I don't presume to understand the universe well enough to know if you can see these words, or feel their meaning. But I am typing them anyway, just like I keep talking to you, not knowing if you can hear my words.
Life has been tough since you've been gone. The world bears the scar of your departure, a deep gash that does not heal quickly. Mostly, it is filled with sadness, longing for better days, and questions. There is also anger -- how could you do this to us? And guilt -- if I had only... I should have... Why didn't I....
I can't speak for everyone, but for myself, I know that there are other more complicated emotions. There is the sense of drive -- the obligation to find purpose in the pain. There is the relief that your suffering is over, and that our worry about those middle of the night calls and texts is fading away. There is the guilt of wanting you back knowing that it is only for the selfish reason of what I got from your presence. There is the gratitude for having had you in my life that tempers the sense of loss. There are the smiles that come, more and more, mixed in between the sobs, from fond remembrances.
I remember trying to explain our relationship to others. They didn't seem to get it. They compared us to other siblings, and couldn't see why I felt so much more responsibility for you than most. I didn't just love you as a brother, and yet you weren't quite a son. You were my companion -- my soulmate. We traveled this life together for 22 years, and when you left, I felt like part of me did, too.
This blog has given me an outlet to work through some of these emotions. I write because I am afraid of forgetting. I write because I want to share you with the world. I write because I don't know what else to do, what else to hold onto when I know I can't hold onto you.
These performances we have on video -- they are so imperfect. They aren't even your best performances. I wish we had your Revolutionary etude from your senior recital. I wish we had the flawless transcendent performances that I remember. Even more, I wish I could have a recording somehow of the time you played for me in that practice room at Lawrence before your recital. That I could relive that realization of how far you had come.
I know in the Buddhist tradition, I may not see you again until my next life. But I am sure I will see parts of you before then. You have enriched our lives so much, shone a light upon us that will always be felt. Fleeting glimpses of that light, I am sure, will be seen still, even as its source has gone away.
I wish I could do justice to your soul, but I only ever saw the parts facing me, and even my recollection of those parts is imperfect. I hope these entries have helped others -- helped them say good bye to a deeply loved friend -- helped them know the beauty of a man who hid it well -- helped them understand a single facet of a story about pain and love, regret and release.
If you can see these words, Alan, please know that I still love you, that I will always love you. I wish you would have stuck around. Now, it is left to us to find a way to keep ourselves, and hope that you have found your peace.
Love, Hyung
Beautiful Hyung. Thank you for writing.
ReplyDeleteI miss you, Alan. I dreamt of you again tonight. I was in a building that was going to explode, and ran out. After the explosion, I could still see some rooms that looked unscathed, and was trying to figure out how to get back in to salvage some souvenirs. As I was looking through the windows, I heard Mom's voice say, "Run to him. He will be so excited to see you." I turned around, and there you were, maybe 3 or 4 years old, wearing a rainbow cap, and beaming You ran up to me, and jumped into my arms. We hugged, and I held you. As I walked around the corner to a little beach, I saw an older you, maybe 14, looking at us and smiling, not quite with that same childlike glee, but with a subdued, satisfied smile that somehow told me you were okay. I miss you so much, and I don't go a day without crying for you, but these images in my sleep lighten my burden just a bit,
ReplyDeleteI dreamt that Dad drove me home to the Appleton house. As I walked in, Mom was in the kitchen cooking dinner. She said, "I know you can't eat dinner with us." I replied, "Actually, I can." She invited me to get some fresh rice and sit down at the table. So, I got myself a bowl (from the old pre-renovation kitchen), and sat down in the dining room next to my brother.
ReplyDeleteI dreamt that you were a little kid again. I was hugging you and telling you I loved you. You didn't quite pull away, but you weren't holding onto me the same way I held onto you. I guess that's the way it was in real life. We always tried to hold you close even when you didn't. Somehow, I knew it didn't mean you didn't love me back. In the dream, you ran off, and I knew that I would lose you. I woke up sobbing. I miss you so much, Alan.
ReplyDeleteThe night before last, I had a dream that I was sitting in Beloit with your college friends, and that I couldn't remember how I had found you. It was the first dream I remember where you were gone. This morning, I had a dream that you were alive, but I knew you were going to kill yourself in a week. I tried so hard to convince you not to do it -- that it would break my heart. I wish I could have done that in real life. I miss you with my whole being. I love you. I hope you are at peace.
ReplyDeleteSo long since the last dream. In the tangle of dreams between snoozes, I had a dream that we were taking pictures of our medical students as a group. As they got ready for the picture, I looked over to the area next to them on some built in benches (like church pews), and there you were, full-age, smiling sitting there. I ran over to you, jumping over seats, and yelling, "Alan!" I grabbed you and hugged you. You had become slightly younger as I came over to you. I asked how you got here, and you said "in the air." I asked if there was anything we could do for you, and if you were hurting, and you shook your head no.
ReplyDeleteI had a dream you had gotten me a book for Christmas -- a black book with black pages in which you had attached various photos you had found or taken and labeled with comments. At the end, you wrote, "I hope we didn't get each other the same thing. But neither this (nor I) are really important. I hope you don't miss me too much. Alan."
ReplyDeleteI had a dream that started out mundane. I was meeting with Pete about something going on at his work. His practice was looking for people from our department to moonlight in Des Moines. After a faculty meeting, I headed home. I had to pack so stuff at a hotel, but eventually was on a walk with you and Mom and Dad. You were a little kid. She suggested we run down a hill at a park, but it was very wet and muddy. We did anyway, and we started to slide down the grass on our butts, still in dress clothes. We splashed into a giant ditch full of muddy water, and were laughing swimming around in it together. I momentarily worried about my phone, but realized it must have fallen out at work anyway.
ReplyDeleteThe next part of it, we are in a little store. You are playing with little magnets and trinkets. I realize then that you are severely suicidal. I rack my brain trying to figure out what I can do to get you not to kill yourself. I start thinking of calling Taylor. Should we get you committed? Would you accept that? What would happen. I start begging you not to do it. It's a strangely calm conversation -- for you anyway. You have made up your mind already. In the dream, you had tried before by drowning, but the details are unclear.
I plead -- Please don't go. You're the only brother I've ever had. I...
and in that thought I began to wake up. The sentence ends differently that it was supposed to.
I already miss you.
Another dream -- been so long that's it's been more than in passing. The family was gathering for a celebration. Mom and Dad were still in the Appleton house, but preparing to sell it. They had laid down a new concrete slab in the back part of the back yard, apparently to make it more sellable, and to improve the neighborhood. Family members were arriving. Grandpa was there. Uncle Steve, Anna and Andrew were all arriving and parking in the garage, which was much larger. Anna had brought Asian coffee for mom and me. As they got out of the truck they drove, you were there, too. You were wearing your green checkered shirt. You were happy and running around. I was sitting or lying on the floor, and you eventually came over toward me and sat down next to me. I started to tell you how much I missed you. I told you that I wished I could help you -- make you feel better -- take care of you. You sat, and then laid there quietly next to me. I knew the moment was going to end, and started to scream as loud as I could. Then, I woke up... I love you.
ReplyDeleteThis one was silly. We were visiting Grandma, and had to drive some place with Uncle Steve. Mom, you and I were in the back seat. You were maybe 4 years old. We had a bunch of things to bring over, so for whatever reason, we had you holding an open bowl of raw beef. We were watching you try not to touch it, and you wouldn't let anyone else touch it. However, as the van started jostling, you started to hold the beef in with your hands wearing winter gloves. Mom and I were laughing about it, and making sure you weren't touching anything else. You said you wanted to go play, and I told you we had to wash your gloves when we got there first.
ReplyDelete