I Miss My Little Brother
Disclaimer: If you recognize it then I don't own it.
A/N: For Whumptober 2023 #11 "All the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed." Captivity
My brother is dead. My bleeding heart is held captive in my chest. My ribs are the only thing keeping it from pounding out as the grief beats it to a pulp. It longs to follow where it cannot go. My brother is gone from my life.
My younger brother is no longer here to talk to or see. I can't just pick up my phone to ask him a question or just see how he is doing. I have conversations in my head but no longer with him. Never again with him. I see him everywhere, a shadow of want, a trick my heart likes to play. I know in my head I won't see him again in this life.
When I notice things that remind me of him, there are so many things, I can't laugh about and joke with him later. Instead, I cry at the empty hole in my chest. I'm hemorrhaging inside as I act like I'm fine. I try to push down my own pain that feels like a phantom limb and be there for my family whose combined grief is likely to drown us all. I try to be strong, but I worry I can't keep treading water for long. I fight back the tears as they burn behind my eyes. I can't let them fall, not yet. There is too much I have to do for the ones he left behind. I can hardly force the words of comfort passed the rock lodged in my throat. I feel a poor substitute to help fill the massive crater his departure left in each of his loved ones' lives.
I will no longer see him. My little brother is gone. There is nothing I can do about it. There is nothing I can do or say or trade to bring him back. I would have taken his place if only I could. I was supposed to be there for him. I was born first. I've lived more years and experienced more pain. I was supposed to go first, not him. He is my little brother. Was. I wasn't there when he needed me most and now he is gone. I was too busy in my own life to notice his own falling apart around him. When he needed help I wasn't there. We buried him and only a cold stone marks the vibrant life he once lived. Words carved into a rock can never convey the man he is. The man he was.
I watched him grow to adulthood from a tiny little boy, I thought we would then grow old together. Reminiscing about days gone by and the good times we had. He died too young. His story came to an end. Mine goes on, each new chapter without him. The rising generation of the family will never really know him, just the memories we tell around the dinner table. He becomes more of an icon or saint the longer he's gone. But he was only human, with all the shortcomings and flaws that come with the designation. Now that he's dead he feels so much more and less than he once was.
We talked and laughed but did I take the time to really know him as we both grew older and naturally more apart as we both lived our own lives? Did our path diverge so much that he died a stranger? Did he know how much I loved him? What secrets did he take to the grave? Things left unsaid and feelings never expressed. It haunts me not to know what things he left undone in this life. He didn't have the time or foresight to truly die without regrets. He left us all behind without being able to say goodbye. Why did he have to die? He had so much left to do. He was going to change the world, one person at a time. He was just that kind of guy, able to help others without hesitation. Who was there to help him when he died alone? The world is darker and more cruel with him gone.
A gloomy despair has taken hold of their family. The future seems bleak without him there. An empty seat sat at the dinner table. A life no longer lived echoed the family's pain.
It was an ordinary day, the day he left. All the family went about their day like any other before. The world was just the same as it always was. In one moment he was gone and they didn't even know when he left. For them, everything was forever changed when they found out but the world around them went on spinning not even stopping for a moment to acknowledge their heart-shattering grief.
The hours, days, and weeks went by in a blur. The pain is mind-numbing as sympathetic friends and neighbors stopped by with food and what seemed to them empty words. They meant well but nothing said could bring back the one they lost. The family mourned in each other's arms, trying to keep the shattered pieces of their hearts from flying out of their chests and hitting like shrapnel. Sometimes the cold grief turned hot like rage, lashing out at anyone standing in the way. Heated words were exchanged as the unfairness of it all crashed down upon their heads. They had lost a brother already it would be so easy to lose it all. To let it all go and unleash the pain in a tidal wave of anger. That is not what their brother would have wanted. The family needed to be united and lean on one another in their moment of grief. It would pass, it would never really go away, but they would continue to live on.
They would all experience many more moments of grief and pain and even anger at their shared loss. The road was long and sometimes lonely but together they would tread every step. They would stumble and fight and take steps forward and back but they had no choice but to walk it, for they had all loved greatly and they had lost much in this life. To feel this pain was to know you had loved someone deeply. So I walk this path.
The grave holds my brother captive with no way for him to come back home.
I miss my little brother.