My Darkest Days -- A Tribute of Sorts. Broken.

Today is the 3^rd anniversary of my little brother, Jason’s, death.  I don’t often get very personal on my blog, but I feel it’s time to finally write the story because I simply cannot ever find the words to tell it aloud.

Jason is my younger brother and best friend; my mentee and my mentor; my shoulder and my rock. He is the strongest guy I've ever met.  He was and is my Jason.  We are only a year and a half apart and although we didn’t look very similar (he looked like my older brother, Chris), my mom treated us like twins while we were growing up.  We had matching clothes. We had matching "power rings." We shared a room and all its contents.  We took blame for mistakes equally so we’d be punished together, We were a team.

That team unfortunately ended prematurely.

The day I returned from my post Peace Corps, two-month trip, my best friend Ali picked me up from th e airport and whisked me into Chicago for my first time in almost three years.  She rented a hotel room downtown and took me out to some of our old haunts in Gold Coast, Lincoln Park and Lakeview.  I was entirely too happy to see her and finally happy to be back in Chicago.  The next morning Ali and I woke to my mom repeatedly calling Ali's cell phone.  When I finally answered, my mom tried to find the words to tell me that Jason died.  I briefly blacked out and hung up the phone.  I wasn’t quite sure that I heard her correctly, so I asked Ali to call my mom back and find out what happened.  When Ali told me that Jason did, indeed, die from an unintentional drug overdose, my body went numbingly cold as I stumbled into the bathroom and collapsed in the shower for either five minutes or five hours – I’m still not sure.  I completely disconnected from life.  I tried to find him.  I looked for him and I failed.   I tried to understand and I failed.  I wanted to see him for just one more minute and I failed. 

I felt as if I was the one who died—and if I didn’t, I wanted to.  How can I go on without Jason?  How would my life go on without Jason?  What is the point of my life is Jason is not sharing it with me?  How could Jason leave me?  I have so much to tell him.  I NEED him.  He’s my fucking BROTHER.  He’s my other half.  He’s fucking JASON.  Jason.  “It’s all my fault.”  “Why did I not come home immediately?”  “Why did I have to travel for so long?”  “Why am I so selfish that I have to see the entire world instead of being with my brother?”  “Why didn’t I come home sooner to  hang out with Jason?” “Will he ever forgive me?”  “Why?”  “Why?”  “Why?”  “Why?”  “How will I explain this to his son?”  “Will his son ever forgive me?”  “Will little Jason ever know how much I loved his dad?”  “Will I ever forgive myself for allowing such an atrocity?”  “Will I ever forgive myself?” “Will I ever not blame myself?”

For days my mind was blank.  I didn’t care about anything.  I wanted to die.  Nobody could help me.  I was beyond repair.  My mom was beyond devastated.  She couldn't help me.  My older brother was inconsolable.  He couldn't help me.  I remember crying to him: “There are supposed to be THREE of us….THREE of us…not two.  How will we be two?”  And there should be three of us.  Always three.  Always three.  Always three. 

If Ali wasn’t there for me at that exact moment when my mom called, I’m not sure what would have happened with me.  She took over for me.  When I say took over, I mean, completely took over my life.  She made all of my decisions and ensured that whatever I was doing, saying, and/or doing was perfectly normal.  I was fading in and out of life and I lost sight of what was fact and what was fiction.  Ali helped to distinguish.  I don’t remember much of the next few days except that Ali drove me to my mom’s house where my mom and most of my family was waiting.

With the exception of seeing my mom when she visited me in Ukraine, this was the first I was seeing anyone in my family in almost three years.  I remember sifting through old pictures of Jason and picking the ones I liked to memorialize him.  I remember White Castle.  I remember being really tired.  I remember feeling inconsolably alone.  I remember crying myself to sleep.  I remember sleeping 12-hour days and never wanting to wake.  I remember attending Jason’s visitation and trying, futilely, to be strong for our plentiful guests.  I remember collapsing in my older brother’s arms.  I remember thinking that I could never go on again.  I remember feeling completely hopeless and utterly broken.  Broken.  So unrepairably broken.

I’m not as strong as I thought I was.  I was and am still a fucking mess.  The following six months were blurry.  I needed to pack my memories and what happened to Jason into a nice little compact box in my head, to be opened at a later date when I was ready to deal with it.  That box still remains untouched and I’m not really quite sure how to open it.  People often ask me questions about Jason and I brush them off.  I can’t answer them.  I can’t think about him while I’m in public.  Now, I think of him each and every single day..BUT, I shut the memories off, for fear of opening the flood gates that just will not ever close.  Unhealthy?  Maybe, but it’s what I needed to do at that time.  I still can’t deal.   I don’t know if I ever will be able to deal.  He’s Jason.  He’s my little brother.

I still wish I didn’t take that trip.  I wish I had those two months with Jason.  I don’t care what you tell me...I’d rather have that much more time with my best friend…the only person who has really ever known me.  Jason.  Do I have guilt?  Of course I do.  Cliché as it sounds, I’d give up months of time to have just a day with him.  Nobody will ever really understand our relationship.  I feel guilty for having fun without him.  I feel guilty when I hug his beautiful son, when he doesn't get to.  I feel guilty every night when i go to sleep, knowing that I'll wake up and he wont. I feel guilty just for being.  It's not fair.  We should be we.  We were always we.  We were always supposed to be we.

So, here’s to fucking you, Jason.  How can you leave me?  How can you do this?  How can you erase, "we?" I miss you.  I love you.  I really fucking love you.  I’m still a fucking mess.  And I’m still really fucking broken.

broken.

Comments

[ol'kin]

don't know if there are any words in the world that could heal, help or support..
just want to say that i cried through the whole post, that i love you and that i really want to hug you right now..

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