Can You Hear Me Now

Life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides.

Lao Tzu

It has been said that there are five stages of grief: Denial, bargaining, depression, anger, and acceptance. Today is the second anniversary of my brother Bob’s death and since waking this morning I’ve felt every one of them to one degree or another. Thankfully, time has helped dampen the depression and anger, but they still carry more sting than I would like. Even acceptance is a mixed bag of emotions. I have long since given up the notion that his death was preventable, but there is little comfort in that. Just because it was bound to happen doesn’t make it easy to accept.

His passing was instantaneous and (I’m told) painless — a blood clot in his heart. We spoke over the phone two days prior to his death and there was nothing in his voice that told me this would be our final conversation. We did our typical commiseration about the sad state of American politics before joking about Girl Scout cookies. The call ended in laughter and a promise to catch up in a couple of days.

Even though I know this sounds ridiculous, his phone number is still the second entry in my iPhone’s favorites list. I will not call his number ever again, but it needs to be there front and center.

I would never wish a prolonged death on anyone, but not being able to say goodbye is a punch in the gut. We spoke or wrote to each other nearly every day, but there is still so much we didn’t get around to. I am left with a million questions that will never be answered. A million brotherly barbs that will never be thrown. Our personal sitcom was cancelled without any advance warning and that sucks.

As I wrote in my eulogy, Bob was my best friend. As with any relationship, we had our struggles, but there was nothing either one of us say or do that would tear us apart. He was the only person in the world I could call a moron and no offence was ever taken. Believe me, he returned the favor on a regular basis. We were equal opportunity brothers.

Even though I wasn’t blind to his health issues, I expected us to grow older together. Bob died as we were planning a trip to see the upcoming solar eclipse and a trip back to Arizona to visit family and our favorite haunts was simmering in the wings.

I really thought we had more time.

It is said that time heals all wounds
but what if time itself is the knife that rends and tears
time between
time forgotten
what if time is the hurt that rips at the heart
drowning the body in a river of tears
time alone
time gone by

It is said that time heals all wounds
but what heals the wound from the passing of time
time afraid
time beyond
time without

There isn’t much more that I want to write today. I almost let the day pass in silent reflection, but a nagging voice in my head wouldn’t let me get away with that. As incomplete as this is, I am happy I listened and typed up these simple thoughts.

I miss you, brother. If you see this, think of me. I will always be thinking of you.

Thank you for reading.

From the cry of the newborn driven from the womb
to the final breaths of the dying
shallow and labored
we arrive as we leave
in turmoil, confusion, and upheaval

Facing unknowns
surrounded by love