We are moths, dancing the breeze ever closer to the flame-flicker that brightens as it burns.
There are paths we never want to walk that have to be trodden. Places we don’t want to visit that tug us irrevocably on.
It takes strength to search for the light as the dark rises inside like creeping claustrophobia. But sometimes strength is gone, light is gone, there is only dark on darkness through fathomless depths.
You cannot always wish the will to go on into being. It is, or is not. But I want to magic it, conjure it, give it away. I want to gift light in a ribbon.
I am worried about my brother.
I am not sure what coping is, how it should feel. I’m not sure if that’s what I should call where I’m at, but if it is, he is not here with me.
I don’t want to go too far on and find he has been left behind.
I am digging without wanting to find what is in my thoughts: excavating phone calls, online chats, second hand conversations.
My family has always buried the hardest heartbreaks in humour, an aside, the half truth that hides hurt in a loud laugh. But that makes it harder to find him, harder to reach him through the fogs of words we splutter. I don’t know which mists to read, divine, and which to bluster-blow away.
I have words, heart, love all bloomed in the same blood but we are different. What we have felt is the same and yet so different. We have lost different people in the death of our one dad.
I don’t want to preach my path when I still stumble on it somedays. I suck at sales and I have no gospel for grief; no solutions, only stories, thoughts, feelings.
I am not sure what I have is enough, if it can go so far, but I need him not to fall. Losing someone to death is awful, losing someone to life would be something much worse.
How can I help?