Grief: My Brother

Grieving my Brother

My brother was found dead by gunshot wounds on June 5 of this year. And I’m not sure how I’m going to endure. Everyday I wake up and sink into the realization that this is not a dream. The journey of grief is certainly not linear if anyone’s wondering. It meanders and topsy-turveys.
I’ve pleaded with God. I’ve bargained. I’ve manically (perhaps maniacally) searched for the scientific formula for time travel up late one night. (Don’t ask me what I was thinking, I’m grieving.)
And I’ve been trying to keep his memory alive with me. I hear his smart remarks when I’m making a decision. I hear him toughening me up when I’m too afraid to go for something. But none of that is enough. None of it is enough. None of that compares with the gut wrenching feeling of knowing he’s gone and there’s nothing I can do to bring him back

Everyday feels unreal. Thinking of the violence by which you met your death, the fear and horror you may have experienced. The pain, all of this pervades my mind. I feel like my heart has been kicked out of my chest. I wish I could have done something to make you know we loved you. I wish I could have saved you. I wish I would have reached out more. But I was angry and afraid. And now you’re gone. Now I can never say the things meant for your ears. Now I can never let you know what you meant to me. I’m so sorry you forgot who you were. I’m so sorry my love failed you. I didn’t show you how eminent you were to my existence. I took you for granted. I thought you’d always be here. I’m so sorry I failed you.
Just a woman full of quirks, finding my way, sharing my thoughts, poetry, and short stories.

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