Three days ago, I walked into my older brother's room, seeking some sort of connection to him in his absence and looked around. Posters advertising bands and guitar licks with chord progressions on the side embellishing white, grey stained dry wall and slipped into the slight spaces in the frame of his mirror. I scanned and picked at them and all the picture frames and ticket stubs. Stepping into his world for a moment, and the first thought that came to mind was which of all his keepsakes would I claim for myself if he were to die that night. It felt very wrong, the lights flickered and the room seemed to squeeze in on me from every direction, but I thought it. I decided it would be his favorite, most prized Yu-Gi-Oh card. It reminds me of simpler times with him.
A few months ago and again last week, a dream reality flashed in the brevity of a simply blink that was quite gruesome. I don't know where the meat locker was supposed to be or why all the lights were out, but only one faintly blue bulb shone dimly over what proved to be the hanging, swinging body of my dear friend of many years. He was just up there, eyes wide open staring off into the ceiling some thousand miles or so with a large hook wrought with rust pierced through the underside of his jaw and peeking out his mouth. I could see the wear that his slackened body was put on his partially unhinged jaw, and a think Nile river of red snaked its way from the jaw down over his collar bone and down his right side to the slim, calloused tips of his toes. I did nothing but look him over, head to toe. Noticing that his glasses were still on, and how his clothes looked so neat yet unclean, and the crispness of his obviously recent haircut which, it seems, was of no use at that point. Hearing a small ticking, the only sound present in that vacuum of reason or explanation, originating from a shiny leather strap and stainless steel faced wristwatch that locked it's arms around his bony wrists loosely. I bring the news back to their home, but to slight surprise I am not met with boisterous sobs or sudden fits of emotion- only quivering okays and nods as I turn my back and walk away from what was once where he found peace and rest.
This past Thursday I pondered what my reaction would be to taking care of my remaining family because both my father and younger brother are taking long road trips to Colorado (though separately). I imagined my father getting into a wreck along the lines of some pipe off the back of a semi coming out of it's straps and impaling my father through the torso and my brother taking a bad hit to the head in one of his games that caused hemorrhaging in the brain. Nestled in there was the possibility that my father would remain conscious long enough to try and call me (because he knew my mother would be asleep at that time of night) but I would be out being a dumb kid- too dumb to just check my phone and only later do I realize I had missed out on my father's last words, leaving him in his final moments truly alone and unfulfilled to the highest measure. After all this, including the double funeral procession, I manage to get my mother back on her feet (relatively) though she can no longer live independently and my brother, lost in the pain of loss, just packs up and leaves one day during our mother's unsuccessful recovery process. I only know he's still alive and hasn't ended his own suffering because he mails in checks every week or so to help with mom, and there I am equally alone but infinitely detached and blank- living like a robot into the eternity that that dream provided until I snapped back to reality.
...
But these thoughts are starting to become less frequent again (hooray!) because I've been enjoying more relaxation time and treating myself to ice cream more. So it's fine
A few months ago and again last week, a dream reality flashed in the brevity of a simply blink that was quite gruesome. I don't know where the meat locker was supposed to be or why all the lights were out, but only one faintly blue bulb shone dimly over what proved to be the hanging, swinging body of my dear friend of many years. He was just up there, eyes wide open staring off into the ceiling some thousand miles or so with a large hook wrought with rust pierced through the underside of his jaw and peeking out his mouth. I could see the wear that his slackened body was put on his partially unhinged jaw, and a think Nile river of red snaked its way from the jaw down over his collar bone and down his right side to the slim, calloused tips of his toes. I did nothing but look him over, head to toe. Noticing that his glasses were still on, and how his clothes looked so neat yet unclean, and the crispness of his obviously recent haircut which, it seems, was of no use at that point. Hearing a small ticking, the only sound present in that vacuum of reason or explanation, originating from a shiny leather strap and stainless steel faced wristwatch that locked it's arms around his bony wrists loosely. I bring the news back to their home, but to slight surprise I am not met with boisterous sobs or sudden fits of emotion- only quivering okays and nods as I turn my back and walk away from what was once where he found peace and rest.
This past Thursday I pondered what my reaction would be to taking care of my remaining family because both my father and younger brother are taking long road trips to Colorado (though separately). I imagined my father getting into a wreck along the lines of some pipe off the back of a semi coming out of it's straps and impaling my father through the torso and my brother taking a bad hit to the head in one of his games that caused hemorrhaging in the brain. Nestled in there was the possibility that my father would remain conscious long enough to try and call me (because he knew my mother would be asleep at that time of night) but I would be out being a dumb kid- too dumb to just check my phone and only later do I realize I had missed out on my father's last words, leaving him in his final moments truly alone and unfulfilled to the highest measure. After all this, including the double funeral procession, I manage to get my mother back on her feet (relatively) though she can no longer live independently and my brother, lost in the pain of loss, just packs up and leaves one day during our mother's unsuccessful recovery process. I only know he's still alive and hasn't ended his own suffering because he mails in checks every week or so to help with mom, and there I am equally alone but infinitely detached and blank- living like a robot into the eternity that that dream provided until I snapped back to reality.
...
But these thoughts are starting to become less frequent again (hooray!) because I've been enjoying more relaxation time and treating myself to ice cream more. So it's fine
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