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Comfort Eagle

Man it's been a rough week, and it's only Tuesday of my first week back to what will have to be my new normal, without my brother.

I've been out of work this past three weeks or so helping out my family with whatnot and being with my brother. Last week's memorial services were beautiful and wrenching. I was hugged thousands of times - I got more human contact in two days than I've had in two years. It's been uplifting and depressing all at the same time. I've never had someone so close to me pass away and I never want to go through it again, but the reality of it all hasn't left me untouched. Death is real. It is unavoidable. It is awful. There is no stopping that train.

Somehow I've managed to cope pretty well so far. Here are some things I did or am doing to keep from having a psychotic break. Some things may be normal, some unconventional, some downright not recommended. But whatever.

1. I cry. My brother explicity said he didn't want anyone (besides Mom) to cry over him. Well I cry anyway, knowing that he'd be put out if no one really did, and so I don't feel so guilty. Whenever I do cry, I team it up with a happy memory of my brother. It works.

2. I sleep as much as I can. I'm a night owl of dangerous extent and I've found that recent events have worsened this. And so, whenever I am able to sleep, I sleep. This past Saturday I slept until 1 pm.

3. I spoil my kid and my pets. I picked up a new scooter for my little one and have allowed him to sneak downstairs for some late night couch time after he's supposed to be asleep. Dog has had extra outings and has been allowed to sit on my feet (formerly verboten). Cats get baby talk and a new dangly toy.

4. In keeping with my brother's free spirit, I gave my car to his middle son's mom. She is in dire need of a car that she and her three kids can be secure and safe in. I feel that my brother would have loved this choice. We've always been fond of her. My heart felt at least 5 ounces lighter when I saw her face light up at my offer.

5. I fell off my meds several weeks before my brother's passing, as soon as I knew he was not going to make it through this time. I began taking it again the day after his memorial service and I believe the jump start has prevented a major depression. (I don't recommend this by any means. Adult life-long medication trials and errors have led me to be a pro at med self-monitoring.)

6. I talk to my folks and visit them often. In fact it's weird actually being at my own house for more than a few hours at a time. Maybe we could get a duplex together. Har!

7. I chopped off my hair. I mean, all of it, from uniformly shoulder length to spikey curls above my ears. I did it the day before my brother's wake. I felt this overwhelming need to purposely just lose something, fast, dramatic, and permanent. I'm not sure psychologically what that feeling was all about but I'm fairly certain it was tied to the fact that I had just helplessly - out of my control - lost something, fast, dramatically, and permanently. Regardless of why I did it, I felt enormously lighter; the weight of my loss felt a little less heavy.

8. I started really cleaning my house. It has gotten so disgusting with my frequent absences, and my inability to clean it when I was actually there. I've been tossing ugly and unwanted things out left and right. I threw out an entire sinkload of dishes (how the flim-flam did they get there anyway, when no one was home to get them dirty!). I threw out my old kitchen island - this Frankenstein thing I made out of plywood shelving, velcro and the top of a wooden table - and bought an antique, 50's style linoleum bar height table in the style I've always admired. My luck it was only $17 at a roadside antiques shop. We're still living. I'd almost forgotten that. We're living here. I want us to be as carefree and happy as we can, while we can.

9. I keep something of my brother's close to me at all times. His Red Sox sweatshirt I wear to work. His photo is clipped to my dashboard. His rasta-colored sweatband swings from my rear-view mirror. A tiny Volkswagen beetle sits on my desk. I listen to music that we've shared. In the words of a couple of Cake albums, I'm finding my Comfort Eagle, I'm Prolonging the Magic. I talk to my brother and feel for his spirit around me, in the music, in the clouds, in the guest room where he last slept in my home.

I guess everyone has their own ways to cope with such a loss. I can't believe that I made it through so far without getting pissed off at God. I think that's because...well...if you know your brother is going to live at someone's house forever, you want to believe the best about them. I'd like to believe that the Old Man allows his newly minted angels a few grace days to roam around earth before reporting for duty - to say goodbye to loved ones, attend their own services, to be whatever they want. I feel his essence when I see an eagle circling. I ask him if it's awesome to fly, and I imagine him rolling his eyes at me and answering, "Well, duh! What do you think?"

"Forget my sins
Upon the wind
My hobo's soul will ride..."
- gillian welch

Posted by Bullyland at 01:10 PM | Comments (2)

Could I be right beside you?

This earthly world just lost one of its most unique characters. Upon learning about his new brain tumor, my brother made it his goal to live to see my father's 64th birthday. My father turned 64 on Friday. At 8:12 pm on Saturday night, my brother took his final breath, in the arms of his wife, my mother, and my father.

My 8 year old son, this morning on the porch, looked up at the sky. "Mommy? Is Mike in Heaven yet?"

"I'm not sure, sweet. If not, he's on his way, don't you think?"

"Because I thought I saw him just now. I think he's right beside us." At that very moment, my dog ran up to us both and barked. I know he was right there, right beside us. I could feel it.

I had written this letter for him the night of my dad's birthday. I'm thankful he could hear it before he left us.

Mike,

I wanted to tell you how I feel. Believe me the times I told you I loved you!

I'm so proud of how you overcame everything you have struggled with. You are a great, loving and loyal dad, husband, brother, and son. You never stopped being a kid but still managed to become a man.

You made so many impressions on so many people - everyone who meets you falls in love with you. I guess you managed to remain adorable, too.

I've been looking at a lot of photos of us all - You, Mom, Dad, me and sis, your wife, all the kids, your friends. We all have something in common - our love for you.

I know you're leaving this earth - as you know it so far. Please try as I'm trying to not be afraid. Great things await you! You will always remain beside us all. You'll see us all again, forever.

You have affected us all with your one-of-a-kind self, your philosophies, your color, your "joie de vive." That's French - I think - for "love of life" (complete with outRAgeous accent, a'la' Monty Python, just for you).

Your kids are beautiful and sweet, and brave, and bear the spirit of you - their Dad - in everything they say and do. Not too shabby a legacy, I think.

Mike. My brother and my friend. There are more songs to sing, and we'll sing them together.

"We'll never feel bad anymore...."

Your sis ("always.")

Walking Higher

I carry you with me, ghost inside
And in these shattered arms, you're still alive

I carry you with me, holy shrine
And dogs and angels follow right behind

Could I be walking higher?
Could I be right beside you?

The bones they bury will feed the trees
But every word you ever spoke is still in me

Could I be walking higher?
Could I be right beside you?

And I will feel for you in the music
And I will send that river home
And I will cry for you sometimes
When night has come

And I will raise my hand to the mountain
Talk to the birds and I'll fly
Because the spirit lives on
When the body dies

Could I be walking higher?
Could I be right beside you?

- heather nova

Posted by Bullyland at 06:40 PM | Comments (4)