The Reality of Loss

My brother was murdered.

My big brother. My only sibling.

My twin.

You don’t bounce back from that kind of loss – from that kind of horror. Reality has a whole new meaning and everything becomes, all at once, all important and thoroughly insignificant in the world that surrounds you.

Your own survival isn’t even important. Only the ache of your soul, the cries of your heart, and the overwhelming disbelief that fills every possible cranial thought that somehow carries you from one second into the next.

Don’t ask me how to make it because I’m still questioning whether I ever will.

His face was the first that I saw. His hug was the first that I felt. His soul was the first that I knew. How do you ever say goodbye to a connection as deep as that?

He would always tease me. He’d say that we were soulmates and I’d cringe and say he wished. He’d joke that I need to take care of my kidneys just in case he needed them someday and I’d laugh and say I’m selling the extra one on the Black Market.

I wish I could laugh like that with him again.

What shocks me is how normal the blisterized shedding of the person that I once was has become. Like my soul has received third degree burns from the wake of his absence and the sharpest needle in the world couldn’t make me feel anything beyond the numbing pain that only continues to grow from the lack of his presence.

I’ve embraced the possibility of becoming homeless. If only so that I could sit and think and stare without any real outside pressure to care about anything other than my pain and grief. For the first time in my life, the lifestyle looks more like a blessing than a curse.

What curse could be worse than losing someone you love so deeply? Certainly not Sleeping Beauty’s or any other made up musing.

So here I sit, rocking back and forth in a way that only comforted the two of us. But now I’m all alone, abandoned, and scared. I love him. I love him more every day and the world is already turning. It’s already saying its goodbyes and moving on.

But here I sit whispering his name like we did with the name “Beetlejuice” as children. But this time I’m pleading.

Blake.

Blake.

Blake.

If nothing else, please remember that his name is Blake.

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