This morning, I laid in bed after getting up to get on my son for yelling at his siblings and calling them stupid. My thoughts drifted to the fact that he's going to be 8 years old in 3 days. My mind drifted to talking to your mom last week about his birthday. Because you see, this is something you'll never know. You killed yourself the day he turned 6. As I started to remember and relive that day, I started to cry.
I was alone that morning. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, putting my shoes on when my sister called me.
She called me because my mother couldn't. She called me to tell me 3 words that sent me into shock.
"Chris is dead".
At first my mind could not, would not, comprehend what she had just said to me.
I had to ask her "What?" and she said through a cracked voice, "Chris is dead. He overdosed."
I sat in stunned silence for an eternity. Trapped in my mind. At first I couldn't think. It was just stalled with unwanted knowledge. Knowledge that our family had just lost someone.
Someone special.
Someone unique.
Someone brilliant.
Someone gifted and talented.
Someone loved.
As I sat there after I hung up the phone, my mind started to roll at a slow keel, in slow motion. To you, us, growing up. A flood of memories washed upon my minds eye like an ocean wave hitting a beach. The impact of images that flashed across my eyes were of laughing children. Constantly getting in trouble. I followed you everywhere. I looked up to you. I annoyed you. I mixed up your legos on purpose because you made me mad. I rubbed your sheets down with a wet wash cloth taken to Skipper because you'd gotten me in trouble for something you'd participated in but cast the blame solely on me. You broke out in hives everywhere and grandma couldn't figure out why. You helped me get down from the tree in grandma and grandpas yard because I was scared.
"Just trust me, I will catch you!!"
You did.
That morning, it was a Monday morning. I had talked to you on the phone just two days before that. Saturday afternoon. You had been searching for another place to live in the LA area and I had gone through all my resources to find someone I knew down there that may have a place for you to stay temporarily. I tried, but my options were limited. You asked if I was sure there wasn't anything else. I told you to grow a pair, man up and fix the problem that you had created. You said you understood and thanks for trying anyway.
That was our last conversation.
It was Alex's birthday. But it suddenly changed. Because now, it's also the anniversary of your death. In three days, it will be two years since you left us.
I got up and poured myself a cup of tea. Went out onto the balcony and started going through my phone. I had yet to cry. I started making phone calls. To our childhood friends. Word would spread, undoubtedly. But some of them, I didn't want them to hear it through the grapevine. I wanted them to know, since they'd known us their whole lives, to hear it from me. I called Annie first. Though the following conversations, I still shed no tears. I did what I needed to do that day, contacting people, talking to people. Communicating with our family. It wasn't until that night that the dams burst and I wept.
You see, you didn't leave our hearts and our minds. You only left the physical realm of the world. In my mind and my heart, you're still alive. Your laugh and smile. Your music.
Your face will not fade from me, ever. I was lucky. I have all these memories of you that won't ever go away and they will not fade with time. Racing our bikes down the hill (you always cheated). Camping with grandma and grandpa. The Zoo. Pathfinders. Trying to catch the kitchen curtains on fire. Showing me the speed you got from Elory and me being so afraid that I told Uncle Rob. I didn't want you to hurt yourself. You told me once that I couldn't keep a secret. I kept tons of your secrets. I have a bunch of stuff in my mind that will never go anywhere.
I want you to know that I cleared out the stuff that you wouldn't want anyone to see. No one laid eyes on it but me.
I want you to know that I miss you. That I wish 30 hadn't been it for you.
I want you to know that I will forever remember you as my big brother, my cousin, my friend. You protected me at times, got me in trouble others. But we grew up as siblings. We were the first grandkids and we went everywhere with grandma and grandpa together. We got in so much trouble. But we had so much fun, too. You'll live forever in the minds and hearts of those that love you.
People won't remember what you did, they will remember how you made them feel.
You made me feel light, music, joy, sadness, anger, love. You made me feel family. YOU made me feel special.
Rest in Peace, Chris. I love you.
