Cleaning out his apartment (TRIGGER WARNING)

I was in Kentucky for one night. I had arrived at 3:30pm. The following day as we were getting ready we were told that John's apartment would be open and the key would be on table. There were "Cleaners" making the apartment presentable for us to come in and retrieve his things. Immediately, my stomach became upset and I started shaking. I called my husband as I was with my sister running an errand and told him it was time and to be ready as soon as we got there.

As we drove, I became more and more anxious. This was it. This is when it became real real. I didn't want to. I felt like a toddler flipping and flopping on the ground saying, "I DON'T WANT TO!!!!" What if I see something? What if the cleaner misses something? My cousin was waiting there for us. When we pulled up, I saw her broken face. The complete and total anguish. This was really happening.

As I walked down the sidewalk I started walking faster. I needed to have a moment to myself. The tears started to fall. I cried a bit but it was like my body said, "It's time to let it go." When we got to his door, we opened it and I walked in. I was immediately assaulted. I froze. I looked around at all his paintings on the walls. His easel, sitting with fresh paint on the pallet. This is it. He is truly gone. I started to cry in earnest. How could my little brother, one of the three, be gone? How could he leave us? We were always supportive of each other. He had pushed me away and I was so upset that I no longer had the chance to tell him I loved him. Or to hear from him, "Love you, Sis."

It was overwhelming. I'm crying as I write this. The memory was so powerful. We started taking the paintings off the walls. My cousin, Virginia, turned to me and called my name. I turned around and she showed me the writing on the back. She was crying. I read it and fell to the floor. I couldn't take it. He had left paintings to people. He had planned to make it a bit easier to know where things needed to go. He didn't have a lot. The paintings are what he had to give. His whole heart on each canvas and he made sure that those paintings went where he wanted them to go.

Once I was able to breathe, I stood up and looked into the kitchen. On the table sat a coffee cake, uneaten. His coffee maker right where he left it. His pottery with sugar in it. I remembered he had taken that with him everywhere he went and always used it for sugar. It now sits in my kitchen above my sink where I can see it every day and think of him. I walked towards his bedroom. The cleaners had taken anything that was tarnished. His bed was gone. His walls were bare. On the wall I saw white drip marks running down where the bleach was sprayed. I knew at that moment that I was standing in the spot where he took his last breath.

I gathered what little strength I had to start getting stuff together to take to the car. This is by far one of the most difficult moments if not the MOST DIFFICULT moment of my life. Towards the end I felt faint. I was sick to my stomach and I broke out in a cold sweat. I kept saying to myself, "Get your shit together and help." My body would NOT let me. I couldn't move. My sister was moving around crying and gathering things. My husband, God bless him, was on a mission to get the stuff and get out as soon as possible. My cousin as well. None of us wanted to be there but at the same time, I didn't want to leave. This was his space. My little brother's home.

We decided that was all we could get and we went out to drive back to my parents. I had to drive my brother's car over to the house. My sister rode with me. My body wanted to shut down. I kept my shit together and when crossing bridges (I hate long, high bridges) I counted. One, two, three.... almost halfway.... four, five six..... When I got to my parents, I didn't want to talk. I didn't want to discuss what we saw. I sat down and cried. Eyes closed, can't breathe crying like my insides were being ripped out. A part of me is still in that apartment. I lost a part of me that day. I sat that way for hours. The shaking and crying as my nervous system shut down. I could barely walk. On the way back to the hotel, I threw up. TWICE. Ken (my husband) said, "I have to get you back to the hotel. I will run out and get food." My sister had to run into work. That woman is so strong and she doesn't even know it. I walked towards the hotel and had to sit on a lounge chair for fear of passing out or vomiting in the parking lot. My husband pleaded with me, "Honey. I have to get you to the room so I can get you some food. You have to eat." I stood and he carried me like I was a drunken mess.

When I got to the room, I fell to the floor. If you know me, I am a germaphobe. I couldn't be bothered. I took notice to where the toilet was and how far in case I had to run. Then I let it out. My body shook all over. I wept. I kept looking at the pained look on my husbands face and it would start over. I couldn't breathe. I was having one of the worst panic attacks of my life. He said, "I can't leave you like this. You are really worrying me." I called my best friend on FaceTime and she immediately knew that I was losing my shit. She assured Ken to go get me food and I just cried with her on the phone. She coached me to breathe. "Take a breath, breathe with me, breathe in one two three four, out one two three four. It's ok. I'm here."

I felt weak. I felt broken. I ate my food slowly so as not to upset my nervous system. I showered and then laid down and cried. I slept like someone had knocked me out. If you have had to experience anything like this, I see you. I know what you went through and YOU ARE STRONG. I know that he was there with me. That night as my sister and I sat outside, we cried. I kept waiting for him to walk out of the hotel to sit with us. I knew, he would never do that again and it hurt.

I love you, John Michael Sleeman. You are a dick for leaving us but I forgive you. I know it was too much. To anyone even contemplating suicide. Read this. This is what is left in your wake. There are therapists who work pro bono if you can't afford it. You don't have the energy to find them, reach out to a friend or loved one. They will do the heavy lifting so that they don't have to do the heavy lifting to gather your things. YOU ARE LOVED.