When my brother passed away, I was numb. Its weird, I feel so much empathy for people when they die, people I dont even know, and yet when I heard the news about his death, I felt nothing. Maybe it was all too much. The thought of my dad crying and feeling so lost and hurt, all alone, in that house he just bought for the both of them. The house that James wouldnt ever see. I just sat there. I cried because I felt like it was the right thing to do, but they were forced tears. I dont know why I didnt want to cry, I just felt nothing. And then I was mad. I was mad that he let it happen. Was it an accident, or was it on purpose? We’ll never know. And so I picked up. I moved. I left. I forgot my credit card debt, my apartment payment, my fucked up life. And I moved. To live with my dad, in a town I had only been to a handful of times, that was 100 times smaller than the one I was living in. And I took James place, as best as I could. And it was hard. Going to church every Sunday and seeing my father cry. The father I hardly knew, but I got to know him very fast. His sad side, his depressed side. And I couldnt wait to get to know the happy side, the one that laughed. And I helped heal him. I helped him see the good in life, that there was something left to live for. And I didnt have to say a word. I held his hand in church, and I hugged him. And I stayed up late with him watching B rated movies and I took him to dinner. I was there. And slowly, he started to smile. To laugh. To care again. And when he laughed it was like the world was ok again. If a father can lose a son in such a tragic way, lose everything he lived and worked for, for 17 years, could laugh again, at a joke told by his daughter, then everything was ok. And now he doesnt cry anymore, instead he feels happyness, he feels the warmth that life can bring, and that to me, is amazing.
It hit me finally, at the funeral. When I walked in the door and willed myself not to cry, and a large picture was stood up right by the enterance into the church, and he was smiling in it, with the goody haircut he had, with the blonde on top that my dad said he couldnt get but he did anyways. and I cried, so much I could hardly stand. And my cousins and family were there, and put their arms around me. These people I hardly knew because I had been away for so long, held me and told me everything would be alright. With their red eyes and makeup running, we all held each other and knew. And my father, was so composed and strong, and when he saw me he broke down. And my brother, in that casket, I didnt look. I didnt want to see him like that. I wanted to remember him as the boy I used to play with when we were younger, running through the trees and grass in the park right behind the house. And I remember sitting on the skatepark ramp, and he looked at me and said “Is it normal to be sad all the time”? And I just said, no, its not. And we sat there in silence and ate our dairy queen icecream. I miss you little big brother. So much.
