Bye Bro
Guess the proverbial other foot is falling. My big brother died yesterday at 64 or 65 years old. Forgot to ask what delivered the fatal blow, but I am not sure I value that bit of information much. He has been trying to kill himself for over half a century. Since around the time he and I set out to find help together. He was a meek and gentle soul who followed me on that expedition of blind hope. I got help. He got profiled. He has folded in on himself ever since in desperate hopes of denying the profiled predictions. Watching that show, even from as much physical and emotional distance as we could give one another, ranks as the greatest social injustices I have lived in my life.
Bye big bro. You are free now. It is raining in North Texas. Both literally and figuratively.
Replies
Oh, Arfie. I have no words. Only comforting vibes and support.
I am very sorry Arfie for your loss. Please accept my sincere condolences. Loving hugs.
I am very sorry to hear of your loss. I don't know what words I could possibly offer other than to know that you are not alone.
Oh! I am very sorry to hear this. :-(
I kinda wish I could go to the funeral. Kinda. Crossing that great divide of 1800 miles and 40+ years between myself and my birth family has never been anxiety free. Not that I have done it often enough for it to have patterns of any size or depth to recognize clearly.
Mike (about a year and a half older than I) was the brother who I believe made it possible to pursue an engineering career. He was physically small and quiet by nature. During my mute years he and I cruised the old, abandoned barns of whatever dilapidated old farm house the family was squatting in that month, playing with all the abandoned tools and equipment. We didn't have names for any of it, anyway. Who needs words?
I have yet to hear the media phrase, "Victim blaming" applied outside of feminine context, typically just before the talk turns to the wisdom of profiling male rape victims for the sake of the sexual predator boards. A stigma which Mike lived with since his first rape. We never talked about his rapes --or mine, either-- but. . . Who needs words? Who WANTS words?
Don't know where to go with this one. Just keeping it on my awareness radar and let it run its course as I continue navigating the chaos of my current life, far from all the dysfunctional mysteries I was raised with. Well. . . Physically far. Alas, I am all to aware we don't get to let go of the reminders. Let go? How does one let go of the future? The reminders havenae happened yet.
I'm so very sorry arfie. My heart goes out to you. BIG FURRY HUGS.
Scott