Untitled
Why are you so happy all the time? I’ve been asked this question numerous times since I have started college, and at first I would just respond, “I don’t know, I just am.” I had never considered why I found myself finding the positive side in situations, instead of dragging my feet through life. When I finally pondered this, I was brought back to being 12 years old and having to handle the death of my baby brother. I remember the devastation I felt when my mother crumpled to the ground and my father sobbed so hard I had to look away because I had never seen them look so vulnerable.
Months after, I still felt the impact my brother’ death had on my family. I saw my mother struggle with depression for weeks. I saw her lay in bed for hours on end, not even greeting me when I got home from school. I had to walk home from school because I could not get ahold of her, and sometimes I wouldn’t even try to. I saw my sister cry silently in her room, because she missed my brother, who was her best friend as well. She developed a habit of biting her nails constantly, which would leave the tips of her fingers bleeding at times. My dad would work day and night, because he could not stand being home. In every corner of my house I could feel the absence of my brother. I could sense the distance each of us put to deal with the loss we had suffered. I felt as if every breath I took, I did not deserve. I found myself blaming god, and the world because I did not understand why my brother had died. I did not understand how a three-year-old could be on life support, and no one could do anything to save him. I hated myself for not being able to help, and because I did not deserve to be the healthy child. My grief suffocated me at times, but it did not last forever.
Over time, my mother got out of bed, and started to interact with us more. She started to smile more often, and went back to work. She had found peace within herself. My sister learned to cope with her anxiety, and spoke with a counselor. My dad started to spend time at home, and worked less hours than before. We each coped with the loss we suffered. There was a certain conversation with my mother that I will always remember. We were both coming back from a grief counseling session, and I asked her about how she overcame her depression. She went on to tell me that there was a point where she considered suicide, but realized how even though she felt as if she could no longer go on, she had to. She thought of me and my sister, and how she would miss out on us growing up. Her sadness was temporary, but the decision to take her life would not be. From that point on, I came to the conclusion that the one thing I could take from my brother’ death was that life was valuable. I could not stand around and let it go to waste, but instead live the life I would have wanted my brother. I understood how even if I still thought my brother dying was unfair, being angry at the world would not bring him back.