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A few months ago while scrolling through my order history on Amazon.com, I noticed an order that I did not remember purchasing. It was a book, no, a journal with the title "The Daily Stoic Journal" by Ryan Holiday and Stephen Hanselman. And even though I did not order it, I didn't cancel it and I am glad that I didn't. Turns out that it was a gift from my roommate who was a first hand witness to the excruciatingly devastating year that had passed after the death of my baby brother. Well, my brother would have hated being called that but he was our family's youngest nevertheless and at times I wonder, maybe the brightest.
The idea behind the journal was to read a meditation each day and jot down your day on the next page in the context of the meditation. Spoiler alert, I did not indulge despite reading through at least half of the meditations. The goal of the exercise, in my opinion, is to be able to understand the meditations, apply them to your daily life and verbalize your emotions. It's really quite simple but just as profound. To be able to disconnect yet prescribe value to the emotions you are experiencing and having full control of your reaction. I know some reading this might be thinking, "Where are you going with this?"
In times of trauma, thoughts are not so simple. Countless random thoughts with high-ranging emotions from grief to anger dominate the conscious mind. Who knows whats going on in our subconscious! And after a few hours of very inconvenient therapy sessions, I realized that I was searching for an answer to a question to which I could only address. A solution to the grief and guilt. A solution that would wash away the conflict between the heart and mind, so to speak (the heart just pumps blood people, its all your mind).
A little over a year ago, at the Pedernales River located North of Austin, Texas in the scorching southern sun, my brother and I drowned. It was a deceiving stream, barely 2 feet on one side but at least 12 feet on the other. The thing about death is, you never know when it will knock on your door and all the Hollywood shows and movies projecting some type of calming light on the verge of death is absolute bullshit.
As I jumped in to the water to help Zayd who had lost his footing smack in the middle of the river, all I could think about is getting him to shore; determination. Once I reached him, I realized my act of so-called heroism may have been my gravest mistake. I wasn't able to mount him on my back while swimming. As his panic grew, mine did too. But this is my baby brother, I thought. To disappoint him in a moment where it's either life or death would be the epitome of my failures. Regaining some sort of determination, I pivoted to his back side and sprung my hands around his upper torso quite similar to a wrestling suplex move and launched myself in a backward swim.
A few meters, possibly a few feet and most probably barely a foot in, I realized that we weren't going to make it with all the water we took in. And just as lightning strikes, a thought struck me. If I feel this sense of hopelessness consume myself, what is Zayd thinking? "No!", I told myself. Not fucking today, not here. I re-positioned myself and thought maybe we needed a spring board because my strength could not hold the both of us all the way to the shore, the floor can't be too deep. We sank to the floor in an attempt to jump back up and that is when I realized that this may be the end for the both of us. We kept sinking and by the time we hit the floor, our weight did not allow us to jump above water.
Darkness and anguish settled in, the surface merely serving as an illusive optical illusion. Any strength, expended. Any hope, relinquished. My thoughts raced but my body completely gave up, shut down initiated. There were no thoughts of heaven or hell. No time to ask God to give us the strength. There was no reel of life passing by. It felt a bleak, lonely and desolate end. Just darkness.
On the verge of acceptance, I felt two hands grab me by the stomach and pull me towards the surface. As my velocity increased, I realized help was here. I wish I could say I was ecstatic because as I was dragged closer and closer to the surface, I felt my grip around my brother's arms loosen. All at once, I felt the scorching heat of the sun on my face again while almost simultaneously realizing that at the end of my fingertips, I did not feel the shape of Zayd's arms or hands but instead just my hands submerged in water.
He was gone, in less than five minutes. 22 years of an extremely colorful life lost in a river in Texas. But there was a lingering belief. The human mind, such magnificence yet capable of such fallacies in false hope. As I lay there on the shore, I could hear my wife call out to me. Telling me to focus on her voice, help was coming. Eventually, I was airlifted to the nearest hospital and rushed to the emergency room with all these doctors and nurses working their asses off to save me. Me? Wow. Once I regained consciousness, the physician in charge asked me a series of questions while I sat on a hospital bed in utter state of shock at what had just transpired.
It's not until one of the first responders entered the room, the expressions on his face said it all but he still had to confirm it. He knew that I knew. And I knew what he was about to say. But its never the same until you verbalize it. He grasped my hand while hugging me and said, "Son, I am sorry". And down came reality crashing. Everything after that was just noise. After a flurry of tears, I realized the gravity of the situation I was in. It was only a few hours later that my wife and cousin, who were still at the river speaking to the police while I was being airlifted, joined me. Once we were all in the room, I called our parents. To deliver the news to any parent that they had lost their child is one of the most agonizingly painful tasks. And these were my parents! I will never forget that call.
The months that followed consisted of at times what felt like an insurmountable amount of guilt. Family and friends gathered to attempt to soften the blow. A shout out to the people who were there in times of need, you know who you are. I am extremely grateful because oh man, did we need it. During these times, I struggled to stay afloat, stay hopeful or even focus not that I was great at focusing before that day on July 2nd. I know our parents and sister must have had their own personal battles to make sense of the situation. We have all been witnesses to death on more than several occasions just like any other person in life. This one though, hit hard and hit way way too close to home.
And it's not until a few weeks ago that I realized what I had lost in addition to our brother, Zayd. I had lost my voice. The voice that told me who I am. Not my actual voice that you all may have heard but the voice that spoke to me and me alone. The same voice that taught me how to create. The same voice that would present itself when my morality was in question. The voice that taught me how to accept differences among people. The voice that taught me how to love.
And this piece has three objectives. The first purpose is to reach out to people who have experienced an unexpected loss of life of a loved one in any circumstance or have gone through it themselves and survived. You may feel hollow and you may feel lonely. Many will tell you there is a light at the end of the tunnel and that you will be okay. And they are not wrong. But embrace the grief, please do not store it away. If tears escape you, find a corner to cry your heart out. If you want to scream, find a place where you can scream your lungs out. If you want to break things, find a place to break things without hurting yourself or anyone else. The point is, express yourself. Not doing so is digging yourself in to a deeper hole. And accept the help that you think you do not need because the reality is you do! I would not be this sane (there's no proof that I still am) if it weren't for my heroic and fundamentally phenomenal wife, loving friends and rock solid family.
The second purpose is that I promised myself that I will not let the legacy of my brother dissipate with history. This post is the first of many that will serve as a reminder of his existence, his importance and his value to the people around him. He will be remembered as a smiling, laughable and extremely caring joker. Zayd was great at making light of awkward situations. And he was as human as any of us. Just like the rest of us, struggling to fulfill his ideals but never giving up. He made sure people remember him and that is what he ultimately did. He made me a better brother and a better man. And I will continue to do the same to honor him.
And the final objective is to take a step forward in finding my voice. Yes, I haven't found it yet but I am hopeful that this piece is in the right direction. To take a step back and examine why I feel the way I feel and what the best course of action is about anything in life. The reason I wrote this piece in much detail than I initially planned to is that it isn't until you are uncomfortable that one can initiate change. If you are comfortable then you most likely are complacent in some shape or form. And while I was comfortable with attempting to solve these problems in my head without expressing myself, I was rarely ever present when I needed to be. So here, I voluntarily choose to be uncomfortable so that I can inspire change in myself. It's today that I have finally decided to go searching for my voice. It's today that I decide not to be absent anymore. And hopefully some time in the morrow, I assure you that I will find my voice again. I hope you do too!
P.S. I miss you, brother. Every day. #neverforgotten