

I am not strong enough for this. I don’t know why the gods think I am, but I’m not.

I’ve finally stopped pinching myself. You’re gone. My not wanting it, my insistence that this is just a dream, that you’ll find your way to my doorstep won’t change the fact you’re no longer here. The fact that I don’t want it to be true won’t bring you back.

And yet, here I stand. One more day, an hour or two closer. And somehow I’m still on my feet.

Fly high and safe travels wherever you are.

I Wish

I wish so many things.

I wish you had told me your pain. I wish I would have been able to fix it, or make it go away.

I wish therapy was the godsend for you that it was for me. I wish the meds had worked.

I wish you knew you weren’t a burden.

I wish you knew how much I loved you.

I wish your brain hadn’t been so broken. I wish its chemistry had been spot on, had been the way it needed for you to be healthy. If it had been, I would still have my little brother.

My biggest wish? I wish you were still here. With me.

Month One

It’s now been a month.

I’ve survived a whole month.

My old therapist, the one I had when I lost my friend, said to take everything a single breath at a time. Don’t worry about taking things a week or a day at a time, just get through the next breath and you’ll be golden.

That’s how I’ve gotten through this month. One. single. breath. at a time. At work I can manage to forget that it ever even happened. I have people to talk to, and my boss is amazing, and my coworkers are fantastic. While I’m at work, I can think, “Let’s get through the next eight or so hours.”

But then I get home, and I have to go back to taking it one breath at a time because all the feelings I’ve shoved back at work just come crashing down all around me and it’s all I can do to just breathe.

Samhain’s coming up. Someone at my pagan shop suggested waiting a few weeks to give you a proper send off, just in case your spirit had some things it wanted to take care of. Mom bought a tree for you. At work, we had a couple extra wooden boards to show off different colors of cabinets we could order in, but the company discontinued those colors. I had three of them, but I lost one of the boards when the train accident happened. I’m going to do something with one of the boards for you, figure something out to do Samhain or the day after.

Until then, just one breath at a time. ‘Cause right now that’s all I can do.

On Trains, Accidents, and Phone Calls

You’ll never guess what happened earlier this week, Korey.

I was in a train wreck on the way home Monday night.

I think you might already know, though. I think I saw you at the train station. I don’t know for sure, but I’m pretty sure it was you.

I was thinking about you when it all happened. I’d messaged our cousin Paul not even ten minutes before, then realized as my phone died that I was low on battery. By some force of luck, all I have are bruises, a twisted ankle, and a tiny cut on my ring finger.

I usually sit in the front of the train by the window when I ride the train without my bike. Right now I’m thanking the whole of the universe I’d decided to not ride my bike that morning; I would have been sitting by the doors of the train otherwise. When I finally stood up and turned around, those seats were twisted and the floor all but nonexistent. If I’d ridden my bike, I wouldn’t have a bike and my body would be all sorts of broken. The seats didn’t have cushions any more and were a mangled mess. I was in too much shock but do anything other than stare at those seats. Those are normally my seats. The train, the solid, sturdy train, was broken.

When I had the courage to walk forward — or the self preservation; it smelled like electrical smoke and dust was everywhere — I could see the tracks through the floor. I panicked even more then. The poor driver was in utter shock. He kept walking back and forth, asking if I was okay. I asked if he was all right. I’m guessing he was; he walked all right, and he didn’t hold either arm awkwardly. Somehow the driver made it out with only minor injuries, too. The hood of his car was all but nonexistent, but the cab was okay.

When I found someone who would let me use their phone, I had your phone number half way dialed before I realized you wouldn’t be coming. It was after 8:00; I knew if you were off work you’d be to your car before we hung up. I didn’t want to call our parents. I knew with the stress of the funeral, they didn’t want to hear one of their daughters was in a train accident. I don’t have any of my roommate’s phone numbers memorized. I’ve know my boss’ number, but that’s more so that if something happens at work and he’s not there I don’t have to go digging for it. I’ve got my old landlord’s number, too, but he’s got a two month old and I didn’t want to take him from his family. Everyone else’s phone I’ve only got half way memorized.

I ended up calling Mom, partly because she’s right up the street and she wouldn’t have to drive another half an hour, but mostly because I needed my mom after something like that. I was too shaken to give her any sort of real direction, but one of the officers — Officer Cook, if I remember her name right — knew the area well enough and got Mom there.

Anyways, Korey, if you ended up pulling me into the isle that night, I can’t thank you enough. If you came to me to warn me about it at the station, thank you.

Best of luck,

Kelly

Week Two

I know I probably shouldn’t keep a countdown of how long it’s been since you’ve passed. I keep trying not to. When I see something I think you’d like, though, I can’t help but remember you’re gone.

I can’t help but wonder if I’d set up a weekly phone call with you, whether or not you’d still be here. Did I tell you I loved you enough? What could I have done differently to make it so you didn’t leave me?

I know in dealing with my own mental illness, there’s only so much others can do. No matter how much I love you, I couldn’t stop the intrusive thoughts filling your mind. It didn’t matter how much I spoke the words. I also know that without therapy and medication when your illness is as severe as ours, you can’t get better. Even with therapy and medication, you don’t always get better. The illness wins, and people are gone.

I still can’t tell you why your illness took you and mine let me live. I keep telling myself the gods had a different plan for the two of us. Some say the gods don’t really intervene too much with us humans, but for whatever reason, they made it so that I stayed and you’re gone.

I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. Most of our family is LDS, as you know, but I never really got the chance to tell you I’m not. I’m sure you figured, but… there it is. In writing. I wish I could believe the way they did, that you’re in Heaven and that when it’s my time you’ll great me at the Pearly Gates. That’s a belief I can’t muster up, though. My mind keeps going, “You know heaven doesn’t exist.” I really don’t believe in heaven, not really. There’s something, I think, but my faith deals more with the here and now.

I hope with every fiber of my being that there is something good, though. Ancestor veneration is something that I started seriously researching a couple months ago. Quinn had a book or two on it, I think, when we lived together, but it wasn’t something I looked into then. I can’t help but to laugh at the irony of it now that you’re gone. There’s no telling if you’d appreciate it, now, but at least I can honor you along with those who went before.

I love you, Korey. I won’t stop saying it now that you’re dead. And don’t worry; there’ll still be a room for you when I get a house.

Fly high,

Kelly.

Week One

It’s been one week since you’ve left us.

Seven days.

Seven whole days since I got the phone call. The one letting me know you were gone, that you’ve left this world. That my last farewell to you, the one where I said “See you next time,” there wouldn’t be a next time — at least not in this life, with this face.

This week has been hell. I thought when I lost one of my best friends eight years ago, *that* first week was hell. I had you, though.

If I could see you one more time, I would hold you tight and say not to listen to the demons inside your mind — I would tell you they were lying to you, to never listen to their lies, to not let them take that last inch inside your soul. I would tell you to not give up hope. Even if the demons never left you alone, there are also angels taking every single step with you.

There are 167 days until the next Godzilla movie comes out. I remember our parents letting you watch those growing up. You loved those movies, despite the horrible special effects with the really early ones. You would go on and on and on about all the monsters Godzilla would go off and defeat.

You pulled me around a little bit with the Mothra movie — the twins singing enthralled me. And now, with the most recent movie that came out, I’m not regretting seeing all those movies as a child. We went to that one, had dinner, and watched it together. I want you to know that I do not regret that movie, not one bit — I need you to know that.

I went to go see King Kong with you and some of your friends. I want you to know that I remember that, too, and I loved every second of that night, too. You see, it’s these little moments I remember best now that you’re gone. Us sitting and watching Stranger Things together. Playing card games at our family reunions. You playing your Ukulele and your Guitar.

I loved watching you play your instruments. I know how nervous you got when you went to sing in front of people. But the look on your face when you played — you were in heaven. The way you looked just wholly at home with the strings humming in your fingertips warmed my heart.

I know wherever you are now, you’ve found some measure of peace. You’ve been met by those who went before, and they hold you in their embrace. I love you. I might be mad and heartbroken right now, but I love you more than words can ever express.

Until we meet again,

Kelly.