Nation - "Tear me open; pull me out" (great lyrics from Until It Sleeps by Metallica)
Today is my brother's 46th birthday, however, he is not here to celebrate it. He died suddenly on July 1, 2007; I have not been the same since. My parents are long passed: 1981 and 1987. After a long period of not knowing where Christopher was or what he was doing, he reentered my life around 2002. He had become an alcoholic drinker and it just made me so angry to be around him when he was like that. (My mother and grandmother were both alcoholics; I do not drink at all). He'd make promises to come for Thanksgiving and Christmas; I'd prepare a great dinner and he'd never show up or call. I can't begin to remember all the time I spent crying.
He entered the hospital complaining of hernias in April 2007 and was diagnosed with a liver functioning at 20%; he stopped drinking for good. He spent a lot of time at my house doing work - he was a very talented electrician. He loved troubleshooting problematic wiring. He did a better job at rewiring my basement after the "flooding of NJ" in April 2007 than anyone we could have hired. I loved being able to hug him and have him hug me back without being intoxicated. Drinking or not, there was nothing I wouldn't have done for him - except save him.
He was 104 days sober when he passed away. With the help of Colleen, his girlfriend of 9 years, we planned a July 4th wake. Now you're probably thinking "why would you have a wake on a holiday?" Well, the friends that Christopher had weren't the type to go away on vacation. My concern was that I'd have a wake and no one would come. Imagine my shock when I had nearly 500 people show up. I heard so many wonderful things about my brother from people I never knew. We touch so many other lives with little things we do.
There are little things that keep Christopher fresh in my memory: first there are birds everywhere. My brother had their calls down-pat. When he'd whistle to them they'd whistle back. And then there's a delivery truck that
passes my job every day (must be a regular run) at around lunchtime. It's got the name "Ferguson" on the side. It's the weirdest thing, that I never noticed the truck before July 2007 and now I see it almost like Christopher wants me to think about him. Almost like he wants to be around, the truck appears and whatever is on my mind doesn't seem so important.
How does this tie in with my graying gracefully? The graying of my hair, while traumatic in the immediate sense as I look in the mirror or store window, is not even worthy of a small microcosm of importance in the vast universe that is our world. I can hear his voice: "You think you got trouble? Jacqueline, I AM DEAD. How's your trouble now?" We share the same dark humor.
My thoughts aren't as flowing and cohesive as I hoped they'd be on today's blog; I think that's due to the debilitating depression I've been feeling lately. Whether it's due to general sadness about having a basically ineffectual life or being majorly perimenopausal has yet to be determined. I have decided to seek the advice of an endocrinologist for some blood work to examine my general condition.
Sometimes I feel like I could just die of a broken heart and spirit. All alone in a crowded room.
This is certainly NOT graying gracefully. Hope it feels different soon. (PS: I did not go to yoga or to the gym this weekend. I cannot believe how badly I am willing to treat myself. )
Today is my brother's 46th birthday, however, he is not here to celebrate it. He died suddenly on July 1, 2007; I have not been the same since. My parents are long passed: 1981 and 1987. After a long period of not knowing where Christopher was or what he was doing, he reentered my life around 2002. He had become an alcoholic drinker and it just made me so angry to be around him when he was like that. (My mother and grandmother were both alcoholics; I do not drink at all). He'd make promises to come for Thanksgiving and Christmas; I'd prepare a great dinner and he'd never show up or call. I can't begin to remember all the time I spent crying.
He entered the hospital complaining of hernias in April 2007 and was diagnosed with a liver functioning at 20%; he stopped drinking for good. He spent a lot of time at my house doing work - he was a very talented electrician. He loved troubleshooting problematic wiring. He did a better job at rewiring my basement after the "flooding of NJ" in April 2007 than anyone we could have hired. I loved being able to hug him and have him hug me back without being intoxicated. Drinking or not, there was nothing I wouldn't have done for him - except save him.
He was 104 days sober when he passed away. With the help of Colleen, his girlfriend of 9 years, we planned a July 4th wake. Now you're probably thinking "why would you have a wake on a holiday?" Well, the friends that Christopher had weren't the type to go away on vacation. My concern was that I'd have a wake and no one would come. Imagine my shock when I had nearly 500 people show up. I heard so many wonderful things about my brother from people I never knew. We touch so many other lives with little things we do.
There are little things that keep Christopher fresh in my memory: first there are birds everywhere. My brother had their calls down-pat. When he'd whistle to them they'd whistle back. And then there's a delivery truck that
passes my job every day (must be a regular run) at around lunchtime. It's got the name "Ferguson" on the side. It's the weirdest thing, that I never noticed the truck before July 2007 and now I see it almost like Christopher wants me to think about him. Almost like he wants to be around, the truck appears and whatever is on my mind doesn't seem so important.How does this tie in with my graying gracefully? The graying of my hair, while traumatic in the immediate sense as I look in the mirror or store window, is not even worthy of a small microcosm of importance in the vast universe that is our world. I can hear his voice: "You think you got trouble? Jacqueline, I AM DEAD. How's your trouble now?" We share the same dark humor.
My thoughts aren't as flowing and cohesive as I hoped they'd be on today's blog; I think that's due to the debilitating depression I've been feeling lately. Whether it's due to general sadness about having a basically ineffectual life or being majorly perimenopausal has yet to be determined. I have decided to seek the advice of an endocrinologist for some blood work to examine my general condition.
Sometimes I feel like I could just die of a broken heart and spirit. All alone in a crowded room.
This is certainly NOT graying gracefully. Hope it feels different soon. (PS: I did not go to yoga or to the gym this weekend. I cannot believe how badly I am willing to treat myself. )
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