9/08/2011

So... Here I am.

Allright, Gentle Reader.  I wrote this last night, and I'll be honest.  It''s a little raw.  You might not want to read it.  You won't hurt my feelings.  In the harsh light of day, I realized that I was coming off a little scary...  So I deleted some of the more...  ummm....  intense parts.  I thought about not posting this at all.  This goes way, way more personal than I usually write.  But the fact is, this is where I am right now.  Not all the time, thankfully, but just an honest slice of my sometimes moments.  I know that I am not the first person to ever feel this way, nor will I be the last.  And if my baring my not so pretty soul today can help one person know that they're not alone in the big universe, than I'm glad.
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So...  Here I am.

I haven't written here since my brother died.

I haven't touched my camera since my brother died.

That is, actually, quite telling.

But, here I am.

I haven't had the heart to write, haven't been able to pick up my camera.  I know that I want to, that I need to, but somehow those things are linked in my mind to picking up and going on with my life... And I'm not really sure I want to do that just yet.  It seems vulgar somehow, to go on with normal things like taking photos of little boys playing in a sand box, or writing about cookies, when I am an only child now. I didn't used to be, but I am now.

To say that my "my brother died."  or, "my brother passed away."  makes it seem much softer than it really feels.  The truth of the matter, is that my baby brother committed suicide.


There.



The unimaginable.


I said it.


Now it's true.


I wish that my deleting the words would take it away.


I want to pack up my little family of five.  Move far away.  Never talk to anyone we know ever, ever again.  Give ourselves new names.  I pick Lola.  New life.  New friends.  New everything.

Then this didn't happen.


So, that's where I am.  One minute, I feel like yelling at everyone that my baby brother is dead.  No, you do not know how I feel.  I hate you all. My name is Lola.  Don't talk to me.  The next, I want to just play on the floor with sweet little boys and pretend that this never happened.  Anybody want some chocolate chip cookies?  Charming, huh?

Sorry.

I'm not returning phone calls.

Sorry.

I'm avoiding friends.

Sorry.

I'm a right pretty mess, friends.

Sorry.

I have no idea what this blog is going to look like from now on.  It might go a little dark at times.  So should I even keep writing?  Am I going to alienate everyone?  Do I really want to expose myself like this?  Can any good possibly come from my spilling my guts on the Internet?

If this were an episode of Blossom, we'd know the answer in just a short half hour.

But...

It's not.  And I have no idea.

But, here I am.  I'm writing, and you're reading.  So, I guess that I decided to...  Spill my guts on the Internet for college acquaintances, middle school locker partners, and perfect strangers to read about?

huh.

Guess so.

Weird.

I know I'm still in here, somewhere.  I know that I'll find joy and beauty in my everyday life again.  It's already starting.  Just today, I had to just stop and watch the way the light shone on the top of Harrison's head while he was playing...  I'm still in here.

My husband...  I am sorry I can't clone him for the rest of the world to have.  He is so.  freaking.  amazing.  I can't possibly be nice enough to him, I know I can't be.  He has been so incredible through all of this.  He even officiated my brother's funeral.

Yah.  I know.

It gave me so much comfort.

During the service, he read a passage that I wrote, and I would like to share it with you.  It makes me smile to remember Michael this way.  This is how he will always be in my heart.

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Growing up, Michael and I weren't like "normal" siblings.  We hardly ever fought.  Perhaps that was because of the 7 year gap in our age, but maybe it was just because we loved each other so much.  I remember striding down the labor and deliver ward of the hospital the day he was born, my heart about to burst.  "Boy oh boy, it's a boy!"  I shouted for everyone to hear.  I proudly brought him to school for show and tell, and sewed him a little teddy bear in Girl Scouts for his one week birthday.  Now that he's gone, these are the memories that come to me more than any others.  His big blue eyes, the way his blond hair curled into ringlets on the back of his head.  His yellow baby blanket.  His imaginary friend, Pooh Bear.  I know that that baby had long since grown up, but he never stopped being my baby brother.  He was never grown up enough in my eyes for me to not give unsolicited advice…  that he never took…  or to boss around.  Some of my favorite memories of us together are him coming to stay with me when I was in college.  We would play tricks on my roommates and buy coconuts and pineapples at the grocery store, because Mom and Dad would never let us do it at home.  

When he was a teenager, I happened to catch a glimpse of a project that he was working on. It was a collage where pictures from a magazine were cut out to represent different things, the idea to tell a little about yourself.  There was one section entitled, "Your dreams for the future."  In that column there was a single photograph of a laughing girl with brown hair.  Underneath the clipping was written in Michael's untidy scrawl, "Happiness for my sister."  Happiness for my sister.  When the other teenage boys clipped pictures of cars and Michael Jordan dunking basketballs, all Michael wanted was…  "Happiness for my sister."  In a way, this really sums up my brother.  In his quiet, unobtrusive way, he cared much more for others than he ever did for himself.  



5 comments:

Lena said...

Oh, Mariah. I'm so sorry you have to go through this. While I don't know exactly how you feel, I've also had someone significant in my life commit suicide, so I do know a little about the guilt and the sorrow that come from losing someone that way. If you ever want to talk, I'm here for you. Your brother sounds like a beautiful soul.

Annie said...

My sister did not commit suicide so I can't say I know exactly how you feel, but I do remember in the months following We were angry at the world moving on. In California, I lived in the valley and it is full of orchards. Fruit, nuts, you name it they have it. Come about February all of these orchards are in full bloom and it is spectacular. Except the year Pammie died. We were angry. Angry that the blossoms had the NERVE to bloom. BLOOM! And our Pammie was dead. We did not want to world to resume when she was not in it for us any longer. One of the hardest things I have ever gone through in my life. But those blossoms? They bloom every year. And I can honestly say after that first year it was never quite that hard again. Praying for the happier times to come fro you again soon. Love to you lady bug~

Scott Martinez said...

I don't know if I made it clear, but the real reason I shared my own experience with suicide, is so you would know: "So should I even keep writing?" Yes, I certainly hope so. "Am I going to alienate everyone?" No, certainly not me. "Do I really want to expose myself like this?" You will never know how you might help someone, so I encourage you to remain open. You will help others as well as yourself. Maximum service. That's what AA teaches me. "Can any good possibly come from my spilling my guts on the Internet?" You helped me Mariah. You reminded me, and I need that to remember how important my recovery is, and that I don't ever want to go down that path again. Thank you for sharing. It is a priceless gift.

wldgrneyes59 said...

On December 2, 2012 I lost my precious sister...I can truly say I know how you feel. My sister committed sucide. She left behind three beautiful young adult children, too young to lose their mom, and lots of siblings. But her death has changed the dynamics of our family. She was only 17 months older then me. We were close, everyday I think of her and often cry, (alone). I wish I could tell her how much she was going to missed! I stumble upon your blog because you commented on another blog about a countertop decision only to see this post. Thanks for sharing! So sorry for your loss.

Mariah said...

wldgrneyes59- I'm so sorry. I wish there was something I could say to comfort your heart, to fill the hole in your gut. They say that it won't always hurt this much, that in time the sharp pain will fade. I guess we just have to hold onto that. I hope we can both find peace again.

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