I don't have a brother. I am an only child, but I wrote this for my friend who has. I wrote it in first person, because it sounds better that way. The setting is in England by the way. Read and review please !!! If you want me to read any of your work let me know :)
An event that changed me
There is a saying that what doesn't kill you only makes you stronger. Last year, my brother, the closest person I had in my life past away. The moment I heard that my brother had passed away, I felt a chill go down my spine. I believed that my life wouldn't be the same without him. I also believed that his death would kill me and in a way, it did.
My brother had several accidents in his lifetime, and he was once injured badly when a wooden plank fell on his head. He bled so much and lost consciousness, and by the time he got to the ER and they finished operating on him, he slipped into a coma and they didn't know whether or not he would wake up. He was in a coma for four days and during that time I didn't sleep more than a couple of hours. When he woke up my father took him to Germany for better medical care, and when he became better he came back. I had never felt so relieved about anything in my entire life, more than when I saw him walking out of the airport without support.
Even though my brother was a couple of years older than me, we've always had a great relationship. In fact we were inseparable. He knew more about me than I knew about myself. He stayed up with me at night when I couldn't sleep (due to insomnia) and watched TV with me until I did. I spent more time with him than I spent with any of my friends and family. Every Wednesday, we would eat out. Other days of the week, we would have movie marathons; talk endlessly about stupid things, like if pillows were marshmallows and if the sea was made up of chocolate. He was always there when I needed him and I was there every time he was in trouble. His shoulder was the one I cried on and to him I was the person he would confide in.
The first six months, he was as healthy as can be, but then I started to notice that he had sudden headaches that would make him fall to his knees and wince in pain. I asked him what was wrong, but he said they were just normal headaches. I wasn't sure if he was fine, because accompanying the headaches was the vomiting and nausea, but I didn't push the matter any further. As the days went by, I noticed that he would turn up the T.V volume and he would sit too close to the TV, but I didn't think it was strange. I just didn't think about it. I was too busy thinking about my parents fights to notice all the symptoms for brain tumor. I constantly regret not noticing that he wasn't fine, because if I had, the tumor wouldn't have grown. One selfish mistake has left me here today without him.
It happened on December the twenty second when we were staying up at night watching T.V and he fell to the ground in some sort of seizure. I didn't know what to do, so I ran to my father and told him what happened. He immediately knew what was wrong and rushed him to the hospital. He was diagnosed with some sort of an aggressive brain tumor, and was scheduled for surgery in America. The surgery he was undergoing was dangerous and like all surgeries had risks. No one told me about the risks, instead I was left in the dark, because my parents figured it would be too much for me to handle.
The day of his departure arrived, and I went with him to the airport. At that time I had no idea how dangerous the surgery was. My brother's face looked pale, but he smiled and talked to me as if there wasn't anything wrong with him, but his eyes held so much, but I couldn't decipher what they were holding. When it was time to board the plane my brother brought me close to him and held me in a tight embrace. When he pulled back I saw tears in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away, and I realized that was the second time I had seen him cry in my life. I felt like he was saying goodbye for good, but I refused to believe he was. I told him that he was going to be fine and that I'll be waiting for him when he comes back. He smiled at me one last time and walked away. That was the last time I saw my brother and the closest friend I have ever had.
There were complications in the surgery and there was nothing that could be done by the doctors, at least that's what I was told. When I heard that my brother had died I felt as if I couldn't control myself. My body wouldn't stop shaking, and the tears wouldn't stop falling. A couple of sobs escaped me, and I tuned out everybody who talked to me or tried to offer me their condolences. I locked myself in his room afraid, that if anyone spoke to me I would forget what he sounded like. I would sleep in his bed, surrounded by his smell. His presence lingered in his room; I wondered how he can be dead when his room held so much life? If I were lucky to grasp a few moments of sleep, I would wake up from vivid nightmares panting and my heart racing. I refused to leave his room even for his funeral. I was scared that if I went to the funeral, his death would be confirmed. Even though deep down I knew his death was real, and it was partially my fault. After a few days, his smell faded from his pillows and the truth painfully sank in. I told only a couple of friends about my brother's death, and I didn't show any signs of sadness or depressed in front of them. I kept my feelings bottled up inside me, and would cry myself to sleep at night. I went through a phase of depression and I didn't know how to express myself. My parents looked at me as if I was a ticking bomb. I had a hard time moving on and I didn't want their sympathy, I wanted their understanding.
My brother's death didn't kill me; it only made me stronger. Although it left me hurt and afraid to lose the people I love. Although I tend to expect the worse from time to time, and express my depression in unhealthy ways. I am no longer weak, I am aware and experienced. I learned a few things from this experience. I learned, after some time had passed since his death how to remember his life rather than his death. I learned that guilt never goes away and that I will never get over his death, but get used to it. I painfully realized that I had to let go and move on, because that's what he would've wanted. I now know that time passes, even though it doesn't feel like it. The pain of losing him has not changed. I changed and am now able to stomach it. I would go into his room from time to time and take a walk down memory lane, so I wouldn't forget who he was and what he was like. The day my brother died a part of me died with him. His death changed me, even though I wish it hadn't.