How do I write about the death of my brother? It’s been 7 years, and I still cannot find the words to describe the emotions I feel. A lot of people use “numb” but that isn’t accurate. I do feel, but I cannot name what it is that I feel. Some people say a hole is left when someone we care about dies. This is getting closer to what I feel, but it must be a black hole, sucking out oxygen to some vast, dark, unknowable place to perhaps just sit there innocuously or to seep slowly like a gas leak waiting to explode. Grief…where does it go? What does it do?
When I was an undergraduate, my Shakespeare professor said something about death that I will never forget. He said it long before I lost so many people I love, but it both struck and stuck with me. It’s possible my brain knew long before I did that these words would be helpful, and they have repeated in my mind ever since. He said, “death is like a tear in the fabric of the real” or some similar approximation because as I sit here looking the phrase up online, I do not find this exact phrase but other ones that I like less. Maybe I misremembered; maybe I just can’t find the originator. It doesn’t matter because this is the closest I can come to describing how it feels.
I patch up the fabric with memories. I spindle away by trying to live more like him everyday: sensitive, caring, loving, funny, goofy, silly, just plain fun. Someone worth knowing and hard not to love.
My brother was sensitive.
My brother was giving.
My brother is an inspiration.
My brother is a mentor.
My brother is a magnificent uncle, brother, friend, and son.
My brother was a trendsetter: fashion, music, etc.
My brother is my best friend, only eleven months younger than me. Irish twins. He was the better of the twins.
the daily periphery 