Ninjabread takes on a new direction…

It’s been awhile since I posted here. The funny stories have been few and far between. And when they come into my life, I’m generally too tired to document and share them. But I have been writing. Writing about Toby and his death. Writing about the turbulent life I have lived since Nov. 6th, 2010 when I found out he was dead. Writing about anger, sadness and even joy. I’ve been keeping these pieces secret from most of the people in my life. Collecting them on my computer thinking that one day I will share them with the world. Today, I would like to start sharing them one by one, as I feel comfortable. Some are harder to read, raw, while others are reflective and hopefully thought provoking. These will be posted in no particular order, but only as I feel willing to share them. Here we go.

 

Twins

We were cute kids, Toby and I. Little toe-head babies blazing through life together. I hear so many stories that just convince me that we were meant to be an pair. We did more than share a womb. It’s difficult to explain, and outsiders don’t get it. Twins get it. Twins who face a long future without their ‘other half’ really get it. We weren’t born alone, as the saying goes, and I’m not ready to accept that Toby died alone. I am torn daily between the reality that Toby is gone and a distinct feeling that he isn’t. One minute I’m alone and the next I am not. Or visa versa. As grateful as I am for the moments when I know he is with me, the loneliness when he isn’t with me, is at times unbearable. Dark, sick feelings metabolizing in a hole deep inside me that opened the moment I heard of his death. This wasn’t supposed to happen. We are a pair. Twins.

I get angry when my friends try to advise me about my future. I could be throwing myself a little pitty-party here, but fuck you. You can’t possibly fathom the pain in my heart. The sheer exhaustion that cripples me daily. Did you watch your parents bury their son? Did he serve bravely in the United States military and get ripped away from your family as a cost of war? Did you watch your father collapse for the first time in your 33 year existence? Did he sob as you supported him, and ask you “how are you going to survive this, you’re twins?” Did you place your own hand on your brothers chest draped in medals and army green for the first time at his fucking funeral? DID YOU? Should I go on? No. And neither should those who presume to understand my relationship with and loss of, Toby.

I’m not adverse to kind thoughts and gentle nudging. We all need that. I wouldn’t even mind a swift kick in the ass if I was really fucking up. If I become alcoholic, drug addicted, homeless, or suicidal… PLEASE HELP ME. Whatever it takes. But I’m not. I ended a 9 year relationship about 7 months after Toby passed away. And the advice that has been trickling in, the judgements and assumptions, infuriate me. Some people know one side of the story. Some know parts of two stories. Some know what I’ve said. Some have never bothered to ask me, just assume that I’m reeling out of control after Toby’s death. Here’s the deal folks, my brother is dead. Shockingly my life will never be the same. That doesn’t mean that I’m crazy, fucked up, throwing my life away or anything of the sort. Yes, I have new goals. Yes, I am looking for true idyllic happiness. Yes, I ended my relationship and hurt my partner. Yes, I believe that was the best decision for myself and I will stand by that decision. No, I am not an asshole. No, my brother is not to blame for the end of my relationship. No, you don’t know the whole story. And odds are, you never will. Because you don’t ask. You assume, judge and sentence me. Guess what? Fuck you.

Here’s some advice for those around me who don’t get it. Toby was half of me, no matter what you say. You are not a twin. You’re twin did not commit suicide after bravely serving his country. You don’t have to live the rest of your life with immense and unexplainable sense of loss that I do. Do not tell me that Toby would not want me to sacrifice parts of my life to accomplish new goals. Because what you see as a sacrifice, I see as a calling. A sign. A path I have sought for decades and that my brother has passed on to me. And just because you don’t get it, doesn’t mean I’m crazy. Don’t assume that you know what I am going through. Stop telling me to figure my life out and get back to you. I’m clearer now about my life, my desires, my needs and my direction than I have been in years. Take a single step back from the unpopular decision I’ve made and look at me. See me. Look at my entire life, not a pigeonholed moment. The smile is real. The tears are too. My hope is genuine. And you are missing it.