They say a person goes through 5 stages of grief; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance. Depression could be referred to as the dress rehearsal for the 'aftermath'.
That's what my shrink said anyway, I don't think it's true. She say's I'm in denial and maybe I am…. I'm sitting here in the same room its different, not because you're not here, I mean it's defiantly quieter without your insane babbling about last night's tv or some rumour about a girl you picked up in a bar, but it's different. The room is still the same, the wallpaper, even the same round table where we ate breakfast together, the ceiling….It's white, a big white room. White the colour of innocence and purity. You didn't deserve what happened and the pain you felt.
Time's passing, how? I hear the clock ticking, chiming another hour of my life. It's ticking away; seconds, minutes, hours, days. I'm on a platform with my feet firmly on the ground. Everyone and everything is moving around me. I can't eat. I can't sleep. I'm stable here stuck in a moment.
How could it happen? We were happy?! I was in denial that's a stage of grief you know? I wish I could have talked you out of it; maybe you would have carried on living for me? For her? You could have moved away you didn't have to do what you did. It wasn't necessary. I would have given anything, my whole life just to have seen you one last time.
I know you have problems with him, we both have problems with him, but to him since that day you're no longer his son that he drove away to depression, you're just a memory I can only look at a picture of you which I keep firmly stuck in my pocket. I'm sure he would say it never happened, like you didn't kill yourself because of him. I doubt he had a clue how he felt. She still feels this way like he doesn't love her. She's always comparing herself to other girls in her class, the ones they call 'happy families' but I said even though they appear fine on the outside, I'm sure they have hidden flaws, cracks beneath the surface. I'll keep her safe. If he had seen the signs, the pain he caused maybe he would have stopped and it wouldn't have gone that far.
What's the point? What's the point of me carrying on? I've lost everything my only brother. It's dark outside and inside. The curtains are drawn, light hurts my eyes. If it's dark I can't see what's happening around me. The dark is supposed to be scary but it's like my own personal sanctuary. I'm scared to move. I'm scared to breathe. I'm scared to turn on the light. If it's dark I can hide from the conflict. It's peaceful.
She dreamt of you last night, she said she saw you. She said you were in your own personal heaven and you had everything you have ever wanted and you were happy. The innocence of a child he would say. I got a tattoo of your name, like my own personal reminder that I can carry on without you. Its permanent will leave a scar just like that day when I found you. The pain burns like a rope it's constricting my breathing as tight as a boa constrictor. She'll be home from school soon. I have to put on a brave face. I'm still in the aftermath and I doubt it will ever change.
Maybe one day I'll see you again.
I love you.