Day 1

The last words I spoke to him were "Be careful." Its almost comical now.

 I watched him adjust the headphones around his neck and nod his familiar "yeah, ok ok" head nod as he walked across the street and made his way into the train station. His stride was made up of equal parts awkward little boy, and overly- confident young man. Even in that large man's body it was hard for me to see anything but the boy. But I was working on it. I waited and watched him and his headphones disappear into the crowd. And then he was gone.

I felt like I was watching a movie. Like it was happening to someone else. I watched myself sitting in my car holding the phone the same casual way I had held the phone for so many other conversations before. Only this wasn't like other conversations. This was the call that told me my brother was dead. This was the call that cracked my world in two parts; the before and the after. I watched myself think it was a joke. Someone was messing with me. No. It can't be true. Maybe it was someone else. How do they know its really him? We don't know. He could still be alive. He could still be alive. We don't really know. I heard myself denying. I heard myself crying. I heard myself saying no. No no no no no. Over and over. No no no no. But I still didn't feel myself feeling it. I was lost in the movie. Then I heard something else. Through the other end of the phone I heard screaming. The distinct wail that could belong only to a mother who has lost her child. I didn't watch myself hear it. I heard it.

Pain.

Too much pain. The kind of pain that makes you want to scream but screaming isn't enough. The kind of pain that makes you want to hit, to scratch, to punch and claw. Anything to make someone else feel pain like you feel. The kind of pain that is unreal in its realness, that is cruel and relentless in its force. It takes the breath out of your lungs, the sound from your voice. It is the kind of pain that grabs you and holds you tighter than anything has, and squeezes the capacity to care right out of you.

 I drove in circles. I drove through neighborhoods I had never seen before. I was lost. I don't know how long I drove but somehow my crumbled mind led me the familiar path home. Through sobs and dry heaves, all I could feel was pain.
Pain and more pain.
As I arrived to the home that mere days before I shared with my now gone brother, I was hit again with a grief so strong in its force, that I stumbled. I stumbled into the house that once held his body full of life and promise, and still stumbling, found my way to his room. Through bleary eyes I took in his belongings.
Indescribable pain.
It looked like him. Crumpled clothes littered the floor, receipts and other scattered papers were carelessly thrown on the dresser. Weights he had just bought but never used, foolishly lay waiting for his return in the corner. It struck me that these things were now just a memory of what he used to be, things he was never coming back to use.
Pain.
It smelled like him. It smelled like his room always had. A scent I had badgered him about countless times while opening windows, inviting in fresh air. A scent that I now hungrily took in because that smell was the only thing left of him that was alive.

 I laid in his unmade bed sobbing for what felt like hours. I didn't see people, I didn't hear their crying or words. I didn't know how many of them were there and I didn't care. I only knew that I no longer had a little brother. I only cared that I would never hear his goofy laugh again.

 Suddenly I had to get out. I had to get out of that room and away from his stuff and his smell, and all the things that were deceiving me into the illusion that he was still a living, breathing person. He wasn't. He was now just a cold, hard body laying on a table somewhere. He was now a corpse. Another young, stupid IDIOT who decided it would be a good idea to get in the car, wasted, with a driver just as wasted as him. That IDIOT!! How could he do this to us? How could he do this to me? How could he be so selfish, so stupid, so DEAD?!! I hated him then. I hated him for the pain. That pain was his fault. His stupid fault.

Two days before, he sat across from me at a diner, and casually commented how being around me and my coffee drinking ass was going to corrupt him into drinking coffee all the time. He said it with such certainty. As if he had enough time to develop another habit. How could he know it was the last cup he would ever have? It was a good lunch, that last lunch. It felt good having him around. Real good. We childishly made fun of each other every now and then, as we always did. We talked about our lives and our plans, as we always did. We spent the in between in comfortable silence, as we always did. We got up from that lunch, got in my car, and I drove him to the train station. I drove him to his death. I was the one who took him. If only I didn't. If I would have just made him stay. Why? Why didn't I make him stay? We almost missed his train ride, you know. What if we were a few minutes later, and he missed it? He would be alive, he would be here. Its my fault. I'm so stupid. Its my fault.

I alternated between misery and numbness. I sat, blankly staring at the television, trying as hard as I could manage to get lost in it, as people began to fill up my house. With them, they brought the silence and pity that fresh death brings. I hated it. That kind of silence is the loudest sound of all. It fills very pore of your body with the harshest reality you will ever face. There is no escaping that silence. And that kind of pity is the worst kind. It is the kind that you can't shake off no matter how hard you may try. It is a pity you have no choice but to accept, you must let it cover you until you are dripping with that pity. It pools at your feet and rises, and it is hard not to drown in that pity.

I didn't know what to do next. I didn't know where to go. I felt like a caged animal, trapped in my own miserable skin. There was no escaping the hurt. It was my best friend now, my constant companion. Even in that moment, I knew it was there to stay. But I don't want it! I didn't ask for it! I had to get away.

I don't know how many miles I ran that day. Me, who has always detested running, ran and ran until I could run no more. I ran away from nothing and towards nothing. The pain ran with me. With the music from my brother's ipod blaring in my ears, I ran. I ran as fast as I could, letting my never-ending tears fall into the wind. I tried to run from the thoughts of him. But he was all I could think about. Nothing but whys and what ifs filled my head. Why didn't I tell him I loved him more? Now he will never know. What about all the plans we had? We were going to do so much. I can't believe he's really gone. Why did I yell at him so much? What if he never came to live with me? What if he just stayed where he was. Would this have ever happened? Why wasn't I nicer? Why didn't I do more? Why did he die? Why? Listening to his music was both comfort and torture. It made me feel close to him, but it was false. I would never be close to him again. He was as far as you could get.
I continued to run.
My feet were possessed by the pain. Every hard step that fell onto the pavement rocked my body with its force. I told myself it would be ok. He's in a better place now. One so much better than this. It was just his time. He's somewhere great now. Its better for him. He's happy. He's at peace.
But what about me?
Aside from him, all I could selfishly think about was me. The me that would from that day forward, exist without him. The me that was marred by his death, that would surely never be the same. I lost more than my brother that day.