Letter to a long gone brother

Dear M,

It's been years since we've spoken. I don't think about you very often -- I don't even remember much about you. When I close my eyes and think about you, I have a hard time remembering what you look like. I do remember your walk -- you had a great, loping gate. And I remember the sudden bursts of energy you had -- the way you could spring up from being seated on the ground, like a jack in the box, with an amazing surge of enthusiasm for a funny joke, a touchdown scored, or just an urgent need for a Coke. I also remember that you liked me to rub your feet with a spoon -- that's a strange thing, but you said it felt good, and I adored you so I was more than happy to do it.

You died 27 years ago. I was a kid then. Even before you died, you were already gone -- long gone. I don't know what the hell was going on--everybody hid everything from me--but it was something bad that caused closed door fights between Mom and Dad and led you to leave the house often in a huff. But even when you were gone, you were there. For every morning of my first twelve years, I could wake up and say, "This is my family. I have a mother and a father and two brothers." This is what we look like, this is who we are and how we are. I liked having you there. Then one morning I woke up and you weren't there. I could say, "This is my family now. I have a mother, a father, and brother" but it wasn't right. It has never felt right, because it is not.

You are a ghost limb. I feel you accutely but I can't feel you at all. I know you are not here, I accept you are not here, I have learned to live without you here. I have learned to tell the story of your death with a brave face, even the part about how Mom and Dad took you off of life support. I can put a gentle spin on it, acknowledging that there was a certain beauty that came into my life that would not have entered if you hadn't left so dramatically.

When you left, you didn't shut the door. Maybe the door is off it's hinge: maybe it can't be shut. But my life since you died has been like living in an old drafty house. The front door is flung wide open, the Alberta Clipper is blowing cold air in, snow snakes are blowing across the foyer, and no one can get up and close the house up. The house had been cozy --it wasn't a happy house, but it was a whole house. Then you left, and now I live in a house with a hole in it.

I don't want to be angry that you died, but I am. It's not you fault: I'm sure you'd prefer to be alive. Maybe not, who knows? But I am really, really pissed off at the way you left. That just wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair. It's not fair, and it won't ever be fair. There is nothing you can do to make it right. And now I am even angrier at you that you can't fix what you did. My house can't be repaired.

Do you have any idea what happened when you went away? Do you? Let me tell you. A bone chilling wind settled in. It blew in great gusts, rattling door and window frames. I could hear it at night, singing in a long lonely wail -- that is why I had to fall asleep with the light on. The sound it made, the creaks it caused scared me too much: I thought they were ghosts. Heavy, silencing snow fell, muffling every sound except for that wind. One March night that wind gathered all of its force and blew the front door off of the house. The wind was so cold it burned as it blew across our skin; its icy fingers grated across our flesh and the tears froze in our eyes. Mom went to her room, out of its draft. Dad went to his room, out of its draft. G left the house to find himself another one. And I was alone.

I've been lonely almost every day of my life since that night. I know you loved me when I was small. Do you love me still? You watched over me sometimes; more than once you rescued me. Have you been watching me since? If you have, you've seen it all -- you know everything, there is really no need for me to explain. None of it is really your fault. But I feel like it is. Because you were the one security I had. You were the one I loved, and you were the one I knew loved me. I need you to love me now. Do you?

Ruth