Losing a sibling

I have been living away from my family for 14 years. For 14 years I have been connected to my roots with only phone calls. It means that I remember them the way they were 14 years ago. That’s how I remember their appearances and the way they look at life. I don’t know them anymore. I get only bits and pieces of what they actually are now. When you are overseas you realize that sooner or later you will receive that terrifying phone call about someone dying in your family. You don’t clearly think about it but it vaguely hangs over you for many years. I finally received it this year. I thought I was kind of ready because it’s been hanging over. I was so painfully wrong.

You expect to hear bad news about your grandpa or grandma because they are 85. Because they lived a long wonderful life and saw their grandchildren marry and saw their great grandchildren walk. I heard my phone wringing repeatedly for a while at night and in the back of my head I knew it was it.

To my absolute terror my moms voice was pronouncing the wrong words. It was saying that my brother was dead. My youngest brother who was 32 years old. He was not only dead but he was murdered by someone who was friends with my brothers friends. He was stabbed in the heart. That heart of his has a special story of surviving a hard surgery when my brother was only 8 years old. That’s when my family suffered their first stress of possibly losing a child. The surgery went great and my brother survived but he could no longer get into his favorite sports: boxing. He was sad about it but that didn’t stop him from becoming a strong handsome man 6 feet, 5 inches tall. He got married and had two beautiful daughters and had countless friends because he would do anything for the people he loved. No-one was ever untouched by his personality and good humor. And he loved me like a perfect little brother-stinker can ever love his older sister.

We were a team of two. It was us against the world and against the parents. We never rat each other out to our parents and if we had to fight each other we would fight when no parents can get between us. When he was 8 years old he told me he made some powerful friends from the scandalous neighborhood and I didn’t have to ever fear anything or anyone starting that moment. He was always proud of me and took my role of the good child In the family with respect. He was that person in my life I couldn’t think of without a huge grin and endless love. He was almost my child because most of my childhood I was responsible for his wellbeing. I was his babysitter for many years.

And all of a sudden another person takes his life. No fight no argument. He stabs him and stabs two more guys but they all survive. Except for my handsome boy. He was born with a hole in his heart and he left this beautiful life with one.

I’m so lost. How my life keeps going without my brother in it? How everyone smiles and talks about their future but my brother can’t? How is it fair that I lived and he didn’t? Why my parents have to deal with it? Why can’t life be normal again? Why do I have to live with this huge hole in my heart and he couldn’t? What did he think when he was walking up to people and asking for help? Why couldn’t I be there to help him? Was he scared?

Everybody feels bad for my devastated parents. And they all feel that losing a sibling is not as hard. I hope they never get the feeling because it actually shook my life and ripped the ground from under my feet.