It’s All Right There

Dear Ryan,

I remember. I remember the sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that morning. I remember being in the shower and hearing you scream my name, even though you were across town at mom and dad’s house. I remember racing to mom and dad’s house to find cop cars and an ambulance sitting along the road and in the driveway. I remember sprinting inside the door begging the cop to tell me you were alive; just be breathing, please. The cop looked at me and said he couldn’t confirm or deny anything but you were being taken to the hospital. They asked me if we were close; how can I explain our whole lives in only a few short sentences?

Doc pulled up in the yard; I’ve never felt so relieved to see a red Ford escort before. the cop asked me why a heroin addict was staying alone in the house; he asked me this as if saying, “what else did you think was going to happen?”.  How do I explain that none of us knew what the right course of action was? That you hadn’t even started using needles yet.  We weren’t at the point of thinking you were close to death. This cop, only doing his job, had so much judgment pouring out of him. If I weren’t rapped up in you I would have told him where he could put his judgement. Doc brought me to the hospital.  I ran into the ER.  To the security gate, they asked who I was here for. I said your name. They gave me a pass and with the pass they gave me hope.  If they were letting me back you MUST be alive.

I remember. I remember walking through the double doors of the ER. I remember.  I remember trying to figure out where your room was located.  I remember.  I remember our cousin, a nurse, walking towards me.  I remember.  I remember begging him to tell me you were breathing.  I remember.  I remember his words, “not at the moment”.  I remember. I remember my knees going out.  I remember.  I remember him keeping me from falling to the floor. I remember.  I remember the small, cold room they took us too. I remember.  I remember the doctor.  I remember. I remember my body grieving so hard my body was convulsing. I remember.  I remember Doc trying to shield me from the pain of the doctors words, “we tried everything. nothing worked. I’m sorry.”. I remember.  I remember my Uncle, who looked so much like my dad hugging me.  I remember.  I remember breaking down on his shoulder. I remember.  I remember the phone calls Doc made for me. I remember.  I remember the call I had to make to my mom and my dad. I remember.  I remember the relief I felt when mom didn’t answer. I remember.  I remember the dread of her calling me back. I remember.  I remember telling her, through tears, “mom you have to come home”. I remember.  I remember Dad getting on the phone and saying, “So, he’s gone, huh?”.  I remember. I remember hanging up the phone and feeling like I just ruined their whole lives with one phone call. I remember.  I remember the conversations with the investigators. I remember.  I remember feeling like it was time to leave but how could I leave you behind? I remember.  I remember walking out of the hospital feeling like I couldn’t breathe. I remember. I remember going home and wanting to wake up from this nightmare.  I remember.  I remember going to Nan’s.  I remember.  I remember not knowing what to do next.

As you can tell I remember the pain.  I remember the pain crushing me.  How was I supposed to live the rest of my life with you by my side? Yet, day by day it seems to be happening.

I miss you, Ryan.  More than anything.  I miss your smile.  I miss your hugs.  I miss your laugh.  I miss all the things that make you, YOU.  I love you, Ryan.  I live for you, always.


Author: flyhighryguy

I am sister without her baby brother, learning to live a new life.

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