That moment, that space flooded with silence, when everything freezes. My thoughts, my feelings, any emotional reaction, any physical sensation just… pause. It is not that I am consciously trying to avoid anything; I am just contemplating my whole being. I am perceiving everything, anything, and nothing, all at once.
I don’t want to think. Any thought could cut my heart into pieces, like a merciless, sharp blade. Tiny pieces of my heart would be scattered all over the universe –triggering pain that would invade my short instant of thought-free quietness. To allow any negative thought into my mind right now could indeed devastate me. Thoughts have power, but I shall fear them not. I am in control; except I am not in control. I pause. I strive to remain in the here and now, just breathing.
I believe that we are all luminous beings existing within the sextillions of stars forming the multiple galaxies in the universe. So much energy that constantly transforms!
Thoughts begin to push their way into my mind–so I want to think that all is fine, that life is a cycle, that everything is alright. I am at peace. I love him; he knew it. Does he still know it? Is he still present? Which belief do I hold on to now? Can I hold on to any belief at all? Can I just focus on facts?
Breathe, talk to her, calm her down. I need to think, but I don’t want to. I want to help. How? There is nothing to be done and, yet… What can I do to help her? I want to do something! What?! She is inconsolable. I highly doubt the words I am coming up with make any difference to Araceli right now.
Is there a new angel ‘up in the sky’ or has one more beautiful light been blown out forever?
All I know is that, from this moment onward, everything is and will be different.
No words, no movement, no gestures–just a pause. No, maybe not a pause, but the next step on his path, on my path. I keep contemplating myself. I try to breathe. I tell her that he loved her dearly and ask her to hug him, to hug him for me as well.
I finally look into Miguel’s eyes and… loudly sob! He had been puzzled while I was on the phone with Araceli. All I can say to him after hanging up is, ‘My brother. He died just now.’
I sob again. I can hardly believe I have articulated those two short, unbelievable, defining sentences. It was the saddest moment I had experienced until then.
Miguel hugs me very tightly. I guess his loving hug helps to squeeze tears out of my eyes–tears in a hurry to rescue and shelter my grieving, shocked heart. Did it miss a beat? A few beats? Or did it beat faster and harder than usual just a moment ago? Life is precisely that: a moment. No, it is a lifetime. How long is a lifetime? Does time even exist? Are we ageless? I believe our souls are eternal, though our human bodies are not. I cannot remember now whether my heart beat faster or slower. I think it might have just paused, though it didn’t collapse. It briefly paused to give my soul a chance to lean out into a wider perspective of existence. The Universe is perfect.
What is real? Nobody in my family knows what I now know. Nobody will know the reality until I tell them. Them! My family! The people I love, the people my brother loved, the people who loved him, who still love him. How can I communicate this to them? No! But then again–how can I not inform them right away that Fernando is dead?
I hold this new reality in my hand; it hurts inside my heart, it rumbles loud and heavy in my mind. I am certain he is gone, yet I still need to let this fact sink in.
The pause stops. I can feel my body again. I am sobbing, wailing; an irreversible change has taken place. This enormous pain comes with a wave of… gratitude? It is an awkward, unexpected, expected gratitude, in spite of the profound shock. I think of the wise person who once encouraged me to create a wholesome sibling relationship between Fernando and me–to build and constantly nurture our bond. Having followed that woman’s advice has just saved this moment: this very long moment of my brother’s and my life, of decades sculpting this silent space, this peace, this tranquility in the middle of a horrendous storm, in the middle of a calm body of clear water.
I pause again. Suddenly I feel, I think. I begin to slowly think. It is not just a short moment; it has been a life full of beautiful experiences and loving growth. One can remain ‘calmer’ at a point of ‘no return’ when there’s nothing left unsaid. That wise woman taught me well back then: Solid, close-knit connections do not develop for free–or at least they do not remain on good, loving terms for free. Enriched relationships are a precious piece of art; they are founded on consistency, patience, respect, love, initiative, creativity, care, trust, effort, and will. She motivated me to open my heart, to do what I believe humans are here for: to love, to learn, and to grow. Consequently, as my brother’s physical life comes to an end today, my heart is both pained and awed. It is full of love and gratitude, and I… I pause again…
The clock begins to demand attention. Due to the different time zones we are currently in, I estimate six hours before I can get in touch with my family. They are all nine and eight hours behind me, in another part of the globe. It would be pointless to burden their rest with this woe. How dreadful will this wait be for me? No! Life goes on, I can’t just sit and wait. I decide to leave my room… What a view!
I walk out the door of the old, pretty Turkish hotel I’m staying in. It is a gorgeous, cozy building with terraces overlooking stunning rock formations. The streets are, of course, all new to me because I have never been to this breathtaking town before. For whatever reason, Ürgüp comforts me, contains me, and supports me–as does Miguel’s firm, warm grip on my hand, throughout my absentminded wander around this “fairy chimney” region. Am I deep in my thoughts? No, I am just silent. I’m trying to break the pause and… continue?
I enjoy looking at the volcanic rocks surrounding me. They were once virgin, quiet mountains that previous inhabitants carved into entire subterranean cities–between 2,500 and 3,200 years old! Currently, some of them have become lodgings that host more than four million visitors per year. Cappadocia is indeed a unique and popular destination! Imagine how many different people and changes these cities have witnessed and endured. Their transformation and age make me reflect on how we, too, transform–on how we are born, we live, and then we die. Do we continue in the ‘afterlife’ or do we actually come back?
Miguel and I run into eager vendors on the sidewalks; they come out of their carpet shops to greet us, offer us tea, and invite us in to hopefully talk us into buying a nice rug from them. My heart smiles quietly as I think of how Fernando would describe these “Alibaba and the Forty Thieves or One Thousand and One Nights” style scenes before I could even finish telling him about them. My brother had a quick, knowledgeable mind, paired with a sarcastic, funny personality that often made me and others laugh.
The colourful rugs in the Turkish shops are handwoven with bright, attractive silk that feels soft to my touch–or perhaps I merely imagine it is soft, because I barely feel anything right now.
I begin to look around the town for a notepad to write in. I feel it will be best to let my thoughts and feelings out on paper, rather than leaving them rumbling inside my human body. I finally find a small pad in a stationery store. It took me forever to choose one.
It is a sunny day in Ürgüp. I had agreed to meet up with other travelers from our group to go cave exploring and church visiting during our day off. Instead, of course, I kept myself in town, fairly close to the hotel. I was going to need Wi-Fi and a quiet place to call my family from. It was quite convenient to have stayed two nights in the same place rather than riding to the next city on the tour. Coincidence? It seems more like a planned synchronicity from the Universe, “easing” things out throughout this solemn happening.
I had wanted to tell my brother all about the previous couple of days, when I had adventured onto the back of the motorcycle. I had been hesitant to do so on this particular trip because of a recent surgery, but Fernando motivated me to ride. With his particularly deep voice, he encouraged me to mindfully and carefully have fun on “two wheels.” My brother knew we had been planning this for months, plus he understood how important it was for Miguel to have me on his bike. I was eager to send my brother pictures of myself, all geared up and smiling!
I completely want to think that he somehow saw me from ‘up above’, that his soul knows I did it. He knew I would, I had told him so. I was happy to be riding again.
I know more than one person would disagree with the idea of riding a motorcycle only a few weeks after surgery, even with the doctor’s “green light”. I had many doubts, but my brother’s advice was always coherent, thoughtful, and smart–besides being nonjudgemental and full of love for me. He truly knew how to listen to me. Yes, he was a special treat. What a blessing to have had the brother I did! In my heart, he will always be so.
I sit down in a coffee shop with Miguel, though I go to a different table to be… on my own? Miguel is telling me something, but I hear nothing. I only see his lips moving in front of me. I move from a sunny table to a shaded one. I am not affected by either location, neither the hot sun, nor the cold shade. I am unable to come up with something to write in my new notepad. What can I say about this grave event? My brother is gone, and his wife has asked me to break this shattering news to the rest of our family. Me? I have to tell them? It might sound stupid, but at this point, I could not tell myself what was worse: him being dead or me having to deliver this devastating blow.
Of course, I know the worst part was definitely my brother being dead. Breaking the news was just a roller coaster with no brakes, with unexpected turns, sharp corners, steep drops and long, dreadful climbs–including feelings of… hate? It was a storm of diverse experiences triggered by unexpected reactions from each family member. Not that I knew how to respond in any particular way to all of this myself. I am not insinuating I reacted better than anyone else. It was simply odd-for lack of a better word–to perceive how much not in control we all were, though somehow pretending to be or wanting to be. Or was that only me?
My brother’s ex-wife’s and his daughter’s were the hardest reactions for me to digest. Did I actually digest them? No, I probably cast them away from my system as soon as I perceived how opposite their reactions were to what I had expected, wanted, needed, or hoped for from them. I had to end the phone call with his ex-wife before madness invaded the line, and I ran short of words with his daughter, dreading the prolonged space in between each nonsensical sentence as we spoke.
I nowadays like to think that both my niece and her mom were as much in shock as I was, though they showed it extremely… differently. So that was that.
I calmly panicked when the clock struck half past one in the afternoon. It was five-thirty in the morning back home, when I knew at least my sister’s son, Eric, would be awake getting ready for school that Monday morning. I asked my nephew to wake my sister up and have her call me urgently so that I could finally deliver the news.
I feared Rocío would get mad at our brother for having died, as bizarre as this may sound. I, well, I certainly did not want her to be mad at Fernando, but I knew she would be. I wanted to avoid telling Rocío about Fernando’s death at all costs. It sounded and felt absurd to think this back then. I had to tell her, though; besides, only Rocío could go tell my mom in person. I wanted to team up with my sister in order to protect our mother. I feared she would collapse or fall down the stairs all alone in shock.
I felt such a strong need to protect my mom that I did not realize how heartbreaking it was for me to tell Rocío about our brother’s death… until I heard her scream his name in pain. What a freaking heavy, mournful day!
I feel a knot in my throat as I write. I guess there are tears in my heart that have not yet reached the eye, but they are getting there now. Cry, cry, cry; for it is still cleaning, clearing, and healing time.
Yes, it was a horrible day–though I will not complain, and to be fair, it also had a consoling phase.
The news becomes more real as I talk to my loved ones, family, and friends. I borrow a piece of peace from the Universe to help me remain calm as I tell each person. At least my voice seems calm. I hold my breath and slowly speak to them. My heart hurts for each one of them–especially for my mom, for my sister, for my brother’s wife, for his best friend, and for all his dear loved ones. I cannot imagine what anyone feels on the other end of the line, even though I can perceive their energy and listen to their interrupted breath over the phone. We each wear our own shoes.
I will later on realize how impossible it actually was to be empathetic with anyone when my own being was so moved and disturbed. It was dreadful to tell my cousins, Andrés and Sandra, who loved my brother dearly. They were the next people I contacted after hanging up with Fernando’s lifelong friend, Alfredo. He was geographically much closer to Araceli than I was, plus he was the first person I thought of then.
Considering the thousands of words one could choose from in order to communicate, I struggled mightily to formulate a single coherent phrase. I am not embarrassed to admit that when I called and woke up this dear friend, this is more or less what I said: “Alfredo? How are you?… This might sound strange, but it seems like Fernando died… Araceli’s mind is unfocused, all over the place… I know you are not exactly there, but… I… I am in Turkey… Could you please try to help her out in some way?”
What on Earth did I mean by “seems like”? It is outstandingly impressive what denial can make you say! I could feel his honest love, assuring me that he would help right away. I sensed in both of us a mixture of desperation, shock, confusion, and despair. We have been in touch over the phone now and then, but I still want to hug Alfredo tightly in person and thank him for his unconditional care.
Back to my cousins–talking to them gave me a sense of family complicity soaked in exceptional and immediate support. Sandra and Andrés were emotionally close to Fernando; they knew him well and they really cared, just as much as he did for them.
I can’t recall whether I talked to my loving friend Nadia before or after I phoned my brother’s kids that evening. Whichever the order, one call felt soothing; the other two felt like a new and unknown type of Hell.
I can still see my mom’s face in my mind… I talked to her and to my sister, right after Rocío arrived at my mother’s house to tell her what had happened. That video call was harrowing. It has actually become the saddest moment of my life –considerably worse than listening to Araceli crying and yelling out for her husband, sadder than my sister’s reaction and sadder than my own heart breaking when I listened to her crying for her older brother.
My mom’s expression was that of a mother losing her son, knowing he had physically parted forever. Her eldest son, her first child! Pain, sadness, deep, deep, strong sorrow, profound grief. How can a human body hold so much sadness inside? It cannot… therefore, it cries. We release it in the form of salty, generous tears, instead of holding it in.
During the video call, my sister tells me that she and my mother are flying out that afternoon to attend my brother’s funeral. They will meet up with his wife that night. What are they saying? This is horrendous, surreal. I am not sure what is going on anymore. What?! How?! Will my brother’s burial take place the following day? Did he and I not talk and text joyfully just several days ago?
Everything is quite blurry, though pretty clear too. Fernando had mentioned in the family chat that he was dying, almost a week before. Who would have believed him, given his usual sarcastic tone and jokes? He did send a picture of himself looking terrible, which had at least shocked my sister and me. Good thing we each lovingly reached out to him right then and there. Fernando might have kind of ignored our words, but I am sure he welcomed our love. And yes, it was real; he was indeed dying. Will I ever say goodbye to him? Do I need to? Maybe I don’t. As I have mentioned before: There is love and gratitude. There is acceptance… and letting go.
I gather my little remaining strength to join my travelling group for dinner after this bizarre, devastating day. I smell yummy, good-looking Turkish dishes I do not really care to taste. I would rather walk out to the street and look at the beautiful dark sky. So many stars… Is he up there now? I am half absent–half trying to ground myself. Back inside the restaurant, I find a bit of shelter in the hugs of my shocked friends. I talk, I exist. I sign up to ride a hot-air-balloon, which does not happen for lack of room. No one in the group will actually be able to do it, but we laugh just the same. I tell Miguel I want to go rest. We leave…
Later that night, the kind receptionist lets me borrow candles from the lobby decorations, which I arrange on the table of my cozy, gorgeous room. I light them for my brother, then go to bed. I am unable to fall asleep with Araceli’s words in my head. I remember the anguish in her voice, the desperate sensation I perceived miles away. I lay my head on the pillow, but I keep imagining what it must be like for her to feel her husband’s departure–and it reminds me that his physical absence is also part of my own life now. Is it? Is my brother truly gone? If he is, I… I need to open my mouth wide in order to breathe; I cannot bring air into my lungs through my nose. I can’t inhale or exhale. I am completely congested and stuffed up.
I listen to his wife’s words in my mind: “Elisa? Your brother, your brother!! Fernando, Fernando! Oh, Elisa! He is no longer breathing! He is no longer here, he is no longer here! Why did he leave me?! Why? His body is still warm. I don’t want them to take him away!” The voice of torment, of despair, of profound sorrow, of pain. It was heart-rending to listen to my sister-in-law over the phone that morning–practically midnight for her. I also keep seeing my mom’s face in my mind, right next to the image of my sister’s tearful eyes.
This is all practically unreal. This is as real as it gets.
Suddenly, the voices and images in my mind fade away. I now cry for myself! I weep so much I have a hard time breathing.
I think of my dad. Does he know? When will he find out? He has been in a special care home for the past month and, just as I had foreseen, he has deteriorated fast. How will my mom tell my father about the death of their son? Does she even need to, or did my brother’s soul already communicate his departure to my dad? Can my dear father perceive my brother’s absence on this earthly plane?
It is undoubtedly my human body that speaks now, that thinks, that feels. I am no longer aware of my magical soul connection to the “source,” to the multiverse, or to infinite energy. I cannot find my silent space. My human body is immersed in what seems like an endless release and production of tears. I feel so emotional, so common, so human in a way. I weep nonstop. It is unavoidable… It is like death. Except… I am alive! So I need to breathe!
I get up to blow my nose. Useless. The phone rings! Yet another person who loved my brother dearly, who still loves him! From the past? Of course not. From the present. It is all we have. No past, no future. Just thoughts. Thoughts that can alter our feelings, our being. I weep again, until I remember to breathe. I breathe, I drink water, and I finally… fall asleep
.…
I have been granted many days of precious life since all of this. I have also been hesitant to finish writing about it all–or at least part of it–besides being quite undisciplined about continuing to type about more amicable life adventures, both prior to and after these meaningful events. I still have plenty of extraordinary stories to live and tell!
As I approach the end of this post, I feel relieved; I have a sensation of having emptied out one thing and fulfilled another. Though there are still sad moments now and then, I celebrate my brother’s life today. I should honestly be thankful for the way in which he left: As far as we know, he died in peace, without a rush, quietly, laying on his red couch at home–shortly after having held warm, intimate conversations over the phone with his loving mother. I guess few people have that chance on either end.
Fortunately enough, my father–who followed my brother and passed away two days later–also had the opportunity to say his last goodbyes to his adored wife and older daughter before he took off. My mother and sister visited him in the special care home just several hours before my brother’s soul left that same day.
Coincidence? In my world, the answer is “absolutely not”. I know my dad had been ready to leave this earthly plane too. It seems like both Fernandos, father and son, knew or intuited it all. Whether they had planned or agreed to do so simultaneously or not, they somehow informed us that they’d soon be gone.
My dad and brother both lived full, vibrant, meaningful lives! I am therefore drawn to honour their departures and respect their deaths as well.
I cherish the marvelous company of those who happily remain. I will keep on experiencing, as well as writing more of what I’ve been wanting to share. I shall also strive to make the most out of each day. Why? Because I want to, because I decide to, because I can! Because Life is now!
Let us all acknowledge that Death sits only a few feet away. Let us turn Death into our best advisor, and our closest friend.
Let us live and celebrate!♥️