"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you." ~Maya Angelou

i used to write nonstop in high school. i have dozens of journals, filled from cover to cover with various colored inks & pen line thicknesses. they are probably tucked away somewhere in a cardboard box, hidden inside the dark recesses of my creepy basement. they are somewhat embarrassing to read now. some of the problems i had back then were painful & profound; but most were so trivial & juvenile. the writings conveyed such deep feelings of aloneness, despite the fact that i had lots of friends & a loving family. & i felt so misunderstood. i would read poem after poem of my favorite authors to possibly find a line that i could relate to. then i'd copy it down in a different color pen, possibly draw a vine around it, decorated with flowers so it would stand out enough to read it later. don't get me wrong, i enjoyed high school. i wasn't super popular & i didn't go to all the parties each weekend. but i also wasn't the girl who sat by herself, or smelled bad & wore black makeup. although i did fart out loud once in the middle of calculus & i thought that i would die of humiliation. at school i had a tight group of friends who got along with nearly everybody. we had boyfriends & got into a minimal, yet harmless, amount of mischief. however at home, at night, while alone in my room, all i would want to do was sit with the lights turned low, listen to slow grunge ballads & write page after page in my journals. & maybe cry a little bit.

i think there is a deep down desire for people to be understood, not only by those around them but also by themselves. i think it was good for me to get my thoughts & feelings out on paper, however asinine & immature it appears now. they were true & real. & it helped me to better know myself. as i went off to college, writing became less & less frequent. i still have some journals from recent years, infrequent & partially-filled. but it wasn't like those in high school. i couldn't skip a day of writing back then; it was my water, my air. & i was slowly losing my sustenance when i stopped journaling.

eventually, i stopped being honest with myself. i learned the hard way that when you aren't truthful to yourself, you can't be true to anyone else. i was trying too hard to be what everyone else wanted me to be. & meanwhile i was ignoring my authentic feelings & needs, hiding them deep below those disconcerting moments you try hard to forget, like the first time you had to wear a pad after getting your period or when the entire school bus laughed at you when your neighbor called you "rudolph" after standing in the cold. it became easier to lie to myself, to become someone i didn't know, a complete & total stranger to myself.

it took a lot for me to even begin to embrace myself again: a lot of guidance, gentleness, grieving, & grace. i still have moments of regression, when i want to keep anger inside because it isn't always an appropriate emotion to feel. or when i feel neglected, i sometimes still feel the urge to press it down, along with the abandonment issues from my dad. but i remember that when i feel those moments as they come, express them as they need to be expressed, they won't stay concealed, festering & causing destruction to my insides. i can't afford to go back to being that stranger again.

being honest is a difficult task. but it is so liberating. i feel like i have this openness to give to others. i hope that by sharing these arduous & delicate stories that others can experience the same epiphany: that we don't have to live life alone. that there is nothing so unbearable & horrendous that we have to ignore our true selves. that we don't have to be ashamed or guilty. we are simply living out our lives the best we know how. we all make mistakes, some bigger & more harmful than others. but when we can get past all the harmful judgements we bring to others & ourselves, we can release ourselves from so much agony & finally be free.

about faith & marriage

tomorrow, mike & i will celebrate our 6 year anniversary. our ride together has been a roller coaster. a few years ago, we were separated. our unfounded & unrealistic belief that we were a near perfect couple & we didn't have to work on issues blew up in our innocent faces. after 7 years of being together, we took each other & our relationship for granted. we ended up living apart for 9 months. it was a profoundly dark & lonely time for both of us. scottie also took it very hard. i think he was forced to relive feelings of abandonment & extreme sorrow as a byproduct of my parent's divorce. but despite the dim outlook, he never gave up on mike & me. in the end, he may have been the only one to never fully submit to our break-up.

mike & i met when i was 19, a sophomore in college. he was 23 & had just graduated from temple. it was about 2 and a half years after my dad left. scottie was only 14 & took to mike immediately. he would tell me that he liked mike more than any of my previous boyfriends. scott loved that mike was a musician & valued his taste in bands. he would brag to his friends that his sister was dating mike from mewithoutyou. i think mike took on a fatherly role that was lacking in my brother's life. likewise, mike became very close to scottie & grew to think of him as a little brother. as scottie got older & formed his own bands, we would go & watch him preform at bowling alleys & school auditoriums. to my delight & mike's embarassment, one group even covered a mewithoutyou song, rather shoddily but very endearingly.

scott got caught smoking pot a year or 2 later. he got into drinking & eventually doing other kinds of drugs. we could see him & my mom falling into depression. at some point he threatened suicide & spent a short time in the mental hospital. mike & i decided to let scottie come on a brief tour with the band, maybe to inspire him with music, maybe to convince him that he didn't need to drink or do drugs, maybe just to reassure him that he was loved. we gave him some ground rules that even then, at about 17 years old, he wasn't able to obey. i left him by himself in the bus one afternoon & returned to smelled beer on his breath. he denied it, saying he had just rinsed his mouth with mouthwash. it was one of the first times he lied to my face. by then, the relationships scottie had with the rest of my family were slowly deteriorating, but i know my brother & i had a special bond that, until that point, was unwavering. i was so hurt by his betrayal, & ultimately he was too. he went to lie in a bunk in the back of the bus & cried. my brother told me that he didn't want to deceive me, that i was the one person he didn't want to upset. but after that, it became increasingly difficult for me to trust him again.

however scottie was never one to give up that easily on another. he equally stuck by mike & me during our separation. he would visit mike at our house & call to make sure that he was doing alright. he would tell me how upset mike was & how much he wanted me back. at the time, i was in too much pain to hear him. but scottie wouldn't stop voicing his desire to see us reconcile, long after it appeared that the rest of our families had given up hope.

he was with me when mike & i were brought back together. i met scottie at rittenhouse square. it was a beautiful & sunny day in april. it was one of those days that people long for after a cold, dark, lonely winter that never seemed to end. scottie was walking me through the park & introducing me to his friends. i mentioned that i was thinking about calling mike, to see if he wanted to meet up. the weeks prior, i had done a great deal of soul searching & been given a change of heart. i wanted to see if mike was feeling the same way, if somehow we could miraculously reconnect, despite all the shit we had endured. mike agreed to meet us. i could see how happy scott was, how strongly he was wishing for what mom & dad weren't able to do.

we convened in the middle of the park, a short distance from where scottie's memorial would one day take place. it was awkward for mike & me, having spent only short amounts of time together for the past 9 months. i was so scared.. wondering what was eventually going to happen between us. we all could agree that we were hungry & decided to have pizza together. it was there, in front of scott, that i told mike that i loved him. that i was sorry for all i had done, & took responsibility for my part in our failed marriage. but i had learned to forgive him & to forgive myself. then i asked him to take me back. at first he was reluctant. too much damage had been done. too much hurt had been committed that couldn't be rescinded. i told him that i understood, as tears fell down my cheeks, amidst the other paying customers of allegro's pizza.

scott went outside to smoke a cigarette & saw mike's brother aaron riding by on his bike. he flagged him down & pointed to mike & me inside. aaron came in smiling, hugged me & kissed me, & told me that he loved me. i earnestly told him that i loved him too. it was at that fleeting moment of love that mike believed we could miraculously overcome our past, that we could somehow make it. after pizza, i immediately moved back home & we tenderly cared for our marriage hour by hour, sometimes minute by minute, like a delicate newborn. we would focus on each other & ourselves, & move forward together, trying with god's help to not look back.

of course, it goes without saying that marriage is rough. every relationship goes through hard times, whether they are parental, sibling, workplace, or maybe with your intolerable neighbor. when you pledge to remain someone's partner - someone's one & only other, through the birth of babies & inconceivable betrayals, it takes a whole lot of work & faith in your partner, but also in yourself. & it doesn't hurt to know you have a little brother always in your corner who never stopped, & will never stop believing in you.

living a nightmare. waiting to dream again.

i have been waiting, rather impatiently, for scottie to come visit me in my dreams. i had one dream with him in it while i was in florida. my grandma, who has been dead for over 11 years now, also make an appearance. i don't even remember the last time i dreamt about her. but harry woke me up in the middle of it, & there was little to be remembered. i am jealous of people who dream about scottie, or when my husband tells me he has dreams of his father elliott. they seem so meaningful & special & profound. the women in the grasp meeting last night were talking about their dreams of their loved ones. one woman had an inspiring story of her daughter's dream about her son, who overdosed. in the vision, the daughter asked her brother if it was really him who visited her while she was asleep, or if it was only her imagination. the image assured her that it was really him, her real brother. i want that so badly because right now, it seems like the only way for him to communicate with me. instead, at night i seem to be in a state in between wake & sleep, ambiguously living out my previous day's events.

sometimes, i lamentably have relived the days before scottie's release from this world. my mom had left my house after dinner on the wednesday night of january 19, after spending 2 blissful days together. my brother hadn't called us, like we thought he might. i think we had a mixture of relief & confusion. we didn't have to worry about what kind of state he would be in after the long ride from florida. we wouldn't have to say no to him, again, if he asked to be taken to the park, or distress over where he was going to stay. but all the same, we still wanted him to call. i couldn't wait for him to see harry. in the back of our minds, we always kept our guard up, waiting to again be hurt by his addiction, or waiting for his addiction to hurt him again.

we all went to sleep, mike & i in our third story bedroom in philadelphia, mom & her boyfriend, al in their rural new jersey residence. at 1 in the morning she got a phone call from one of scott's friends, telling her that he wasn't breathing. my mom told me later that for the first time in years, she hadn't thought of scottie immediately when the phone woke her up so late at night. usually when any of us got a phone call in the middle of the night, we couldn't help but think that scott was in some kind of trouble. or he'd be wasted, commandeer a phone & call to babble, oblivious of the time or annoyance that he caused. early that thursday morning, my mom couldn't comprehend what the distressed friend was saying. scottie wasn't breathing? he was being taken to the hospital? they tried cpr on him? my mom got out of bed to make the drive back across the bridge to philly when the weight of the situation became real & she broke down. it had finally happened, all that we had been foreseeing for the past few years, our biggest fears were coming true.

i, also, got a phone call at 2 am from a number i didn't recognize. just like my mom, i didn't automatically think of scott. i was exhausted, from being mom to a kid who still wakes up during the night, & ignored the ringing. (i found out later it was a nurse in the emergency room calling from the hospital. how she got my number, i'll never know.) moments later, mike's phone rang & he answered groggily. it was my mom, informing him of what was going on. mike has never been one to wake up easily or promptly so he was unable to process what my mom was saying. after piecing together what i heard mike repeating, i took the phone from mike & tried to interpret what my mom was telling me. my brother had been found not breathing by a couple friends. the doctor's had revived him at the hospital. they think he had been out for 20 minutes & had cardiac arrest. he was at the university of pennsylvania hospital, only a few miles from my house. my mom had just gotten there with her boyfriend, so she wasn't alone. she told me not to come right then; try to sleep, stay with harry in case he needed me & we'd see what happened in the morning. he was being stabilized so we wouldn't be allowed to see him anyway.

sleep was the farthest thing from my possession. i went downstairs in the daze & turned on the television, hoping to trick my mind into thinking about something besides my brother; the only thing it did was help pass the time. i knew that scott was alive, but so unsure about what to expect. i needed answers, i didn't want to be blindsided at the hospital. but i was immensely afraid of what i could uncover. i eventually fought my fears & researched cardiac arrest on the internet. cardiac arrest occurs when the heart stops beating. because my brother hadn't been breathing for such a long period of time, the lack of oxygen caused a cardiac arrest. my world stopped spinning when i discovered that brain death or loss of life can occur just 4 minutes after cardiac arrest. at 10 minutes, likelihood of revival is nearly impossible (in case you want to read more about cardiac arrest).

the reality was clear: scott would probably never again be the brother i had grown up with. but i despite the facts typed out on the bright computer screen in front of me, i couldn't succumb to that awful truth. scottie had fought through so many crazy situations before. he'd been arrested plenty of times. he had been found drunkenly passed out on so many occasions. he'd survived the loss of his fingers for god's sake. this couldn't be his end. it wasn't supposed to be this way.

harry ended up waking up at some point & fell asleep on my chest. i was laying on the couch, waiting for the sky to brighten outside the window. my mom finally called around 6 or 7 & told me that scottie was stable with the aid of ventilators & machines. the doctor's weren't able to give any concrete information yet but we would be able to go see him. she said her boyfriend had to leave so to come over as soon as possible. i got dressed, left harry with mike & my mother-in-law, bought some coffee for my mom & me, & went to the hospital. i frantically gave the woman behind the desk my brother's name & what floor i thought he was on. she rudely told me that there was no name in that unit. i remember being so angry at her, how dare she treat me like that. doesn't she know my brother is dying? she saw how distressed i was, searched a bit harder & pointed me in the right direction. i walked passed where i had gotten an ultrasound with harry a year and a half ago. it was such a life changing moment; seeing the life that my husband & i created for the first time, watching his tiny heart beat so quickly on the monitor; being amazed at how intricate, miraculous, & perfect he already was, only 20 weeks inside my uterus.

i met my friend nikki at the elevator. nikki was on duty as a chaplain that thursday & during the morning meeting, her ears perked up when she heard scottie's name mentioned & how he had overdosed the night before. once she heard that he had a sister that lived nearby with a baby, she was sure he was my brother. she brought me to the waiting room where my mom was sitting. my mom & i hugged & cried. she had wanted to wait for me to go see scottie; it was too much for a mother to handle alone. we walked down the bright, sterile hallway. about a dozen doctors, students, & nurses were having a meeting in front of my brother's room, as they do twice a day, morning & night, as protocol for every patient on the floor.

i made my way through the staff. i could see my brother through the glass wall. he was lying in the bed as if he was sleeping. tubes of all sizes & purposes were sticking out of his arms & face; blood slowly trickled out of the holes. scottie's long ratty curls were matted to his forehead. his dirty feet were sticking out of the blanket. they were always abnormally large, even as a kid, & had the second toe that stood taller than the big toe, an unfortunate family trait. it was such a comfort to still smell them, exactly like they reeked whenever he took off his shoes in my living room. i was instantly brought back to seeing him for the first time at cooper hospital the day after he cut off his fingers; his body horribly bloated & weak because of the hours he had spent in surgery. & i thought of my father-in-law, elliott, whom mike & i visited nearly everyday for 2 weeks in july, just 6 months earlier, before the severity of his prognosis was diagnosed & he was taken off of life support.

my mom & i clung to each other & sobbed. my mother's youngest son, whom she had given birth to 24 years & 2 months ago, was supposed to grow old & outlive her. she was supposed to watch him turn his life around & someday become a grandmother to his children. my poor brother, whom arrived in philadelphia just 11 hours before he overdosed, was already dead on the bed in front of me, though it took a while for the reality to sink in. after all, it just looked like he was sleeping. & how do your feet continue to stink after you are dead?

i have been reliving this nightmare consistently for over a month, in bits & pieces. if i think about it all at once, i shut down. even now, writing this out & seeing it in front of me, i am filled with such anguish. i wish scottie would come & tell me that he is ok, that he had seen the end of the story & everything is going to be alright. my brother-in-law, aaron, told me about a dream he had last night. in it, his dad, elliott was alive & waiting for him with a big chocolate chip cookie. aaron ran to elliott & hugged him. aaron was crying, for his lost dad & for scottie, whom he considered his brother. elliott held aaron & assured him to not worry about scottie, that he was just fine.

month one

today is one of those impossibly hard days. it's been exactly 1 months since my brother passed away. yesterday steve & i walked from west philly to rittenhouse square, scottie's favorite place in the world. for me, it is a place of refuge & comfort; when i am there i can feel my brother's spirit & picture him, smoking, drinking energy drinks, hanging out in the middle of the park, excitedly yelling "hey!" & hugging all the people he knew who walked by, no matter how much of a hurry they were in. but it is also a place that holds lots of regret & sorrow. i know the park is where scott had gotten into fights, been arrested, passed out cold after hours of drinking & using drugs. the park is where his "friend" stole scott's bike & sold it for drug money. it is there where scott bought drugs, & quite possibly sold them as well.

we sat where my brother's memorial had been a few weeks ago. i had heard that the candles & empty 40 bottles had been left up for a while afterwards, but with the melting snow & influx of people that had come to enjoy the beautiful weather last weekend, there wasn't any trace of my brother's shrine. yesterday, it had gotten cold again, so it wasn't super crowded. but i immediately noticed a small group of outcasts that looked like they'd be a part of scottie's crowd. then i recognized one - the one with the long red dreads, also known as p**** - as a friend who either sold my brother the heroin, or was the middleman, that helped kill my brother. some of scottie's other friends had been full of rage towards p****. at the hospital, they had reassured my mom & me that they would get him for what he had done to scott. we kindly told them that shouldn't do anything on our behalf, or scottie's either. he wouldn't have wanted it; it wouldn't make us feel any better; it wouldn't help bring him back anyway.

but sitting in the park, watching p**** & his few other friends smoking & drinking red bull, got me so angry. i noticed a couple of young boys, who looked like they couldn't have been more than 20 years old, walk hesitantly & uncertainly toward the crew. they paused, just outside the circle, then slowly joined. the 2 groups exchanged handshakes, & phone numbers. although i didn't see any drugs exchanged, & i know that my mind is capable of conjuring up images that aren't necessarily based in reality, i couldn't help but wonder if this whole interaction was for a future illegal deal. & i could feel my blood boil; my brother would be dead only a month & this friend hadn't learned a damn thing. to me, it was like he was spitting on his ashes.

in fact, p**** came to visit my brother in the hospital on friday, a few hours before the machines were unplugged. his pupils were dilated, his eyes were glassy & red. he smiled innocently & knowingly, claiming scott was in a better place. there was no sadness in his voice, or regret. i remember being confused by his reaction; not all of scottie's friends had cried in the hospital, but all had showed some kind of remorse, or at least complete shock. i don't think p**** purposely hurt my brother. like i said, i'm not completely sure of his role in the overdose. but i will never understand how he could treat his friend's death, & life, so flippantly. & then continue to participate in reckless behavior that ultimately caused so much pain to not only my brother, but my family. i watched the 2 younger guys settle into p****'s crowd, & share some cigarettes. by then, steven & i had had enough. we gathered up harry, who was practicing his walking by inching himself around the dry fountain, & strolled out of the park.

i guess the hardest part of the whole thing is that we, my family & i, think about scottie most of the day, everyday. the hurting is so raw. just beneath each emotion, our sorrow lies waiting to reappear & consume us. although the loss of my brother is still somewhat of a hazy reality, the truth is steadily coming into focus & becoming more concrete each day. the fact is, i want my brother back, but i know that will never happen, at least not like i'm used to having him in my life. this is a painful fact that i, along with my mom & dad & brother, will have to face each day for as long as the world has use for us. it is hard for us to know that to others, my brother's memory will slowly fade. he won't be thought of regularly; instead he may be a passing thought every so often. they can eventually go back to living similarly, if not exactly like they did before his death. we will never have that option. & it is beyond upsetting to know that some of scottie's friends will continue to do drugs & succumb to the same fate as my brother.

the sad reality is that my brother used to be one of those souls. about a year ago, a close friend of scottie's passed away by overdosing. i remember how distraught he was; but i also remember scott telling me that he & his friends honored the death by getting wasted.

so today, the 21st of february, steve & i spent our last hours together missing our brother. i wore scottie's camouflaged t-shirt, & we ate at chick-fil-a in honor of him. scott was always obsessed with chicken: kfc, crown fried, the generic grocery store brand, or the spicy nuggets you could get for a few bucks at the chinese place with the bullet proof glass around the corner. back home, steve packed up his suits & scottie's clothes that he had been wearing for the past month. he said goodbye to his nephew & the spot he had made on our couch. i drove him to the airport & hugged him one last time.

one month down...
(breathe&repeat)

a brief history of my dad

my dad has had a difficult life... that is, from what i know of my dad's life, it has been difficult. he was the second son of carl & rosemary parker. my grandfather was a hard man. he lied about his age to join the navy as a youngster, & claimed to pull bodies out of the water during the bombing of pearl harbor in world war 2. as a kid, he got evicted from grade school for kicking his teacher. i think my grandpa would now be diagnosed bipolar. but back then, mental illness wasn't well-known & probably ignored. instead, he was just an angry & confused child who grew into an angry & confused adult. he married my grandmother, who was a daughter to an italian immigrant father & german immigrant mother. she had both of her sons by the time she was 20 years old. she & her boys were clearly under the rule of her overbearing husband. my dad has passively told stories of his father beating him, his brother & mother for various infractions, like bad grades or if my grandfather drank too much.

my dad went to vietnam in 1969. he was a helicopter pilot in the southern part of the country. the atrocities that happened to him are something that it is hard for him to talk about even now. he saw many of his bunkmates shot down in front of his eyes. the first time i saw my dad cry was when we visited to the vietnam war memorial in washington dc when i was about 9 years old. he traced a row of names & eventually found one of his closest friends. he stood there sobbing. it was a revelation for me, that my dad wasn't just the man who got up early, went to work all day, came home for 2 helpings of dinner, then chose what boring program to watch on tv that night, regardless of what mindless shows my brothers & i wanted to watch. he went through some serious shit that i, being only a child, couldn't & probably shouldn't have understood.

i guess because my dad didn't have much of a father figure growing up, he didn't really know how to treat my brothers & me. on top of that, anyone he risked getting close to during the war had the strong possibility of dying. so he wasn't one to be vulnerable & caring. his way of being a daddy was to provide financially for his family, & he did that very well. he worked his way up to vice-president of purchasing at campbell's soup company, which required him being at the office long hours & traveling around the globe for long periods of time. he made a great deal of money, but my brothers & i didn't know it. he would never spoil us; yet he supplied us with whatever was needed. i don't remember spending too much time with dad. he would sometimes meet my family during our vacations in chicago, if he could take time off of work. on the weekends he was preoccupied with projects around the house & fertilizing the lawn. he would try to make it to all of my brothers' & my soccer games though. i could hear his voice clearly above the roar of the crowd, always cheering me on, earnestly & proudly.

when my dad left my mom, we were pressured to spend forced & awkward time together. my brothers & i didn't know how to act around our mysterious father; & he didn't know how to treat his growing children. my dad eventually bought a condo about 15 minutes from my mom's house in new jersey so we would spend the night over his bare, sterile home. i remember trying hard just to fall asleep in this strange bed in a room i had to myself, because i didn't want to bear the unpleasantness of being awake. the first christmas we had at my dad's, he took it upon himself to buy us presents that he thought we would like. the only other time he bought me a gift on his own was for my birthday a month after he left my mom. it was a tennis racket. i had never played the sport before. it turns out he & his mistress had played lots of tennis together; secretly i guess when he was supposed to be at work. so that christmas, one of my presents was a puzzle. he said that i used to love putting together puzzles when i was a child. i couldn't remember the last time i attempted doing a puzzle but i didn't say so. it just reinforced how my dad & i were nearly strangers.

my brothers & i were introduced to dad's "friend" the father's day after he left. he took us to the mall for lunch where she coincidentally also happened to be shopping. my brothers & i glanced at each other knowingly. dad told us he was getting remarried when he took us on vacation to myrtle beach in south carolina. halfway through the drive down, he informed us that kathleen would be meeting us there with her 3 kids. by then, it was too late to change my mind. i remember crying when we got there, begging my mom to buy me a flight home. i ended up sticking it out with my brothers, & for my dad. on the beach one evening toward the end of the week, he took us aside & said that he loved kathleen & they were going to get married; would that be okay with us. what else could we say?

steven, mike & i ended up going to the wedding in november. it was a small family gathering at a local new jersey restaurant. the ceremony was preformed by a justice of the peace. there was little celebration & love. it seemed like everyone were acting out their prescribed roles.

"hi, i'm steve's daughter"
"hello, i'm kathleen's twin sister"
"no, scott couldn't make it tonight. he wasn't feeling well"
"i do"
"i do"
"i now pronounce you man & wife"

they lasted only a few years. by the time mike & i were engaged, their marriage was already falling apart, though my dad never told me. kathleen came to our wedding in february of 2005, & that was the last time i saw her & the last time my dad spoke of her. i don't know, to this day, what happened to them.

scottie ran into kathleen a couple times since then. she tried to avoid his gaze, but my brother, having no boundaries with people or fear of confrontation, ran right up to her as if nothing had happened. one time they ended up christmas shopping together. another, he invaded her lunch. i think my dad married kathleen because it was the only right thing to do after abandoning my family. & i guess their marriage never could have lasted for the same reasons my parents' didn't make it. my dad isn't able to get close to anyone. when it comes down to opening up, being honest, being raw in front of another, his other, he is afraid. there is too much at stake, too much potential hurt & loss. my dad has been burned too many times. but unfortunately, he ends up burning other people, his family, the ones he loves in the process.

i have learned to forgive him, as often as i need to. & not just because he is my dad. but because i love him.. because he is worthy of forgiveness, just like i am worthy of forgiveness.. by forgiving my dad, i am not expecting anything from him, like dad finally divulging all his deep dark secrets to me or some miraculous reconciliation. but i'm hoping that through forgiveness, i can help my relationship with my son; to love him with an openness & truth that my father was unable to show his family. & through forgiving my dad, i can learn to forgive myself, as often as i need to, when the occasions arise & to heal.

we are all complicated. we are all love.

one of the hardest things about scottie's death - which is probably felt by many families of people who overdose - is trying to find out the impossible why. it's like scott's life was a huge puzzle, where so many of the tiny pieces are lost. i want to dig beneath the couch cushions & sweep over the entire floor, finding each & every missing fragment to somehow assemble the mystery into something tangible & conclusive. but i know no matter how deep i search, i will never be able to fully comprehend my brother's death.

there are so many layers that complicate a person. we all easily label people to separate them into certain areas in our lives. but when you assemble all these segments together, it creates a true, beautiful, intricate human being. one part of my brother i am just beginning to understand is his mental illness. bipolar runs strong on both sides of my family. scottie was diagnosed with the disorder as a teenager, & again in florida, but didn't do anything about it. i think his only way of dealing with his extremes of mania & depression was to self-medicate, first with pot & alcohol. no one wants to feel more different than they already believe they are, especially in those formative teen years. you are already trying so hard to fit in & make friends. scott at that time was dealing with being home alone with a very sad mom, & a dad who was trying really hard to assimilate him into a foreign family. my brother probably just wanted some peace & normalcy. he needed somehow to be himself, without having to be a different son for each of my parents.

scottie was always a people pleaser. he loved to make people laugh & feel loved & accepted. as much as he loved this role, it must have been exhausting & an impossible task for him to fulfill. he couldn't seem make my mom happy & he wasn't able to bring my dad back. when his friends started doing other drugs, he didn't want to disappoint them; after all he was the life of the party. at the same time, he liked the drugs & the drinking. with them he was able to escape the reality that had been haunting him.. the cavernous depths that his thoughts would fall into & the secret toxic memories that were kept down below the surface but never fully forgotten.

studies show that drugs can hinder a person's maturity. my brother never seemed to grow emotionally or mentally older than a teenager. as he got older, it was difficult for him to think about his future. he could envision grandiose plans for himself but when it came to taking the first step, you could actually see his brain shut down. the light in his eyes would fade & he wasn't able to talk about it anymore. anything beyond the moment was too far off, too foreign for him. i think he liked the dreaming more than the succeeding. but while he was imagining, other former high school friends were actually doing. he found other friends who were younger & closer to his maturity level. or he hung out with older people who shared scott's stunted mentality. they were alcoholics & drug users & gladly provided scottie with as much self-medication as he desired.

all the while the caverns in my brother's brain were growing wider & deeper. he experienced more damaging memories & they, too, were colliding around secretly inside his mind. his drug use & drinking became a way to escape. but it also became routine. scott created bonds with others because he was unknowingly falling away from the people he loved the most. i wish i could see through my brother's eyes & know what he was thinking & feeling. i wish i could know all those secret stories that plagued him. i haven't decided if i should keep hidden the ones that he told me, or let them free. but the ones i know are sad & horrible. & scottie had lived quite a full life for someone a few months into his 24th year.

i have to be okay with never knowing the whole truth. i think it would be too much for me to handle anyway. my brother was a sad & hurting soul, but brought so much joy & love to people around him. i wish i could tell him that having a mental illness isn't so uncommon or harmful. one of our most beloved presidents, honest abe lincoln, is now thought to have suffered with depression throughout his presidency & most of his life. unfortunately, he probably wouldn't be elected into such an office today because people with mental illness are as seen as unpredictable or incompetent. but when has anyone been truly steadfast & unfailing?

maybe it starts with me. if i was diagnosed as bipolar tomorrow, how would i take it? would i be so lighthearted & secure in myself? honestly, i think i'd feel how scottie did: scared, confused, in denial. but through scottie, i know i'd have to not only accept it, but to own it. each & every one of us has something impure, that we'd rather keep hidden inside. but that's where it festers. & it usually ends up eating us from within. then we look outside of ourselves for happiness, acceptance, & salvation. maybe we can help each other to find the goodness that lives inside ourselves, especially in the forms of mental illness, addiction & deep dark secrets. we will soon find that we are not alone.. & that we are all beautiful, intricate & true. that we are all love.

on the divorce & being the black sheep

out of my brothers & me, scottie was most affected by my parent's divorce. my dad had been distancing himself from the family for a couple years before finally getting the balls to leave. one weekend in june of 1998, my mom took my brothers & me on a mini vacation to rural pennsylvania. when we got back my dad was waiting in the driveway. as my brothers & i piled out of the van & into the house, i heard my dad say that he had to talk to my mom. we were so happy to be back home; we were too preoccupied to notice that dad's belongings were missing.

when my parents came back in the house, my mom was still crying. my dad lead us into the library, the room unofficially designated for computer use, piano playing, & christmas morning. he told us that he had already moved out. he had rented a condo about 30 minutes away, a really small place, but we were welcome there at any time. he said not to worry, that it wasn't anything that my brothers & i had done; this was all between my mom & dad. he started to cry, for about the third time i could remember in my 16 years of living. everyone was crying, except me. maybe because of my dry cheeks, my dad felt most comfortable asking me to come with him to check out his one room apartment in echelon, right down the street from the doomed & deteriorating mall. i agreed to go because he was my dad. i never said no to my dad. i never said much of anything to him.

i wasn't surprised too much by the separation. i had seen it coming. i noticed that the time dad spent around the house had become increasingly less. at night when they thought i was sleeping, i could hear my parents arguing. my mom asked my dad about an address on his parking ticket, & why he was out so late. my dad loudly & angrily denied any kind of wrongdoing, claiming that my mom was being paranoid & ridiculous. a few years later, my dad finally divorced my mom & married the woman, with 3 young kids, that lived at the address on the parking ticket. 

scott was 11 when dad left. we all felt abandoned, but scottie, being the youngest, had been without a father figure for years. my dad traveled a lot with his job. he would be gone for weeks at a time, come home for a handful of day, & have a new international destination in store for his already saturated passport. it felt normal for him to be gone. in school, when scott was asked to describe my dad for father's day, he said that dad like ties & suits; that's all my brother knew of our father. 

a few years later, when dad got remarried, he refused to go to the wedding. but he ended up spending the most time with my dad & his new wife & family. steven & i went off to college, leaving scottie to console our still grieving mother. he was forced to spend time with the dad he hardly knew. he became the liaison between my parents, & a step-brother to 3 kids who adored him. but what he truly wanted is his family back together. 

scott, particularly later in life, was probably considered to be the black sheep of our family. but i recently heard that there really aren't any black sheep. these "outcasts" are simply the most sensitive & emotionally aware kin. they end up embodying the rest of the family's joys, despairs, angers, shames, excitements, love. they feel so deeply & truly that sometimes it is hard for others to accept, particularly if they are trying to forget. i now see scott as the delicate & passionate brother & son who wanted to relate to each one of us without inhibition. we were too scared to be so exposed... to feel so openly...

may we all become the black sheep in our families.  

together & alone in grief

last night steve went with me to my first GRASP meeting. we weren't really sure what to expect. from an earlier email correspondence with the group coordinator, i was anticipating only a few other moms. but there were a dozen other people there besides my brother & me. most were mothers, but there were 2 other sisters & 1 other brother. some lost their family member (a majority of which were young males in their early 20s) within the last couple years. one woman lost her son just 2 weeks ago. too many had the unfortunate fate of finding their sons dead.

we arrived about a half hour late so people were already talking. it reminded me of what i imagined an aa meeting would look like: everyone in a circle sitting in varying chairs, a dozen assorted books about grieving on the table in the middle, lots of dunkin donuts coffee, but no cigarettes, having to hold a large stuffed butterfly pillow when you want to speak. it took no time at all for me to feel how horribly sad, but strangely reassuring it was to be surrounded by these other lost strangers who somehow understood exactly what i was experiencing. they could relate going through year after painful year of trying to get their son or daughter help. & clinging onto to each moment of sobriety with so much hope for the fairy tale future you'd envisioned because you could never allow yourself to give up on them. you felt their despair & utter confusion when she decided to start taking drugs again. when they said that he was a good kid, & that she was a loving & caring person, but became lost along the way under the heavy mask of addiction, you knew it was true because you saw the same events unfold before your own eyes. when steven openly compared scottie to peter pan, everyone understood because they, too, once had their own child who never wanted to grow up.

it's incredible how scott seemed so similar to all these other fallen addicts. for so long, i thought that my brother was beyond the norm. i couldn't picture anyone living like him; & i thought it was impossible for him to fit into any group. but then i met so many of his friends who came to say goodbye to scottie for the last time, how they weren't embarrassed by their dirty bodies, pot smelling clothes, & foul language at the hospital. & at the memorial they threw for him at rittenhouse square nearly a week after he died, how they smoked incessantly, drank 40s from paper bags, & reminisced fondly about my brother's uninhibited lifestyle. i knew that he wasn't alone. &  when i heard these women describe their children, i could have sworn they were talking about scottie. they seemed to all have a diagnosed mental illness. they stopped maturing around the time they starting taking drugs; & they were very good at manipulation. there were so many periods of sobriety, & heavy drug use happened quickly & too often surprisingly. each of these souls loved their son, daughter, brother, or sister beyond words. i felt their tears, that have become become a normal part of life. & their utter devotion that hasn't waned since the formidable deaths.

fueled by such openness & empathy, i confessed that coping with scott's death had been difficult with my son harry; how, at times, i wished i could be alone & sit in stillness & wait for scottie, but being a mom to a 1 year old rarely afforded that luxury. as i was divulging these dark revelations, although honest, i was admitting them to women who had recently lost their own sons, who would probably give anything in the world to have their babies back again. & i was struck with such guilt & sadness. i asked for forgiveness. a few women had similar stories to mine, trying, in vain, to make me feel less selfish & horrible. but i continue to feel the regret.

i was asked to come back next week; & god-willing, i will. i pray that through getting to know about addiction & mental illness, i will better understand my brother. i pray that through self-reflection, i will find forgiveness & grace. i pray that through these other beautiful hurting individuals, we can find purpose, peace & ultimate rest.

the history of scott's nub: #1

scottie had been staying with my dad in florida during the spring of 2007. dad decided to leave the cold new jersey winters once & for all & move into the condo that was owned by my grandparents in st. petersburg. since scottie had been living with him in mt. laurel & didn't have anywhere else to go, he made the trip south with dad. soon enough, scottie discovered that hated living down there. he felt very isolated & didn't have any friends. he eventually found a pretty decent job working on the numerous bridges around the gulf. but he was never one to easily meld into the working man lifestyle. he could never wake up early on his own - even during his school years - & he was a little absent minded when it came to working safely in dangerous conditions. i'm not sure exactly if he was let go or quit, but in the end it was probably a little of both. by may scottie had made plans to take the greyhound back up north, move in with some friends, & got a lead on a job with a tree company. he was only his third day on the job when he had the accident.

when i think back to that day in may 2007, it seems like it was an ominous foreshadowing to scottie's passing. i was having a wonderful morning with some girlfriends, drinking coffee & playing with their children, when my husband & mom called me almost simultaneously. at first i ignored both of their phone calls, figuring i would back to them when i didn't mind the interruptions. but they called repeatedly. i eventually talked to mike who told me that scottie's friend called & said that he had gotten into an accident at his job. he was at cooper hospital in camden & i should probably get over there as soon as possible. on the way home, i talked to my mom, who was already driving up from florida with her boyfriend, al & his dying father. she was in a panic; i told her not to worry that i would take care of scottie.

i got home, the whole while thinking scott had just a minor cut his hand with a chainsaw or something. mike & i drove started driving to the hospital when he said, "sarah i have to tell you something about scottie." my brother's friend had told mike that scott cut off some fingers with a log splitter. my husband didn't want me to be blindsided at the hospital. i pulled the car over because i couldn't breathe. i felt sick. i was so scared for my poor little brother, who didn't have anyone around but me.

when we got to the hospital, the doctor took mike & me into a waiting room & told us the severity & insanity of the situation. scott had lost the 3 middle fingers on his right hand, & a small sliver of his thumb. they were going to try to save 2 of the digits by sewing them back on; the third was too mangled so it would be used for "parts" (veins, nerves, etc). the doctor said that they were going to take out the middle bone in the hand so it wouldn't look too big with only 4 fingers. the surgery would take all night & into early morning. by then, it was only early afternoon.

i couldn't think straight. i felt angry that i was put in that position. we were brother & sister: we were supposed to be playing, fighting, laughing, singing, getting on each other's nerves.  i wasn't supposed to be my brother's emergency contact.

the doctor told me to go see scott. he'd be pretty doped up so he wouldn't be able to feel anything & because he'd be going into surgery pretty quickly. i went in & saw my baby brother's precious face & he smiled. i burst into tears. i wanted to remain strong for him but i couldn't. i was too scared. i tried to find his hand, but it was already wrapped up in bandages. on his leg was a plastic ziplock bag & inside was the part of his thumb that had been cut off. i looked away hurriedly, hoping not bring scott's attention to it. my brother told me not to worry, that everything would be alright. scottie was always saying shit like that. i managed to look in his eyes, & even through all the medication, i could see how he didn't really believe what he was telling me.

they let me stay with scottie until he was ready for the inconceivably intricate, medically miraculous procedure to save his fingers. i hugged him so hard & said i'd see him when he got out. i was preparing myself for a long night in the waiting room, when the surgeon told me that i wouldn't be allowed to see my brother right after surgery because he'd be too out of it & needed recovery. he said that i should leave, get as much sleep as possible, & come back when visiting hours in the intensive care unit started the following morning.

& so i left. but i couldn't sleep. i was so grateful when amir, scott's plastic surgeon, called at around 3 or 4 in the morning to assure me that everything went fine; that time would only tell to see if scott's hand would reject the same fingers that stood atop his broad palm for the past 2 decades, without a second thought. for now, we could only wait & hope.

my other brother.. steven

at 2 am on a thursday morning, i got the phone call from my mom about scott being in the hospital. i first remembered of my dad, whom my mom said she had called already. my next thoughts turned toward my other brother steve. he has lived on the other side of the world in china for the past 5 years. he has had the isolating experience of hearing the family news over email or internet phone, that is if we can get a hold of him. this is the way i told steven that he was going to be an uncle for the first time, or how steven consoled me after my father-in-law passed away. it was how my brother, on his birthday, found out that scottie had lost 3 fingers on his hand in the log splitter accident.

after hearing about scottie, i knew that steve would feel helpless & confused being 7,410 miles away. none of us were exactly sure what to tell him either. on top of everything else, my dad, mom & i were all in extreme denial. we knew that scott hadn't been breathing for a significant amount of time; that his heart stopped & they were able to bring him back. but we had to believe that he would get better. at that moment, the thought of him not making it was too much to consider.

my mom told me that dad was going to email steve later in the morning, & i immediately felt uneasy. i remembered how upset steve was when hearing about scott's accident 4 years ago, how he seriously contemplated coming home & how sad he was not to be here to comfort us, how he couldn't be comforted by us. i convinced my dad to call him, that by hearing his voice steven would be more reassured than reading some vague, upsetting words on the computer screen. not surprisingly, my brother called my mom & me at the hospital right after he got the news. dad, having just been with scott for nearly half of the year & therefore being the deepest in denial, made it seem like scott would ultimately be okay & that steve should stay in china. i had to tell him otherwise. & as the day progressed with the outcome becoming more clear & dire, i had to tell my brother steve that our brother scott wasn't going to survive.

i listened to him breakdown, & waited on the phone for as long as he needed me. the one person in the world that i could relate to was on the other side of the globe. it wasn't like we were alone: i had my family & he luckily had his very supportive girlfriend. but for 24 years it was us 3, my brothers & me. we had memories that no one else knew. we had jokes that no one else would think were funny. we had made-up songs, hand shakes, games during long car rides, & deep seeded holiday rituals. in the end, we believed we would always have each other, despite our hardships or being far apart.

steven asked me to talk to scott, in case he couldn't make it to the hospital in enough time. i put my phone on speaker mode & held it up to scottie's ear. i listened, destitute & filled with sorrow, while my one brother pleaded with my other brother to fight & hang on to his life. steve cried as he asked for forgiveness for their years of brotherly bickering & apologized living so far away. he lamented the fact that scott wouldn't be around for his future milestones, like getting married & having kids. steven assured our brother that we didn't care what he had done, that we didn't want to go through life without him, that we didn't want him to move on without knowing how much we would always love him. steven caught an early flight out of shanghai & made it to philadelphia by early afternoon on friday. my family, miraculously, would be able to stay with scott leading up to the moment they took him off of life support.

it is an awful loss when a sibling dies young. i had so many dreams for my brothers & me. i would envision steven moving back to the US & living in philadelphia. i would dream about scott eventually getting clean, finding a job & settling down. i saw them both getting married & having kids & all of the cousins would be best friends. i could see us coming together for every holiday, something we never got to do with my mom's or my dad's brothers because we lived too far away. it is near impossible to let go of those desires. i still have them. i think i will always mourn them.

it has been an immeasurable blessing to have steven around the fast few weeks; to see him be an uncle to my son; to have a reminder that i still have a brother; to relive the memories of scottie with someone who shares those same visions; to experience a common hope in a unknowable & somewhat imperfect future. i am not looking forward to him making the 7,410 mile trip back across the world. but i am so thankful to have him. & i hope he knows how sorry am for any of our silly sibling fights; that it doesn't matter what he has done or will do in the future.. i will always love him.

21 days later: harry's first birthday

yesterday, february 11, 2011, was my son harry's first birthday. it also marked 3 weeks since my brother scottie died. in the morning harry & i were driving to playgroup & i couldn't help but think about what i was doing at that moment 21 days ago. at that point my mom & i knew that scottie wasn't going to make it. the doctor had told us that he wasn't sure if scott was "dead" yet. he explained that there were 2 ways of declaring someone deceased. the first is obvious & a little easier to rationalize; it is when the heart stops beating. the second is difficult; it is when the brain stops functioning. in scott's case, his heart was beating (with help from numerous amounts of drugs) & his lungs were breathing (because of a machine) so it's simple to look at him & convince yourself that he is going to get better with some time & hospital elbow grease. but we could tell from pretty early on, through the sympathetic looks of the nurses & somber tones of the doctors, that things weren't looking too hopeful.

so 3 weeks ago, around the same time i was driving harry to play with his little friends, hospital staff from the neurological department were preforming tests on scott to see if he could, in fact, be declared brain dead. they gave my mom & i the choice if we wanted to stay in the room & watch, & we did. i knew that scott would never be the brother that i had once known. we figured out that scottie hadn't been breathing for around 40 minutes, not the 20 minutes we first thought. either way, 4 minutes without oxygen to the brain usually results in brain damage at the very least. i think i just wanted the reassurance, or to be there if something miraculous did happen. the doctor yelled loudly in his ears, checked for pupil dilation, pinched his appendages, & tickled his feet. there was no reaction. you could see the doctor's slight shake of his head & whisper to his assistant. he explained to us that since scott had so many drugs in his system prior to coming into the hospital, they would have to wait until all of them were fully cleared before pronouncing him brain dead. but regardless, it wasn't appearing that he had any kind of activity. later, they would come back & pour cold water in his ears. a healthy brain would cause the eyes to move in the direction of the water, even if the person was unconscious. scottie's usually clear blue eyes, that matched everyone's eyes in my family, remained cloudy & blank as they stared at the ceiling.

my own blue pupils began to flood with tears as i watched the philadelphia skyline pass around me. i looked to the left of me & noticed the "gift of life" building looming overhead. i must have seen it hundreds of times before, but that moment was the first time i really contemplated it. 3 weeks ago, mary from the gift of life organization, was working hard to find recipients for scott's organs. she was tender & compassionate with us; she listened to scottie stories, looked lovingly at the photos we had brought in of him when scott was vibrant & alive, & cried with us when she couldn't remain strong. 21 days later, scottie's kidneys were being kept alive in 2 other bodies.

as much i thought of my brother's death 3 weeks ago, i relived the beautiful birth of my baby boy 1 year ago: my unbelievably quick progression of labor in the morning; mike groggily digging the car out of the snow from the previous day's blizzard, driving us through red lights on the slippery streets with the blinkers on to the birthing center; at 1:16 pm feeling my full power of being a woman, reaching down to pull out my miracle child,  & announcing that he was a boy. it was the brightest, most wonderful day of my life...

scottie was so excited to be an uncle. since my labor had advanced so swiftly, i wasn't able to make the "just so you know" phone calls to all of my family members, like scottie. he found out that i was in labor through my mom. with his ingenuity & tenacity, he took public transportation from new jersey to philadelphia to the bryn mawr hospital, even though for the past 9 months he knew we had been preparing to deliver at the birth center. my mom, in the middle of holding up my right leg during some intense contractions, got a phone call from scottie saying he was at the hospital & he couldn't find me. luckily, we were just down the road & he made it there to hold his tiny new nephew.

last night mike & i had a small party for successfully completing harry's first year, proud of the fact that we had kept him alive & ourselves relatively sane. our friends came over to celebrate with us. & i was again reminded how loved my little threesome is, how we are unconsciously & continually taken care of.  when the last person left, i looked at the time & it was nearing the moment of scott's final breath. i solemnly replayed those last minutes & realized that maybe scottie, with his ingenuity & tenacity, is still taking care of me, of harry, & the rest of my family. maybe i can't find him now.. but i know he will always find me.

currently, cursing has become my bridge to loving

lately i've been looking into finding a grief support group. there are so many to choose from. but i specifically wanted to find one that dealt with the death of a family member due to overdosing. i didn't know if they even existed. addicts have lots of stigmas attached to them.. as does death from overdosing, which goes without saying. i'm sure it is difficult for someone on the outside to understand what my family is going through.. hell it's hard for us to understand what we're going through. it's simple to see addicts as having the power to "say no" & take control of their lives. but only now am i beginning to see that this is so far from the truth. my brother wasn't merely some bad guy who abandoned his family for drugs. scottie, as a doctor so aptly put it at the hospital, had a terminal illness. with cancer or heart disease, you can rationalize someone's death because they had a physical sickness that ultimately overtook them. my brother, as an addict, had a mental sickness that ultimately overtook him just the same.

i found a group called GRASP, grief recovery after a substance passing. it was founded by a couple who lost their son due to a drug overdose. there is a group that meets in philly every wednesday night so i emailed fran, a woman who lost her son nearly 3 years ago & facilitator of the local chapter. she wrote me a tender caring email, filled with sympathy & sadness. although i had never met her, i felt like she understood me. my friends have been wonderful.. some going beyond anything i could have imagined to show me love. & i sincerely appreciate every single one of them. but not many can know what it's like to have a sibling as an addict. & none know what it's like to have one overdose & die. it is reassuring to know that there are others out there who can tangibly relate to what i am going through. it's not just watching a son, or brother die so young & suddenly, but to have watched him struggle with drugs & alcohol for years; to think that you had something to do with his addiction; to believe that you could have saved him if you tried hard & long enough; to have had so many hopes for a future that will never come, & mourn those along with the loss of your family.

fran also passed along another email with the 5 steps of grieving. the first & most recognized being denial. the second undervalued step is anger. the authors of the article write, "anger is a necessary stage of the healing process. be willing to feel your anger, even though it may seem endless." i never really considered myself an angry person, but lately i feel so much of it & i had no idea where it was coming from. i don't feel it towards scottie or god or even myself. unfortunately, i feel irritation with the 2 things in my life that are most innocent & loving: my dog & my son. i am angry at their neediness & that i can't leave the room for a second without penny following me & harry crying for me to come back. i'm angry that harry's been a little sick & therefore hasn't been sleeping well; neither have i. i'm angry that penny barks incessantly at anyone who comes to the door, even our roommates, & consistently locks herself in the bathroom just so i will let her out again. but i can't explain that to either of them. to them, i am their world. they always want to be around me, & i constantly feel like i'm giving & giving. but right now i have nothing left to give.

according to the article, i am assured that:
"there are many other emotions under the anger & you will get to them in time, but anger is the emotion we are most used to managing. the truth is that anger has no limits... underneath anger is pain, your pain. it is natural to feel deserted & abandoned, but we live in a society that fears anger. anger is strength & it can be an anchor, giving temporary structure to the nothingness of loss. at first grief feels like being lost at sea: no connection to anything. then you get angry at someone... suddenly you have structure - your anger towards them. the anger becomes a bridge over the open sea, a connection from you to them. it is something to hold onto; and a connection made from the strength of anger feels better than nothing. we usually know more about suppressing anger than feeling it."

but here comes the best part: "the anger is just another indication of the intensity of your love."

i think deep down, i am allowing myself to feel anger towards my dog & my baby boy because they won't remember this or hold it against me & they love me regardless.

hopefully soon this anger will pass. i'm sure some sleep, a healthier baby & the dog whisperer couldn't hurt. but for now i know i have to feel any emotion with intensity as it comes. & allow myself some grace & curse words. because i am just connecting, & feeling, & being alive.. & ultimately i am deepening my capacity to love.

it's a beautiful reality

today, wednesday february 9th, i flew back to philadelphia from florida.. away from the sun, away from my dad & brother, away from distractions. harry had been having a hell of a time sleeping the last couple days & nights so he passed out almost the minute the plane took off & left me to dwell on my neglected thoughts. i realized that 3 weeks ago, wednesday january 19th, scottie was also coming back to philadelphia from florida. he had decided the monday prior that he was going to leave by greyhound. he had finally received settlement money from a workman's compensation case. three and a half years ago my brother had his 3 middle fingers cut off of his right hand while operating a log splitter. he got the adjustment check in the mail & made the decision to come back north. my dad tried to get him to stay put. my mom's last conversation with scottie was a heated one. she was trying to convince him to remain in florida for just a while longer, & he got angry with her. his mind was made up. he was going to take the tuesday morning greyhound & would get back to philly on wednesday afternoon. i would be landing at nearly the same time that scottie's bus touched down at the greyhound station.

we all knew that scottie shouldn't be coming back to philly. but it wasn't like he was completely clean while living with my dad. he was drunk & nasty when i talked to him on thanksgiving. & the sunday before he left, my dad took him to the hospital because scott had been complaining of heart palpitations & not sleeping. it turns out he was going through acute alcohol withdraw. he stayed overnight & checked himself out early monday. i'm sure that there had been other instances of alcohol or drug abuse, but my dad most likely didn't tell my mom & me because he didn't want to concern us. or he turned a blind eye because he wanted so desperately to believe that scottie was actually getting better.

scottie had called me the saturday before he left florida, the day before he was admitted for alcohol withdraw. the only reason i picked up my phone is because i thought it was my dad. usually when scottie called, it was a strained conversation. it was hard to understand what exactly he was getting at. i would try hard not to get annoyed with what he was saying, & try equally as hard to get off the phone as quickly as possible. luckily, this wasn't one of those talks. when i answered, my brother pretended to be my dad, which he frequently did & with surprising similarity, but this time i knew it was him. he said he was on a walk & just wanted to say hi. he said that he had quit drinking again & was having trouble sleeping. he said that he loved looking at the pictures that i posted on facebook of harry & me. & that he couldn't wait to see his nephew again. i said that i couldn't wait for him to see harry too. but not to worry, there would be plenty of time for that... we got to say to one another: "i miss you" & "i love you." & that was my last conversation i would ever have with my brother.

my mom called me on monday to tell me about scottie's decision to come back to philly. i felt my stomach turn & i almost became physically ill, like something inside was trying to alert me for the next few days. mom & i decided to spend tuesday & wednesday together, to try to keep the fear & worry away, or at least subsided. & in case scott called either of us to pick him up from the bus depot, we would be together, a strong united front. we had a wonderful 2 days of bonding, playing dr. mario, making & eating food, staying up late, laughing.

we never heard from scott on wednesday. my dad let us know sometime in the afternoon that scottie had called saying he had arrived safely. he was using his friend's phone so he couldn't talk long. we were somewhat relieved that we wouldn't have to make the decision to pick up scott or not. we didn't have to worry if he was drunk or wasted, or if he would want us to immediately drop him off at the park to score drugs from his friends.

all this was happening exactly 3 weeks ago. & i was reliving it at 32,000 feet above the ground, with my son, whose turns 1 on friday, softly sleeping on my lap. it was all too much & i silently cried against the airplane window for the first time in a couple days. i didn't not want to leave florida to come back to this reality that i've had the fortune of ignoring for the past week.

towards the end of the flight, harry woke up with a sweet smile on his face. he ate the complimentary crackers i had saved for him while we watched the snow-covered earth - the same earth that scottie was traveling across 3 weeks ago - grow closer & closer. after we landed, i walked the long corridors of the airport & quickly down the stairs to find mike waiting by the baggage claim with a dozen red roses. i hugged my husband; he took harry & they nuzzled. i watched my family & was reminded that this is my reality. it would never be what it was before, when scottie was alive. but it would somehow still be beautiful, just as my brother would want it to be.

a day in the life without my brother

yesterday i had my first extended period without thinking of scottie. my dad & his girlfriend, nancy took my uncle chip, steven, harry & i to an aquarium in sarasota called mote marina. for a good 2-3 hours scott failed to flit through my memory. i didn't wonder what it would be like if he was with us. i didn't reminisce of other times that scott & i were in a similar, or even a not so similar situation. i didn't get pains in my stomach, knowing that scott would never be able to enjoy a day like that with us in the future. i didn't miss him at all, because i hadn't thought about him for even a second.

instead i studied the sea creatures swimming in glass cages because i would probably never see them in the wild. i happily watched my brother bond with his nephew, whom he never gets to see living so far away in shanghai. i saw how happy harry was to be carried around in the front pack & see sharks, jellyfish, blowfish & lots of other life that he probably wouldn't remember, for the first time. i enjoyed not having to carry my heavy son around, marveled at the seahorse couplings entwining their tails around each other, relived my childhood fantasy of becoming a dolfin trainer while watching them jump through the air during their teaching session.

it saddens me to realize that scott's death will surely become more normal in my life. as time passes, & it always does, we will become more & more used to him not being around. & the frequency of my thoughts of him will become fewer & fewer. just 2 weeks ago, he was the only thing i could consider. now, he is already fading, like an old photograph on the wall succumbing to the sun's harmful rays. i want to keep scott a vivid reality, without sorrow or detachment; just like the plants on my windowsill: i watch them grow & water them as needed. but even moreso i want him to be with me when harry says his first word & distinguishes a pelican from any other bird. i want to lay next to him on the beach until it gets too hot & we race elegantly into the water, like baywatch lifeguards. i want to find sand dollars, & sand crabs by the bucketfulls, for the sheer pleasure of collecting, & leave them on the surf at the end of a long day.

i guess i'll have to get through today, & forgive myself for not inviting scottie into every second of my life. tomorrow may be harder.. but it may be easier still.. & i'll have to learn to take whatever comes & be okay.

scottie's twin nightmare(s)

scottie had this irrational fear of sleeping alone... that seemed to only be understood by me. because he was the youngest sibling, my parents weren't as strict when it came to watching scary & somewhat inappropriate movies with the rest of the family, when he should probably have been playing with his teenage mutant ninja turtles instead. scott's ultimate 'love to be afraid' of films was the shining, which now watching it as an adult, is totally scary for any person in their right mind, let alone a 5 year old.  he was particularly terrified of the twin girl apparitions & wouldn't dare venture in any room, even if adjacent to the one that everyone was in, if he had to go there alone. & on top of that, my dad loved those television shows like unsolved mysteries, that had segments so horrifying you'd be praying for an update at the end saying that they nabbed the serial killer because of viewers like us.

so nighttime was completely horrifying to scottie. he & our other brother steven would lay in their separate beds in the room that they shared; steve would be slowly nodding off to sleep while scott had visions of the twin girls from the shining, standing in the middle of the bedroom saying, "come play with us scottie.. forever.. & ever.. & ever..." just as steve reached the edge of slumber, scott would whisper into the darkness, "steven?..."

and steve would answer, with slight annoyance, "yeah?"

"can i sleep with you?"

"no." & this exchange would happen a few more times, with steven's tolerance dwindling & scott's fear growing. eventually he would give up & quickly creep down the dimly lit hallway to the last bedroom. i would have my door ajar & my sheets turned back, ready for my little brother to climb in next to me. i would always let scottie sleep with me.. because, secretly, i was afraid too. even though i was only 10, & he was 5, & we would never be able to protect each other, it was reassuring to have his warm little body breathing softly next to me. all the demons that plagued my thoughts in the dark: like bad guys waiting outside my window or a small fire quickly growing to an inferno enveloping the entire house, would disappear because i wasn't alone anymore.

what it came down to at the end of the day, or sometimes in the middle of the night, is that we needed each other to bring us some kind of peace & comfort in a world that was otherwise unpredictable, & irrationally & at the same time, reasonably frightening.