Lately the harshest reality for me has been that I now live and breathe in a world without my brother. It's funny, really how it's best that we not talk about these things. The downers of life -- no one wants to hear 'em or think about 'em. Me either. But for me, writing is one of my therapies. For selfish reasons - I'm bringing this out of myself and placing it here.
It's really no secret that Aaron and I didn't always get along. When we did though, we really did. And when we didn't, well, naturally - we really didn't. Sadly enough, one of my last blog posts on this dusty old thing was about Aaron-- back when he was still here. I'm really trying not to think so much about the times we didn't get along. It's hard, though, because I hadn't spoken to him in about a year before he took leave of this place. For us, it would figure things would end that way...like two boxers in a ring, dancing around in the corners, waiting to figure out who would throw the next punch and how it would be thrown. Unfortunately no one got a chance to throw the next punch. He just hopped right on out of the ring. There is a part of me that says, "how dare you!" How dare you leave me without a fight. As I type this it doesn't seem like it'd be so hard to lose a brother like that. A brother who I fought with more than I laughed with. It seems that way, but it wasn't always.
Big A was much more than my sparring partner. If I'm honest, I have to keep reminding myself of that as my emotions roll like the waves of the sea. I sometimes feel guilty for missing him - as though I really don't have a right to. After all, we weren't even on speaking terms. Then that wave crashes and gives way to the pull of the tide and builds into a whole new feeling of anger. Then sadness. Then gut wrenching, soul hollowing pain. Sheer, physical pain. That crazy guy was much more. We were much more. We often fought like that. We'd fight. We'd stop speaking to each other. Then it'd be over. We'd move on and everything would be okay.
It was supposed to be okay again.
He is the big brother who bribed me relentlessly to get in the water and learn how to ski. He is the guy who turned me upside down, tickled me to tears, and made me believe in the legend of the skinny walkers. He is the prankster who sought great pleasure in pulling people under by the ankles -- under beds, under docks, under anything where he could hide and get a good grip on a pair of ankles. Incidentally, he is also the reason I am afraid of the dark as a grown adult. He is... I keep typing that. He was. He was my statistics tutor in college. (That didn't always go so well.) He was the guy we played football with in the park, at the beach, in any plot of grass we could find. He was the big brother who helped me get through my first great loss in life at the age of eight. The loss of the poor man I decided to adopt as my grandfather, Hugh. He made everything seem much cooler than it probably truly was - well, everything but statistics. His is the voice I hear when the words "I'm proud of ya' Em" echo in my head like a lonely little metal ball at the bottom of a bottle of nail polish. He was passionate about everything he did. He was passionate about his happiness and passionately embraced his sadness. He once said to me, "Life is about choices. You can choose to be happy or you can choose to not to." Only Aaron.
I choose to be happy. I do. But I also choose to let this pain sink in a little. Let it swirl around in the pit of the middle of my mind. I choose to let myself feel it. Feel what this world feels like without Aaron in it. It doesn't feel so good. It feels like a cold winter day that won't snow. It feels like a warmish spring day that won't bloom. It feels like a bowl of macaroni and cheese that's cold and a little bit clumpy. It feels like an almost world. What I miss most about the not sharing of this almost world with my brother is typical and cliche. I hate typical. I hate cliche.
I miss what wasn't said.
I miss his smell...it's true. I do.
I miss his great, guttural, belly laugh. It was one of those laughs that made you laugh.
I miss his jabs.
I miss the way he walked.
I miss hearing his voice.
I miss his great, booming ultimatums. There was no maybe with him.
I miss his hugs. He was a great hugger.
I miss watching him fish.
I miss how he'd break out into a ridiculous crazy running dance whenever the song, "I Would Walk 500 Miles", would come on.
I miss how he'd sing along to the words of that incomprehensible Black Crowes song, "Hard to Handle" (mostly to annoy me).
I don't have a big brother anymore. That kinda' sucks.
I've got some spunk in me. Some fight. I can be a bit feisty. I don't like hearing the word 'no' and on matters of principle I don't often stand down. To outright steal the words of Shel Silverstein -- I have Aaron to thank for the gravel in my gut and the spit in my eye. He was my sparring partner. Without him I feel like the Grouchy Ladybug. Have you read that story by Eric Carle? It's the story of a ladybug who goes from page to page looking for a fight. Without Aaron I feel like that. "Hey, you... you wanna fight?" I just miss my big brother. If all this seems like it's not socially acceptable. I'm sorry...
No, I'm actually not.
I'll leave you with this: a poem a friend of Aaron's sent me last week.
I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a spec of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.
Then someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!"
"Gone where?"
Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when he left my side and she is just as able to bear the load of lifting freight to her destined port.
Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And just at the moment when someone at my side says: "There, she is gone!" There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: "Here she comes!"
And that is dying.
~Henry Van Dyke
