It's Not Okay

I know it's way past time to post something.  I'm sorry.  I haven't felt like writing.  I haven't felt like getting out of bed.  In fact, if breathing required a decision to do it first, I guess I wouldn't bother to breathe.  It's a little better now.  I guess.

I went to decoration with my parents.  I don't normally do that.  I mean, the person is not in there anymore, and I don't really care what is done with my body (within reason) after I'm dead.  I like to focus on the here and now and the memories.  I guess I don't want to remember that a person is dead. Anyway, my brother's headstone wasn't ready yet.  I think that was kind of a relief.

So now I've made it to the summer, and everything is not okay.  I'm having a hard time making myself get up in the mornings.  It's difficult to work on the five million things that I need to accomplish this summer.  So much gets put off until summer during the school year, so I always have more than I can possibly accomplish each summer.  In addition to all that, I need to help my mother get my brother's house ready to sell.  I need to move all the stuff in my classroom (again!)  And I need to prepare for this fall's classes.  The odds are not exactly in my favor here!

It's been four months, and it's not okay.  In fact, today is exactly four months since my brother's suicide shattered my world.  When do I get to wake up and find out that it's a just a terrible dream?  When does all the business that must be taken care of when someone dies end?  Why does it have to be so difficult to take care of things when someone dies?  Why does the world go on when someone dies?!

Yep.  Four months now, and it's not okay.

Aight

When we moved to Alabama, my brother was a lot younger than I was.  It was 1983.  August 1983.  That means I was 13, and he was 9.  Subsequently, he ended up sounding a lot more Southern than I have.  I say "iron"and "all right." He said "arn" and "aight."  I have always hated to hear "aight," but now I'd love just to get to hear him say it again.  I can see the expression on his face, how he would hold his shoulders. . . all of it.

My brother was one of the most honest people I have ever known.  I remember how when he was little, he would eventually always tell on himself.  (My children have that trait as well.  I think it's beautiful).  I guess part of it is because he wanted so badly not to be a hypocrite.  I think that's one reason why he didn't go to church all that much as he was older--although I treasure memories of when he went to The Fire Escape (a local church, comprised mostly of teens and twenty-somethings) with me.  He was real.  What you see is what you get--like it or not.  I think he had gotten to the point where it didn't hurt his feelings if you didn't like what you saw.  Funny. . . I think he got to that point much sooner than I did.

I'm not sure that I realized this about him until his friends mentioned it at the viewing, but he also didn't judge you.  He accepted you just as you were--all your faults and imperfections.  It just didn't matter to him.  He could listen to you recount the dumbest thing you've ever done and not judge you for it.  He made you feel like you had worth as a person.  He really listened.

I sure wish he had made some different choices in life.  I will always think that he was supposed to preach.  I've thought that since our Fire Escape days.  Unfortunately, he felt imperfect--like it would be hypocritical for him to do so.

I really miss him.  He was pretty aight for a little brother.  Matter of fact, he was pretty aight no matter what.