This and that and the other thing

It’s been a tough few weeks.

Those who read the previous post know of the other thing, but this and that were also a bother. But, yes, the other thing overshadowed all else.

We’re still in the disbelief mode mixed with the “I’m just gonna cry for a bit” mode. My brother died of an aneurysm and part of being a survivor — all survivors — is the guilt. He is gone and I’m still here. Why didn’t I push him harder to go see a doctor? Why didn’t I ask more questions? Why, why, why . . .

. . . because neither he nor any of us contemplated even the possibility and immediacy of something like this happening.

There’s now a temptation to look at everything as a risk, of being cautious and aware of every little thing. To tell anyone who would listen that whatever it is they are feeling that isn’t quite right might be serious and they should go have it checked out.

I don’t know how long this phase lasts since I’m new to this situation, but the reality is that it will fade, both for us and for others. That’s because we don’t know.

We don’t know the combination that lets us predict what genetic and lifestyle choices call the shots. And that’s discounting accidents and extraordinary events outside our control. No one thought to warn the people on the jet the Iranians shot down that people make mistakes and that sometimes innocent lives pay the price.

Understand, I’m not fatalistic. I believe we have a measure of control. It’s not perfect nor assured, but the tools at our disposal today are much better than five, ten, fifty years ago. Sure, there’s much we don’t know, but we know a lot.

So, I’ll probably continue to give advice about lifestyle choices even as I know people rationalize avoiding doing things they know they should do. Heck, I do it. Today, there’s a good chance that, when I get up for a snack, I will opt for an apple as opposed to an almond-poppy-seeds or blueberry muffin. A few days from now, I’ll say I don’t want to waste the muffins in the fridge. Besides, what’s the harm of a muffin once in a while?

Good question. We don’t know, but most of us rationalize it’s negligible. We rationalize all risk is negligible.

We’re late and we opt to put our life in danger as well as the lives of people around us as we speed and weave in and out of traffic. Or, we absolutely have to text about Brad and what’s-her-name getting back together, and we can’t wait until we stop driving.

Okay, Okay . . . you don’t need me ranting about stuff you almost never do. Just remember that “almost never” is not “never”.

Anyway, this is about getting back into what will pass as the new normal for Melisa and I. The grief will dull — but not entirely go away — and life goes on.

Starting tomorrow, I’ll not mention any of this again and will resume posting stuff. Hummingbirds, mainly, for tomorrow. The next day, Wednesday the 22nd, I’ll post the three stories Garry, Perry, and I wrote for our alphabet challenge. A step above, they are. Or, at least we think so.

They’ll be posted anonymously . . . er . . . I mean, I will post them without names and readers will be asked to vote for their preferred story. They are not short, so I anticipate a diminished reading and voting response, but that’s OK because readers will have a whole month to vote. Or, is it a year? I’ll have to go back and check the rules.

But today . . . today I will listen to this song and shed a few tears. It’s the song I would like people to play when I go, and the song I play whenever I lose someone I know. I just never thought I’d be playing it for my brother.


About disperser

Odd guy with odd views living an odd life during odd times.
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14 Responses to This and that and the other thing

  1. I know what it’s like to lose a brother. I am so sorry Emilio! A beautiful song. Thank you for sharing your sorrow and thoughts. Many prayers for you and your family.


  2. I’m listening to the song and crying, too.

    I can relate to your thoughts and the wonderings you shared here. I’ve lost a brother, a sister, parents, etc., so I know some of how you are feeling.

    I’m so sorry for the great loss of your precious brother. My love and condolences to you, to Melisa, to your sister, to your Mom and all of your other family members and friends.


  3. Heather Bunce says:

    Sending love to you and your family. I lost my dad 3 years ago due to an abdominal aortic aneurysm. The suddenness of it made it so hard to deal with. You always think you have more time. Focus on the happy memories. The silly moments that made you laugh. Share them with the family. It helps.


  4. DailyMusings says:

    Beautiful Bruce Cockburn song- I haven’t listened to him in many, many years. I am sorry for the loss of your brother- loss is always hard, bit made so much more difficult when sudden. I hope your memories bring some solace


    • disperser says:

      Agree, it is a great song that captures beautifully both the sense of loss and grief. At the same time, at least for me, it helps smooth out the grief. Well, that’s not exactly it, but that’s the best I can describe it.

      Thank you for the comment and sentiment.


  5. Ggreybeard says:

    My sympathy. It’s always tough on the survivors. It leaves a void and it so often leaves unearned guilt. I lost a nephew to suicide a few months ago. As with your brother, the fact that he was younger than me doubles up on all those feelings.


    • disperser says:

      Thank you, GGreybeard, and my condolences for your loss. Having dealt with the aftermath of one suicide, I know how difficult it is for all involved. And, yes, age plays a part, as well as other multipliers.


  6. disperser says:

    This was a comment from GP Cox that I deleted from the previous post and copied here:

    “I did not know your brother, but wanted to tell you that I am very sorry for what the world lost with the loss of your brother.”

    Thank you, GP Cox. I appreciate the sentiment.


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