Memory Seeps From My Veins

Every once in a while, I'll be driving or walking somewhere, or just randomly doing something, and get sucker punched. I get the wind knocked out of me, my heart beats fast and wildly, and I usually cry at least a tear or two. Why? Because something reminds me of my brother, Xander.

I find it interesting that I don't feel the same way about those dear to me who are still alive. I don't start thinking about my sister, who is in law school in New York, or my brother, in business school in California and feel weepy. When I think about friends whom I haven't seen in years, I miss them, but I don't feel physical pain when I think about them. In fact, I don't actually feel sad about Xander on a frequent basis. I can write about him, talk to strangers or friends about him and I usually can think about him without feeling a twinge of hurt.


But, when something reminds me of him, it hits hard. Today, I was passing by an elementary school when the fire alarm rang. I watched the children file out in orderly progression, which threw me back to childhood and earthquake drills. We would have them on a regular basis at school in Southern California. Because we had to cluster outside based on last name, we were always together during these drills. He and I spent many a drill having a grand time outside on the soccer fields, soaking up the warm SoCal sun. So today, when I saw those little guys outside their school lined up for their fire drill, I thought about calling my brother and reminiscing - when that hit-me-in-the-gut feeling emerged.

Xander's funeral was held in a lovely place in late spring in Rochester, NY, the Lamberton Conservatory. I don't remember much about being there, other than it was crowded (so many people loved my brother!), it was hot, and I was sad. I have a mental snapshot of a woman sitting on a bench, looking years older than her true age, her shoulders slumped with the inevitable realization that she was there because she would never see her son again. Mothers before her have been through the same thing, and mothers after her will again, but it doesn't make it any easier. She sat, greeting visitors with a sad, slow smile and watery red-rimmed eyes. In the background, one of Xander's favorite artists, Sarah McLachlan's song "Angel" warbled from the speakers:

"memory seeps from my veins
let me be empty
and weightless and maybe
I'll find some peace tonight"

This wish that Sarah McLachlan and I shared, to find some peace tonight, was elusive. There was no peace, no solace.

The other day, as I was driving to pick up my children from summer camp, McLachlan's song came on the radio and hit my unsuspecting heart with an enormous hammer. Pow! I was overcome so instantaneously that I had to pull over and stop. I felt like I was driving in a thunderstorm so intense that I couldn't see out of the windshield. My heart pounded and I couldn't catch my breath. I called my sister, the only person I could think to call who could understand where I was coming from with my feeling. It was more than sadness I was feeling; it was regret, remorse, pain, anger, sorrow, all rolled into one neat, carefully tied package.

How do you move beyond the death of your brother? I don't know. You just do. But every once in a while, the dragon of sorrow emerges from his lair and strikes with a pain so swift and deep you wonder how you can emerge. The only comfort I have is that the dragon strikes less frequently as the years pass. But I know he lurks, waiting to strike again. I have no defense, no shield of armor, no sword. I can only hope the dragon grows old.