Loss Happens to All of Us: But, There is a Way to Renew

“We bereaved are not alone. We belong to the largest company in all the world — the company of those who have known suffering.” — Helen Keller

On the evening of Oct 2nd, 2020, I received the dreaded phone call. He had died. He died in the middle of kidney dialysis. They said he experienced cardiac arrest, a heart attack. You know I wasn’t surprised. I expected it. I knew it was coming because that is just how life is.

Mental illness knows no bounds. My brother lived a life of pain, of undeniable mental anguish. I couldn’t understand it. We all tried to help him and stewed over how. He tried different specialists, medicines, therapy, and even walking daily. When he had one of his “episodes,” where he lost his mind for a day or two and became dangerously paranoid and schizophrenic, they forced different anti-psychotics on him. His life was a rollercoaster of feeling okay and in mental acuity, then refusing to take his medicine because, you know, he FEELS okay, then exploding in scary psychosis. None of us knew what came next.

He lived in the back of a house in a small room no bigger than a shed, in several apartments with and without roommates, in halfway houses and safe houses. For a time, he slept on California benches until he received his disability check and could afford a couple of night’s stay at the local motel. His mind left him. It went somewhere into the ether, the abyss, a black hole, or to the state of hell in the recesses of his brain.

There came a time when we didn’t know how to help him anymore.

And that was it.

“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. All of that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest.” — Jamie Anderson

“Your hair looks beautiful in a French braid, but I love it long and flowing, too.” I smiled at Karen knowing my life would change in a short half hour. My hair was lovely then — thick, dark brown, naturally curly, and shiny. She did a perfect job of tightening every part of the braid. In a few minutes, I would step outside to shine on the most beautiful, fresh day in Colorado you have ever seen. A decision. This was the decision I would make that would forever alter my life.

This year, on October 2nd, would have been our 31st wedding anniversary. It’s hard to believe how much time has passed. Like others who have experienced marriage and divorce, you wonder and reminisce about it all.

“What if I had…?”

What if he had…?”

“What if I hadn’t…, would I have…?” The questions in your mind are endless. Nothing fills the void of not knowing; even decades later, we sit in a daze, stupefying over what might have been. Crying over what was lost. Tearing up over the things that we cannot know, the things that are a mystery. On the conscious level, knowing that life goes on, that it must. On the subconscious level, not knowing that every broken thread still kills a part of you, daily.

Sometimes life is that way. It is brutal. And we have to accept that it is.

We make choices and we trust that life has our backs. We do our best and have to live with the consequences of our choices.

Living in this world is difficult, isn’t it? Whether you are mourning a death in the family, a broken marriage or a divorce, or any other unfortunate turn of events, it is hard. As I write this, the southeastern part of the United States is attempting to recover from not one but two major hurricanes — one right after the other — slamming ashore in rage. I am not going to pretend to know that kind of loss — I am far from water and we don’t experience hurricanes where I live — but I imagine the devastation and loss must be incredibly difficult to accept. It seems like there is no end in sight to the tragedies humans experience on this planet. The loss of my brother and my marriage is nothing compared to the destruction experienced by Floridians, North Carolinians, and Southerners. They say to not compare tragedies because everyone experiences them in one way or another, right?

I’ve never had to flee my home because of an upcoming monster hurricane, but I have had my share of tragedies, sorrow, mourning, and depression. Life went on whether I wanted it to or not, and it was sometimes hard to find support or understanding. I know I am not alone. According to Mental Health America, the following suggestions help when grieving a loss.

How to survive after a tragedy or loss

1. Be patient. Know that nothing improves immediately. It takes time to grieve, and it is personal. Don’t compare yourself to others and how they are grieving. You will heal in your own time. It might take years, and that’s okay.

2. Take care of your health. This is a tough one. You might not feel like eating or sleeping, and your mind might be telling you that you should be doing something else instead of experiencing your emotions. Drinking whiskey might make you feel better in the short run, but it won’t help in the long run. See number one. Be patient and take care of your health.

3. Seek out caring people or outside help. If you need a friend, reach out. I know this can seem daunting sometimes. Join a support group with similar experiences. They will understand, without judgment, and help you feel like you are not alone. See a therapist or counselor if you feel you need it. They are lifesavers!

4. Express your feelings. This can’t be said enough! Know that you will most likely experience the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. This is normal. It is a process and not linear. Write your feelings in a journal, paint, draw, run, scream, or cry. Do whatever it takes and be patient with your healing. Once again, this is a process, not a one-time task.

5. Don’t make any major life changes. You are raw. Make it a priority to heal — at least get through the initial shock — before you make a major life change like a move or new career. It takes time to accept what happened, to heal, and to renew. Give yourself the time and love yourself first.

Today, I reminisce. My brother, Dito, died on 10/02/20, twenty-seven years after that stunning wedding day — the juxtaposition of that colorful day in the Rockies and that dreadful phone call thirty-one years later is the essence of life, isn’t it? Dito didn’t deserve what he experienced. He didn’t deserve to die alone, without his family.

I didn’t deserve the marriage I had, either.

Truth be told, life’s a bitch sometimes. We don’t know, from day to day, what will happen. I hope that we, as a compassionate society, will support each other because nothing is returning to the way it was. We are in a new normal now, and we will need each other more than ever to survive.

Aside from the shit that happens in life, though, I am still here, on 10/02/24, overlooking cottonwood trees with falling orange and yellow leaves, being still. I’m alive, wanting more, ready for the next adventure or whatever life brings me, irrelevant of any decisions made, even though I have been through hell. Here I am at a resort in stunning Colorado, living the life, soaking in the sun without a worry. For now, I will renew.

It is what it is. My life has to go on.

Our lives have to go on.

(RIP, my beautiful brother)

“I still miss those I loved who are no longer with me, but I find I am grateful for having loved them. The gratitude has finally conquered the loss.” — Rita Mae Brown