It wasn't even 7 in the morning when I received a call from my sister. My eyes were barely half open when I answered. "Did you hear?" she asked cautiously. Something was definitely wrong. "Has Mama spoken to you yet?"
I wasn't home. I wasn't there for them. Each time I'd speak to my mom or dad on the phone, I would hear them cry and it pained me so much to not be able to be with them. Just like that, our entire world turned in on itself. Their biggest fear came true. Death would have probably been kinder.
We were never close, my brother and I. There's a word I never found to describe how I feel about him, that feeling of not quite hate but not quite fine. I can't help but to feel angry that he had robbed me of many important parts of my life, especially when I needed my parents the most. In a way, he was part of the reason why I have abandonment issues.
Before, I couldn't really blame him. He was young, stupid, and unconcerned. But that was before. You can only repeat the same mistake so many times before your past finally catches up to you. Now as a middle aged man, I expected him to change.
I made a choice to forgive him. I decided that he needed help and he needed love. That's what we all need, after all.
These days I find myself hating him less but the new him doesn't change the pain he had caused. It didn't help me in my healing. I'd lost the parents I knew before. I think I lost them long ago. All I can do now is accept that I have to cope without them.