Saturday, April 30, 2016

Life After Suicide - Part II - The Aftermath

Catch up with Part 1 here.

The first task we took care of was getting my littlest brother out of jail so he could be with the family during this time. It stabbed at me later when I found out that Amir was trying to save/borrow money to get him out before he died. It took one week to finalize funeral arrangements, for the ME's office to finish their exam, and for LifeGift to find recipients for my brother's organs. Five people's lives were saved due to my brother. We didn't eat, we didn't sleep, we did not do a whole lot except obsess and make arrangements. We talked to my brother's girlfriend, to some of his friends, to family... we sought answers to questions. Those questions remain unanswered. The only thing we were sure of is that my brother had a drug relapse before he died. Would he have done what he did if he hadn't relapsed? I like to think not, but we'll never know for sure. My own mind turned on me. I was given no relief, no rest, no freedom from my innermost thoughts and I felt like I deserved none, so I never resisted the attack. One night my dad fell from lack of sustenance, sleep deprivation, and grief. After screaming at him that he had to eat and drink something because I didn't know what to do, later that night I almost passed out for the same reasons. I realized that I couldn't keep going this way and I had to try to eat and sleep if I was going to hold the family together through the next few days. I managed to get by after that.

Services for my brother began at 10:00 am Monday, October 19th. We buried him in the town that last all five of us kids were together, the last place we were together before things fell apart when I went to college and left the kids. It was a beautiful sunny day and the services were suiting for him; he would have appreciated them. My family came together in a way that I hadn't seen in many years. I even saw my mother and father hug for the first time in 17 years. My dad and I stayed in town for another day before we headed back to Oklahoma.
The last Christmas we had together before I left for college.
The next several months were the worst of my life. I moved in with my dad when we returned, he didn't need to be alone and I had no purpose or desire or drive to do anything but grieve and punish myself. Like my dad had hit his limit in the parking lot of JPS, I had hit mine. I held my shit together long enough to do what needed to be done. I contacted my department head and professor and was given an incomplete for the classes I was enrolled in. I didn't return to work for a couple weeks and when I did go back, I'm not sure that I was actually ready. I was a wreck. I had to leave work early some days because I just could not handle functioning, other days I did not make it in at all. I am so thankful for the support net I have at work, I know I would not have made it without them. I was barely sleeping or eating for weeks after my brother's death. I was a chain smoking zombie that when not working did nothing but lay on the couch under the pretense of watching TV. In reality, I was trapped in my mind where the walls were cracking and crumbling and memories and emotions were flooding and pulsating at the seams. I cried, I fought myself, I hated myself, I asked why, why, why? I pitied myself. Grief is selfish. Most of all, the guilt and pain I felt for my brother are what crippled and suffocated me. How badly he must have been hurting to choose the path he did, and oh, how much more I could have done for him. Quite frankly, the only thing that kept me from choosing the same path many times throughout that time span was the fact that I just couldn't put my family through what we were already going through. I could never inflict on someone else the horror we endured. And my dad needed me. In my eyes, I did not deserve to live or enjoy anything if my brother did not make it, I had lost all hope. I tried to workout a couple times - that's what everyone said I needed to do; then when the endorphins were flowing and the post workout high hit, I would feel so guilty that I would hate myself for feeling good and have another break down, so I quit trying.

I turned 30 exactly one month from the day my brother died. This was hard, too. I was supposed to go to Vegas to celebrate with a half marathon and my FFTFL friends. Before I realized my brother was using again, I actually was wanting to bring him with me. He had talked about Vegas many times and I wanted to celebrate his freedom and make up for lost time by taking a trip with him. My poor brother had been through so much and never got to enjoy his youth, I wanted to do something fun with him. This was a double whammy, not only did I reach a milestone birthday, the big 3-0, when my brother didn't make past 24, but what could have been a great memory with him was cruelly stolen from me. The guilt continued.

After my birthday, I continued about the same, looking back, I must have known how rough the holidays were going to be and was subconsciously holding my breath until we made it through. I also knew that Amir's 25th birthday was coming up, the last time I got to spend my brother's birthday with him was on his 21st birthday.

I got to buy my brother's first (legal) beer.
We went to Texas a couple times, the presence of family and most especially my baby niece was comforting. In fact, seeing my cousins and their kids helped, too. Children have an incredible healing element in them. Every time I held her sweetness, I was reminded that there was beauty left in the world and that it was not time to give up.

My other brother came and stayed with us for a couple weeks, which truly helped because he helped get me out of my head. Maybe also because he reminds me of my other brother, and reminded me that I still have loved ones left. His presence gave me strength. My brother went back to Texas before the holidays and I resumed doing nothing but sitting/laying around chain smoking, eating or sleeping (albeit restlessly). At some point before, I had to start medicating to start eating and sleeping; functioning had become increasingly difficult. In fact, some would say I was not functioning at all.  The trend of losing weight switched to gaining weight though I did not notice. My dad would bring me food and pressure me to eat and I knew that seeing me like this couldn't have helped him, yet I couldn't change, so I would at least eat in a half-assed attempt to pretend that I was okay. My dad gave me strength. He had just lost his son and yet he still refused to give up on me.Once the holidays hit, the despair I felt was so heavy that I really gave up, I took leave from work and did not leave my dad's house for near two weeks and literally did nothing but lay on the couch. I became afflicted with crippling back pain and a respiratory infection.I drank heavily during this time, as well, although it only made things worse. On January 6, 2016, my dad and I drove to Texas to visit my brother's grave for his first birthday after death. At the end of the month, we visited my sister and her new little family in Indiana.
My beautiful sister and my precious nephew, yet another reminder of life's blessings.
This is probably around the time I really started accepting the reality of what was and where I started turning things around. I realized I couldn't continue down the path I was going. I had a niece and nephew that were going to be growing up fast and I did not want to miss out on that. I did not want them to see their aunt as a shell of herself. My brother would be ashamed of me. I decided I had to start getting better.

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