Is that a Corona, Matthew?
Those of you who have been around for a while will remember my post a few months ago. Well, for some reason, tonight has been particularly hard. It's just so unfair. At his wake, they said something about him being in heaven now, that God had decided to take him back. You would think this all-mighty "God" figure would've had the foresight to realize that I need Matt much more than He does. What does a deity need with a 24-year-old kid? Maybe He knows my brother was the coolest, funniest, and most intelligent 24-year-old there ever was. Well, maybe He should stop being so damned selfish and give him back -- there are an awful lot of people down here that miss him and need him and would give anything just to see him one more time. Maybe people should just stop telling me that things happen for a reason -- what reason could this have happened for? Nothing good has come out of this; I dare anyone to tell me otherwise.
Yeah, I know what's coming. "Oh, you'll get through it, and you'll be stronger, and you'll appreciate life more-" and blah blah blah bullshit. That's hardly worth anything, even if it's true. I wouldn't care if I was the weakest, most unappreciative little bitch in existance -- at least I would have my big brother to take care of me when I lost it, and love me even when I was being stupid. It was unconditional, you know. Sure, sure, lots of people say they love unconditionally, but that's rarely true outside of parent-child relationships (and even then, there are cases where you wonder; would someone be neglectful of or abusive to a child they loved?). But my brother always loved me, even on the rare occasions when I got on his nerves, even that one time in the woods behind the house when he punched me in the arm (I think he was about ten at the time).
It's really frustrating to know that there's nothing I can do. "But you could volunteer or donate money in his name, or-" Blow me. That's not what I mean. I don't want to just remember him ("Remember him for the good things, not-" Jesus Christ, fuck off), I want him back. Memory isn't good enough. It's my fault that we didn't see each other more over the last few months he was alive -- I never put it out there, I just let him come visit me at work, or suggest that we do this or that. Okay, so I took him out once. Okay, so I invited him out once or twice, but he had to work or was already otherwise engaged. We didn't know that we didn't have all the time in the world, did we? Does anyone?
I guess, if anything, I can take solace in the fact that I seem to have progressed through another stage of the Kubler-Ross model, i.e. the five stages of grief. I think I got them mixed up, though. They're supposed to go like this:
1. Denial: The initial stage: "It can't be happening."
2. Anger: "Why me? It's not fair."
3. Bargaining: "Just let me live to see my children graduate."
4. Depression: "I'm so sad, why bother with anything?"
5. Acceptance: "It's going to be OK."
Personally, instead of going 1-2-3-4-5, I think I started in 4, moved to 1, and have now evolved into 2, with one foot still over the line in 1. I'm definitely angry, but I was whispering to myself about how he can't be dead just a little while ago.
I almost want to say sorry for the emotional post... but then I remember that it's MY blog, and anyone who doesn't like it can eat me.
