Sunday 2nd

Hey.

I saw a photo of our brothers yesterday. I guess they're both older than you were now huh..
They look like you.







Who ever thought I'd be giving advice to someone about grieving?
I guess because I didn't do it right I have some idea of what people should be doing to help themselves.

I always heard "there's no right or wrong way to grieve".
That's not correct. There is a wrong way.
To feel like everything is your fault.
To feel like you can't talk to anyone about what you're going through because it'll look like you're weak -and you've had it hammered into you all your life not to show any weakness.
To feel like you can't talk to anyone about what you're going through because they're dealing with stuff too.
To lock it up and never address it. It only comes up to stab you in the heart and then you push it down again.
To not demand the same support network everyone else has -you have a right to be helped and not go through it alone.

That is the wrong way to grieve.

I tell people to sit down and have long talks with the people in their life.
If there are people going through the same thing as them and treating them badly, I tell them that they don't mean it. They are trying to process it too. They need help too.

Do I believe my own words?
Well I certainly place hope in them.
I hope that our family treated me the way they did when you were sick and after you were gone because they were angry and upset about what happened to you.

They shouldn't have done it. At all, but especially because I was young, and I had done so much for you and our parents and brothers, and even our extended family at times.

While you were in the hospital the first time, I spent a lot of time alone -there was never anybody home.
Do you remember when you came home but you were still hooked up to the machine? I wasn't allowed to close the window between my room and yours so that I could hear if your tubes got blocked and the alarm went off.
I was, what, eleven?
But I guess I shouldn't complain, right? At least when you were home there were people in the house and meals were made. I didn't have to go to the supermarket by myself anymore.

When you were in hospital the second time I basically had a parent role. While trying to sort out the fact that you were sick again when you were totally clear of relapse. While trying to study. At sixteen.

Before you were taken off life support, and after you were gone. Staying tough so that our parents hearts wouldn't break any further and so our other brothers had something strong to hold onto.

In the process I became invisible. I was forgotten.
I was the punching bag in the basement.
Our family came and found me when they needed to get their feelings out.
None of them ever asked if I was ok. None of them ever sat down to talk with me -except I guess that one time when they told me I should stop taking my anti depressants and that what was going on was nothing to do with me and I should stop trying to get attention (attention = taking antidepressants apparently).
None of them ever apologised for the things they'd said to me.

I can't sit back and let someone end up like me.

I don't like that so many of the important lessons I've learned are because I've been treated the wrong way. I know the things not to do.

We need to teach people the right things to do.



Our brothers are getting older. I don't know what to do with that. You never did. You just disappeared.
I see you in them.
I don't know if I can ever say that to our mum. She probably sees you too.

It's too late to fix everything for me now. There's a piece I can never get back now. I can only try and put it all behind me.

But if I can help someone fix what's going on before it's too late... I'll relive it as many times as it takes so that other people, even complete strangers, don't have to.

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