I find myself keening for my brother Raymond who died when he was 25. Suicide. Three decades ago.
I was on my balcony tonight, making a wish upon a star for another friend far away. On New Year's Eve, I had promised him that I would send wishes on stars to help him get through some personal troubles. I sipped his favorite rum while smoking the last bit of an Italian cigar, one that he would enjoy.
I was holding the last inch of that cigar with my brother's roach clip, a memento that I'd kept all these years. I laughed when I imagined what he would think of me using his clip and smoking, since I've never been a smoker.
Then I just broke down—feeling the depths of sadness of missing him all of these years. Keening. Yes, keening. The deepest sorrow. Raymond. Raymond. I miss you so much. I wonder what you would look like now if you were sitting here next to me and we were chatting and sharing some laughs. Would you still have your tall, lanky build? Or would you have filled out as we all tend to do? Would your hair be thinning? Would you still sport a pony tail and that favorite plaid shirt? And what would you think of your weird older sister who got divorced, sings in rock bands, rides 'bitch' on a motorcycle through Italy, and writes poetry?
I am devastated that this life that I am enjoying so much was too painful for you, and you opted out. You left behind those of us who love you so much....
Tonight, all I planned to do was sit on my balcony and make wishes for a friend. But when I wished Raymond well from so far away, the keening erupted from me. The same as it did a few months ago after saying goodbye to my dear friend so far away when I feared I might never see him again.
Would I rather not have had a brother who died? Or a friend far away whom I might never see again? Never. I want my life as it is. I will bear any heartache rather than lose the gifts they left with me.
How does one love and let go? It seems impossible. At least for me.
And I doubt I want to learn.
