See You Again - The Original Post about my Brother, Christian
The music video, "See You Again" is playing on my television in the background, as I look at a picture of my brother. Wiz Khalifa sings, “It’s been a long day without you my friend and I’ll tell you all about it when I see you again”, and I begin to cry as I realize how much these lyrics ring true in my life.
I always think of Christian when I hear this song. The song continues, “We’ve come a long way from where we began…”, and I think to myself again how much truth these lyrics speak of both mine and my brother’s lives. I begin to wonder if anyone in my life during my childhood would have ever thought that I would have come this far? I think to myself, "who would have thought that someone like me – the girl who lived in the dilapidated house, and who came from poverty, abuse and neglect; the girl who was bullied all throughout her childhood, and who’s parents were unstable at the best of times, would come so far and do so much?".
I think of my brother, and his struggles and, his battles with his own demons and how far he had to go to escape them. I think of his lifestyle throughout the last ten years of his life; living in the woods, by himself and away from everyone just to escape the insanity and betrayals in our lives. I wonder if he was stronger for having walked away when he did? Was he happier leaving it all behind and trying to fight his battles on new ground? Was he more alive? More free? Then I think back to my drive in October of 2002 – right after I got my license.
The Drive
It was a beautiful fall day. The leaves were turning and the air was crisp, but still warm and sunny; the perfect day for a drive with the top down on my jeep. I headed out with coffee and camera in hand. No kids that day and no responsibilities or expectations so why not? I drove up the 1000 Islands Parkway taking photos of the river, the trees, the wildlife and the sky; escaped to little side roads that I had never traveled down before with the intent of getting lost. And, get lost I did; but getting lost was the fun part, and getting lost is how I found my way home.
Driving fast, wind in my hair and music blaring; stopping only to snap photos of churches, cemeteries, speeding trains and old homes. Nobody could stop me. No one even knew where I was; I was free! I was 32 years old before I got my driver’s license. Partly because I had been kept in a box for so long that I hadn’t had the chance to seek out new skills like driving and partly because I had been in so many accidents as a child and then lost my best friend, Lisa in a car accident, that I had developed a phobia of driving.
So, when I finally decided to take a chance and take driving lessons I was a really nervous and paranoid student. It took a long time and a lot of courage to drive on my own. I got myself a job out of town so I had to drive everyday to get back and forth to work. It was the only way to guarantee that I wouldn’t chicken out and decide never to drive. It seems that had been the way with me for so many things. Taking the seemingly easy way out of everything – not realizing that the “easy way” was actually the hardest way.
As I drove, I thought about my brother; how he lived his life up north. He lived his life on, “Yukon time” – it didn’t matter how you got there or when you got there; what mattered was what you did when you got there. It didn’t matter what you did, who you knew, but how well you did whatever you did and how good a friend you were to those you did know. There was no need for watches, cell phones, computers or even taxes. There was no one asking you to justify your life; justify your time. Nobody expected you to be anyone other than you.
Oh, how I admired my brother; how I wanted to be there with him and live like him. I couldn’t though because I had responsibilities here and I had cell phones and computers and punched a clock everyday to prove that I could justify my time. But I could be free that day, as I drove; I was free. Cell phone was off, enough gas to go all day long and enough money in my wallet in case I ran out of gas before I ran out of the inspiration to keep driving. I was living on Yukon Time, if only for one day.
As I drove, I thought; about what it was like before I got my driver’s license. I thought about all of the times that I had been forced to beg for rides for either myself or the kids; how I had allowed myself to be held hostage by a crazy, controlling force simply because I didn’t have the balls to conquer this ridiculous fear and take control of my own life for once. But I had done it now! I had summoned up the courage to be courageous; and I was free for the day, as a result; this day anyway, this moment.
I thought of my brother again, this time I thought of him as a small boy. I thought of how he had looked up to me and had followed me around like a lost puppy dog; how annoying that was. I loved it, but that didn’t stop me from tormenting and traumatizing him! I taught him to smoke. I thought I should call him, write him; buy a plane ticket to either go visit him or bring him here for a visit. I thought about how sick he was as a boy, how many trips to the hospital, and when he had surgery on his foot. He had stepped on a rusty fence wire and it never bled. It got infected. He was in the hospital for months. My poor baby brother, my poor annoying pain in the butt brother; suddenly at 14 years old, I realized that I actually cherished him.
The skies began to darken. I better get home. It’s been an amazing day! Yet, another moment to transcribe into the journal within my mind, but now I’ll go home and call my brother. I’ll call or write my brother to tell him about my moments and create yet another with him.
Wine, Pizza, Toothpaste and Purging
I was going through old letters and paperwork when I found the letter I wrote to my brother that day. I realized I hadn’t sent it to him and thought to myself that I would send it this week, along with some newspaper clippings that I had found for him – about a man in Toronto who was being led around the city by a team of dogs – he was an inner city musher. I thought Christian would find it interesting and funny because he, himself had run dogs for a few years out in BC before moving to Dawson City, Yukon. I put the letter and article aside in the, “to be kept” pile.
I was moving in with my new boyfriend – J – so, I had to sort and downsize my life a little; a task which can be referred to as nothing less than enormous! I had already sorted out kid’s toys, clothing, dishes and pretty much everything else I could downsize. I was a bit of a pack rat and I needed a purge anyway. The hardest part was the paperwork though; years of kid’s artwork – I couldn’t throw anything away, pictures; letters from friends, journals I had kept and letters I had written to my best friend, Lisa after she had died in the car accident.
I seemed to carry a lot of baggage with me – not emotional baggage, but baggage that carried emotional attachment within it. I re-read the letter I had written to my brother; “Dear Christian, I was going to type this letter out and print off a copy to send to you, but after the past few frustrating weeks, I have had it up to my eyeballs with technology and all of the wonderful, time consuming complications that go along with it! Besides, I found this incredibly cool pen and decided I should use it for a purpose more meaningful than that of writing my name over and over again. This pen reminds me of those invisible markers we used to get when we were kids. I always thought those were cool, then again I did always fancy myself as either a Nancy Drew or Maxwell Smart. I suppose it’s better than Captain James T. Jerk or the incredible shirt ripping Hulk like you! When you look at this ink on the page in a certain light, it is like it disappears. Wish I had some of these pens when I was a little girl….”
The letter went on to describe my life as it was at the time and suggested he write back, or even better; visit sometime. After reading the letter, I filed it and went back to sorting. I thought how my life had been up until that point. I pondered my own existence, as well as all my fellow human beings. I found a tube of toothpaste and thought about making a dentist appointment; found another card made by one of my kids and thought about how much they had grown. I remembered that I needed to make parent/teacher interview appointments with their teachers. I found a picture frame and thought about putting Christian’s picture in it; realizing that I didn’t have any pictures of him grown up.
The last time I had seen him he was still a teen. I thought about how quickly time slips by us. Then was distracted by the knick knack in the bottom of the box; where would this fit in at J's place? “I should send Christian pictures of the kids and I with the letter and ask for him to send some of himself, as well”, I thought. Then, when I realized I was hungry I thought about ordering pizza for dinner for the kids and me. J came by. We talked. I ordered pizza. I had a glass of wine that night instead of going over to see him. I figured I could substitute one pleasure for the other just this once – or was it a vice?
I realized how in love I was and how little I really knew him. Were we going too fast? I poured myself another glass of wine and sat on the deck with a book and a pack of cigarettes. Yes, definitely a vice. And I revelled in the moment, thinking that this was to be one of my last few moments as a single woman.
Into the Fire
It was mid-October and the leaves were changing. It was beautiful out still. I thought about that drive I had taken a few years back shortly after having got my driver’s license; that wonderful, life-altering drive. I thought about doing the same drive again that day, but still had so much packing to do. I had taken a few boxes over to J’s already and had set up a few knick knacks, hung a few pictures and put away a few dishes in his cupboard. It was really happening. I had stepped into the fire again after having promised myself that I would never do this again. After 10 years of absolute shit I was never getting married or moving in again, dammit! Not until I met J anyway; until the night of the kiss.
“Enough self-torture, Linda”, I thought aloud. “Get to work.” I started packing again; books, CD’s, movies, magazines and more stupid knick knacks. I asked myself sarcastically just how many knick knacks does one person needs and then answered myself that I have OCD and that makes me both obsessive and compulsive so, “shut up and get back to work”. I threw on a CD and wondered to myself, why all of my favourite songs were always number 3 on the disk. Was it some kind of strange coincidence or was it planned out by the record companies to always put the best song in that position? None of the songs were top 40 type songs though. I wasn’t into mainstream anything, or so I thought.
When I was finished packing for the day, I took some boxes over to J’s and told my daughter I would be back in a few hours. She was busy packing her own room and I thought I’d leave her to it. The other two were at their dad’s for the day so it gave me some time to do some moving. I was unpacking some of the paperwork and telling J about the letter I had found and about my brother and how he lived, when the phone rang.
It was my sister. She had “bad news”. I thought to myself, "the last time someone had called me with bad news it was that Lisa and her husband Gary had been killed in a car accident". Nausea and panick washed over me as I asked “what now?” I really didn’t want her to tell me, but I couldn’t stop what was coming. “It’s Christian”, she paused. “There has been an accident… a fire. Linda, they found a body that they think…” I didn’t listen to the rest. I just asked her how they knew it was him and told her that if they weren’t sure, then there was still hope that it wasn’t him. Maybe it was someone else’s brother. What a selfish thing to think, but I didn’t care. It couldn’t be mine. I wasn’t ready to lose him. I hadn’t sent the letter yet. “It’s not him!” I tried to convince her. “It’s not him is it?” I begged. After I hung up the phone, I searched frantically for the letter.
I re-read it again and remembered the letter I had not sent to Lisa. The letter that she had written to me but never sent, as well; and I hoped that Christian had left me a letter unsent, as well. I thought about Lisa and the last time I had seen her; remembered the dream I had the night she died. I remembered the journal entries begging God that I didn’t ever have to lose her and the horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach when I realized that I felt responsible for her death because I had written it down. I wondered if, I had I sent the letters; if I had shown them how much I appreciated them would they still be here? Was I somehow inadvertently responsible for their deaths?
Are they taken away if they aren’t seen for what they really are to you? Why do we have to learn so many lessons the hard way? It felt like I had been hit in the stomach with a baseball bat! I was bleeding emotionally internally and externally, all at once. Suddenly nothing made any sense. Two of the best people I had known were gone and there was nothing I could do about it; nothing anyone could do – but scream, cry and scream some more!
I thought about what he had said to me when he was nine. He had just got home from the hospital after having been there for months, and was still in a wheelchair because of the multiple surgeries he had had on his foot. Despite all the pain and the months of being bed-ridden, he was still happy and positive. He amazed me; his eternal sunshine. I sang him that song when he was little – “you are my sunshine…” I later sang it to my children, too.
We were playing on the highway; I was wheeling him around in his wheelchair pretending that he was a race car driver when a car came squealing around the corner like they always did on that road. I yanked him back and he almost flew out of the chair. I was breathless; he was laughing and I was almost crying when I said, “that was close”, to which he had replied, it's okay, I'm going to live until I'm 30. I later found the article online; “Body found in cabin...". It was my brother, Christian. He had died – October 16th, 2004. He was 30 years old.