It’s been a little over two months since I got the call. I tried to process it as best I could, especially since I was miles away and couldn’t immediately board a flight home. I mainly remember my mom’s voice. It was low and barely any emotion was there. She told me the doctors said they’d run a test on his brain, and he failed them. There was severe brain damage and there was nothing they could do. We both sat in silence. I asked, “should I come home?” Her response was, “I don’t know”. We both knew what was coming, we just didn’t want to start the process. It’s a process that I think we’ve both become so immune to; so immune to it that we’re almost numb. I hung up and immediately searched for a one-way home. This time I wouldn’t be in a rush to get back to “my world”. She needed me and though she never asks, I knew I needed to be there.
July 17, shortly before 4 am. My brother has always been a lover of attention, and even in death, he made sure the spotlight was on him; dying a day after my uncles’ birthday, four days after my Nana died and 11 days before my father passed. Needless to say, I hate the month of July. My father’s passing was my first real dealing with losing a loved one. I don’t think it gets much closer than losing a parent and it’s a pain I’d never felt. It sent me into such a dark space, but I pushed through. I graduated college, got a job in my field. I rebuilt my life, and I was slowly regaining my happiness. And then, unexpectedly, six years later my Nana died. My world came crumbling all around me. On top of losing my best friend and iconic figure in my world, I endured one of the hardest breakups I’ve ever gone through. But I kept pushing. I used that pain as motivation and dived deeper into my career; it landed me a job in Houston. But I wasn’t happy. Five months into that move, my brother was involved in a horrible car accident. He survived, but the injuries he sustained were life-altering. Those injuries aided in his passing.
This time around, my processing of death has been different. I still feel all the same emotions as all the other times I’ve lost a loved one, but this one hits differently.
Most days I can’t even describe how I feel. All I can say is I feel like I’m sinking; like the world is turning and people are moving fast, but I’m stuck in slow-mo. My heart literally aches; I feel broken. I hurt so badly for my mom. Not only has she lost her baby, but a piece of her. It’s in losing him that I see just how broken and detached from everything and everyone she’s become, and how do you fix that? You can’t.
The last year has been so trying on everyone. Loss seems to be all around us and the pain that comes with death is indescribable. It’s the finality of it all; knowing that you’ll never see or hear from that person again is gut-wrenching. But loss doesn’t always come in the form of death. It can be the loss of a job/career, loss of self, or even the loss of feeling motivated to accomplish your goals. We’re all fighting battles the world is unaware of and suffering in silence of things we’re too afraid to be vocal about.
Through the pain and heartbreak, my brother’s death has taught me such an important lesson about grief and loss. It’s not something that ever goes away. Losing someone so close is never an easy pill to swallow, and there is no timeline on when you’ll get better. You never get better; you never fully heal and the void you feel never fills again. You just learn how to cope and find ways to adjust. The biggest hit is taken on your mental health. I’ve had and continue to have really dark, low moments. Moments of wishing I too were gone. Moments of self-medicating just so that I don’t have to feel the pain of being without him. But I know he’d hate that, and so I’ve found comfort in these three simple little things:
- Your loved one is in a much better place. A friend recently shared this with me. She described life/earth as a big stage, and we’re on it. We can see each other, hear each other, curtains are open, and while there’s a full crowd in front of us, our loved one is backstage. They’re very much here, just out of our view.
- Take as much time as you need in your grief process. No one can tell you when to stop feeling. Cry as much as you need to, and don’t be ashamed to take time to yourself. Sometimes, the silence is necessary to just breathe and take in everything around you.
- Lastly, let your pain fuel you to accomplish all the things you’ve been too afraid to, or made excuses on why you couldn’t. Every day we’re blessed with the breath and mobility of our bodies is one that should be used and lived to the fullest. Journal your feelings, create a routine that promotes balance and stability. Do things that center you and stimulate your mind.
- Losing my brother has caused me to feel so vulnerable; I feel so many different emotions, but the biggest I feel is gratitude. I’m grateful God chose me to be his sister here on earth. That we shared space and time together. That he shared his dreams and fears with me. That we spent more time laughing and respectfully debating one another than fighting and hating one another. I’m grateful for his wisdom and the knowledge he imparted to me. And now I know that my mission is to keep his name alive, and to live the way he did; with purpose and carefree.
The FEMI Magazine family sends our love and prayers to our writer Chaiquan Wingfield and her family during the loss of her brother.
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