I know that this blog is about art, creativity and photography, but for the next few weeks, I want to share some stories of my little brother whom I lost on June 13, 1990.
On June 6, 1990, he choose to enter a van driven by a "friend" whom was intoxicated and possibly on drugs as well. From what I have been told about the accident, he supposedly fell out of the van as they turned a very sharp corner and ended up hitting the bumper of a parked car face forward. He was clinically dead on the scene until the police arrived and brought him back. My parents were awoken by two Police Officers around 3 a.m. to inform them that my brother was in the emergency room fighting for his life. I remember having this vivid dream right before my father woke me up to tell me that they were going to the hospital. In the dream, I witnessed my brother being killed in a car wreck, and when I was woke up by the sound of my dad's mournful voice, I asked him if Mike was still alive, since the dream seemed so real at the time. The next few days were horrible, the waiting and the agony of my parent's frustration and fear of waiting for my brother to come out of his coma were too much to bare for me, but I held on the best that I could without falling apart myself.
Today is June 1st, the start of the cycle of remembering, the cycle of trying to help my parents cope with the memories that still haunt them.....the moods that darken my dreams and make it hard to sleep. There really is no true help out there for loss of siblings, there are more discussion websites and a few books, but the main focus of help in tragedies of loss are for the parents. I did not realize how much my brother's death had shaped my future until I started to really open up more about my feelings in the last few years. I will say this, if you know someone who has lost a sibling, whether it was when they were young, teenagers, young adult or adult....and one day they open up to you and let it slip that they had lost a sibling....listen to them, do not say your sorry....just listen to them talk, that is probably all they want to do, just get the feelings out of their head and the pain off of their chest. A chance to bring them back to life, if only in memory.
Art did help me cope in ways that I still do not understand, but it helped me confront myself about the pain that I held down deep in my heart and refused to let go of, until now. All I want to do is to remember him without the pain. The tears will always flow, but not as hard. So, for the next few weeks, I will share stories, pictures of our childhood and what I went through during his last week before he left this world behind.
I love you Mike....I remember you always! Thank you for telling me that you loved me, those last words you ever spoke to me the night before you died are still carried in my heart and I can still hear you say them to me....Love ya, Kym......