All of my male family members are gone. In the space of 11 months. How do I make sense of this? I don’t. There is no meaning or explanation. Everything does not happen for a reason. It just happens. This universe is random. There is no grand plan for any of us. We are not predestined. My brother did not die Monday because we needed to learn some lesson.
My brother died for no reason other than he had leukemia.
It would be easier if I believed a god orchestrated this. I would have something at which to direct my anger. But there’s nothing. Nothing other than the arbitrariness of this world.
Yes, there are things to be grateful for in the midst of my despair. His agreement to enter rehab in late December gave him three months with his children. They have those three months to remember their dad as he really was. He died of leukemia, rather than an alcohol-related disease. (There is no connection between alcoholism and AML. I checked.) He didn’t kill himself with alcohol.
I thought with the intervention I had saved my brother. I thought I had helped him save himself. I had fantasies of spending time with him when he was feeling better. I wanted to take him for long healing walks in nature. I wanted to help him heal his heart. I wanted to talk with him about all the painful things that happened as we were growing up to help him lay them to rest. I dreamed of being close like we were as we were growing up and in the early days of our adulthood, before the alcohol came between us.
I had dreams that he would finally get some happiness.
But life is not about happiness. It’s not about anything. There is no reason for any of this. Or if there is, none of us know what it is. Will we find out when we die? That’s a nice thought. And it’s quite possible that’s all it is.
My words aren’t profound. Countless people have lost loved ones under tragic circumstances. Countless people have shaken their fists and cursed the universe. Or god. Or cancer. Or alcoholism. So what? People will continue to be born. And then each of them eventually will die. Some, like my father, will have long full lives. Others, like my brothers, will die much too young.
(I chose the cat photo not because of my love of cats. Well, that too. But it neatly shows my irreverence for all of this.)
I wonder if there’s another solar system out there where people (or some type of conscious beings) know the day they are born that there is a meaning for their lives. I wonder what it would be like to live knowing what that meaning is. I wonder what it would be like to know exactly how long we all will live and why we are here. Some of you might be thinking, “Regardless, you should live like today is your last day.” But I can’t really do that. I have to plan for the future in case I’m still here. And what if all that planning is for naught? What if I’m worrying about paying for retirement when I’m going to be dead next week? I should be out looking for a new home for my cats, not worrying about paying my bills when I’m dead. I should be eating Ben & Jerry’s New York Super Fudge Chunk, and not worrying about my expanding mid-life midsection. I should be sitting outside watching the birds in the feeders, not sitting in here fretting over the box of work the office courier dropped off earlier.
This post has devolved into a meaningless ramble. Which sums up nicely how I feel about life right now.
Yes, I do realize I’m in the anger stage of grief. And that matters because?