Dear John,
I miss you terribly, little brother. During therapy this week we started to work through the memory of your apartment. I shut down. For this first time in therapy, I couldn't speak. My psyche shut the door quickly, trying to protect me. This has never happened to me before. My therapist asked me why I was having a difficult time speaking. As I tried to catch my breath, I said, "I feel like if I start talking, I'm going to break."
She slowly talked me through it. We had to pause the memory for the first time ever. As we talked for a bit more to figure out the next possible course, I was talking about you. She asked if there was anything that could be causing this memory to be even more painful. Was there something that happened in the past that could be linked with it.
I started to explain how a couple years ago I received a phone call from our sister. "Lani, we can't find John. He left the house last night and his wife just called me and he still isn't home." I turned and looked at my watch. 11:00am on Saturday. Immediately, I did what I do so well. I pushed everything aside and worked through the steps that needed to be taken. I asked, "Has anyone called the local hospitals? The local police stations perhaps?" Her response was as I suspected, "Not yet. I didn't know where to even begin." I could hear the fear and panic in her voice.
I told her that I would take care of it. I started with calling the local hospitals. I would ask if they had a John Sleeman that was brought in last night. As I waited on hold, listening to the horrid music, my mind would start to wander. What if this is the time when he is no longer with us? My stomach started to get upset and I pushed it aside to finish the task at hand. The operator came back, "No, we don't have anyone by that name." Sigh of relief. Next call.... I started calling the police stations. As I called, I heard the following more than once, "We won't know. If they brought him in last night, the paperwork would be in process. You could try this website to see if you see his mug shot."
As I looked at mugshot upon mugshot, I began to get more and more worried. See, being in Pennsylvania makes it difficult, Brother. I can't just jump in the car and walk into the stations. I don't even know the cities where I should be calling. I take the information that I gather from our sister and your now ex-wife and start there. As I scrolled, I saw your name and your very unhappy face. I sighed with all the pent up anxiety that I was holding in. I called our sister, explained where you were so that she would stop worrying and she could let your wife know as well. After the relief, I did have some anger. I was angry that you would worry us so much.
I explained this all to my therapist. How, I was always worried of that phone call. Letting me know that you had gone home to be with Anya. A light bulb went off above the therapist. Even the day I found out, even Chrissy doubted that it was true this time. It happened so frequently, we had the past to lean on. This time is just like the others.
It wasn't. This time it was true. The moment you find out something so terrible, it's like the entire world dulls. I started looking around in confusion. I felt like I had bubble wrap around my head. Everything quieted. Is this how you felt when you found out about Anya? It was awful. Dreadful. Honestly, there isn't a word for how much it sucked.
Can I tell you something funny, Brother? I used to worry how you would judge me if I didn't write well. Here I am writing and I wonder to myself, is he up there thinking.... Lani..... nooooo.
Until next time,
Your Sis
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