What happens when we lose someone? I know I'm not the only one finding the answer out first-hand during this pandemic. Have I lost someone to Covid? Not exactly... My younger brother Michael recently passed away of a drug overdose. He struggled for years with mental health and addictions issues, though even those closest to him were ignorant to the extent of it. And at 2am on February 1, 2021 I got the heart-stopping call that he was gone.
His tragic passing is in some ways unrelated to the pandemic... although it is impossible to pinpoint "the reason" he died that night, it's also overwhelmingly easy to list the many circumstances that contributed to the state he was in at the end and the death itself. It brings to mind The Butterfly Effect. The film starring Ashton Kutcher and Amy Smart plays with this concept... that each moment is intricately created from many interwoven threads, each of which contributes something independently miniscule. But together, they display a tapestry- a grand fateful scene. Any change can significantly impact the trajectory of life and no one can foresee the consequences of the smallest of actions. Although my mind spreads the blame around liberally, one aspect I can not ignore is the isolation we were all facing for never-ending months. Upon talking to some of Mike's friends it became clear that many of us thought to connect with him but were restrained by the rules imposed in order to protect us all from the virus. Mike was anything but protected by these barriers to connection. And yet I have some strange sense of understanding that as wrong as it seems, this was his time.
The grief is not what I expected, even though I work with clients on grief on a regular basis. I expected sadness and pain mostly, I believed that I should be overcome with missing him. I thought that upon my first major loss I would understand more about loss... about death. Instead my experience was shock at first. Not disbelief on a cognitive level, but an inability to connect my emotional experience to the logical reality that my brain knew was true. I wanted to feel sad, I should feel sad, but instead I was numb. When I learned of the news, I stared at the ceiling, trying to let it sink in, my heart pounding, sweating profusely. My eyes searched right and left for understanding, and I heard myself say, "I knew this was going to happen." I repeated it again, and then went into problem solving mode. What did I need to do? How could I be helpful? What tasks could I complete? What did my parents need? This continued for days. Only in the car when a sorrowful song came on the radio, a song that described sadness of loss or that reflected a small sliver of Mike's difficult experience, would the water works turn on. Then, upon arriving at my destination and turning off the ignition, so too would the taps turn off, and I would go back into efficiency mode.
Efficiency mode was interspersed with these grief spasms. Guilt came and went, and still comes and goes, over all my failings as a sister. Resentment seeps in from time to time, as I blame one thing or person or another for their part in his pain and his death. And sadness does wash over me too. I'm not sad for him now, as he is relieved of all his earthly burdens. He does not have to experience heartache or anxiety, disillusionment or boredom, pain or frustration... unless of course his soul is already returned to earth in a new body, human or otherwise, as I acknowledge reincarnation as a possibility. Lingering questions about spiritual realms and events remain unanswered now too, though I'm not entirely sure why I thought loss might provide me greater understanding. I see signs that he's nearby, like a flickering light, a particularly ethereal interplay between sun and clouds, a butterfly, a raven's call.
I wonder, what was the purpose of his life? Did his life and death have meaning? What imprint did he leave on the world in his short 29 years? Does he forgive me for not calling on the phone when I knew he was suffering? I see an image of him in my mind's eye. He is at ease. He has an omnipotent look in his eyes. He appears confident, peaceful, and like he has the answers the rest of us are seeking. And he dances like Fred Astaire.
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