Today I lost my brother Michael. My children saw me cry in pain for the first time.
This will be the second time in my life where my parents have had to bury a child. Second time in my life where I have had to bury a brother. The second time my sister has had to do the same. Jimmy, 26 years ago. Michael, we will bury sometime in the next few days.
A whole form of communication in my life died today. The only other person who could finish sentences, stories and punch lines to things that the two of us experienced. Gone. The only other person that could remember the same stories, just as I remembered them, about my childhood and my little brother. Gone. Dead. I could tell people the stories, but there was only one other person in this world that could remember them, as a brother would, and he is dead. Frankly, they wouldn’t translate well to those who didn’t live it. Like how Michael would selflessly change into a different person for the entire day, never straying from character, just so Jimmy would have a friend to play with.
My beautiful, flawed, but oh so perfect brother Michael. Dead set on making an impression on the room. My sex ed teacher. My partner in crime. The reason I have a scar on my chin. People who would think I am the funny one or the talented one or the handsome one…never met you. By far, in so many ways, you will always be the superior brother.
My niece lost her father today. He loved that girl more than anything or anyone in this world. His mark on the world. My last direct connection to my brother. I, in some ways, gained a daughter. I have to make sure that she, like my kids, has every opportunity in this world. That poor little girl. Her 6th birthday is next month. My children lost their Uncle Michael.
I am hurt. I am relieved.
Every time I think about my mother and what she did for him and how much she loved him, my entire body hurts. My poor mother. My father. The rock of the family. He will be strong for my mother. Once she gets her bearings, my dad will most likely have his moment to break. He will do it alone or perhaps just in front of my mother.
Growing up, people always asked which kid I was in the order. Before my little brother passed, I used to say I was the middle son. My sister is the oldest, but I was still the middle son. After Jimmy passed, just so I wouldn’t have to explain his death, I told people that I was the youngest. Hurts every time I have said it. Today, I am the last son. The only son. The oldest and the youngest son. This too will hurt when people ask. Yes, I have a sister that I adore, but as far as Murphy men are concerned, I am the last of my parents sons.
What prompted me to start writing? No clue. I can’t sit here and cry all night. My emotions haven’t settled down enough for me to fall asleep. I am still shaking. I already told the first group of people that would care to know about his passing. Mostly family, my close friends and his old girlfriends. Condolences will roll in. People will try to relate, but they can’t. You are trying to find common ground and saying the phrases you think you should say just come out. It’s ok.
My brother Michael was a great writer. He really was. His brain was a beautiful thing. Only to be matched by his good looks and charm. He marched to the beat of his own drum and seemed hell bent on never making things easy on himself.
When we were kids, after he moved away to Chicago, he would critique my letters to him. He started every letter by reminding me of all my punctuation and spelling mistakes. He taught me a lot of bad things as a kid, so he had to balance them out with some good stuff I guess! My brother was a grammar Nazi. My brother writes better than me.
Do I use the past tense yet? Screw it.
I will try not to beat myself up about not picking up the phone every time he called. My brother lacked the ability to tell a story in less than 20 minutes and God forbid you interrupt him-because he was known to start again from the top. Where most stories didn’t need every detail; my brother would tell you a story as if he had written a script and was reading you the lines as well as setting for every scene. Acting out the lines of each character and altering his voice just enough to where you could follow along. Most people needed a stage, a budget and camera crew to pull this off. Michael could do it all on the phone. He had a beautiful mind, but just lacked brevity. Because of this, he made it hard to answer the phone-knowing you only had 5 min to talk. Out of respect to his story telling abilities, sometimes it was better not to answer than to cut him off midway. He called at 7am on Sunday to wish me a Happy St. Patrick’s day….I didn’t answer. He left a message with his daughter. A message that I wish I hadn’t deleted. I still have his text messages. They will have to do.
Michael Michael motorcycle. My last connection to brotherhood. Passed away too soon. I will think of you everyday. I will see pictures, hear songs, remember a joke, etc. now that you are gone, it seems like there is more of “you” around me than I ever knew. You were flawed and troubled, yet beautiful both inside and out. Long winded and Irish in every God damn way. I will never love anyone like I did you or curse anyone like I did you. I would give anything to get hugged by you or punched by you just one last time.
I love you Michael. You are at peace and that brings me great comfort. Hug Jimmy for me. I promise you, your daughter will never need for anything in this world.
Rest in peace. Till we meet again.
Patty.
What a beautiful tribute to your sweet brother! You captured him so well in your writing. I have so many fond memories of the Murphy boys from years ago when you lived in Henly and we were in the same school setting. I send you positive thoughts and peace during this time. Take care, Sandy Gravenor
Pat I'd say I'm sorry but I know that won't make it better. How do you fill such a whole in your heart, it's impossible. So instead I'll share a story with you. The first time I ever met Mike was at Leigh and Malcom's house. Long blond hair, motorcycle jacket.. He asked me for a ride to the LBJ HS then preceeded to try and "pick me up" by gifting me with an AA coin. He was hysterical and could charm anyone. I had so much fun hanging out with he and James in JC and later in Austin when they moved in together. So when I look up at the stars tonight.. or I'm taking a shower and feel like someone is staring at me, I'll know he's there. Love you and if you need a hug, need to scream at someone, need a drink whatever know that I'm here.
God he would have totally busted me on that typo
I know there are no words to provide adequate comfort right now…I wish there were. Please know that there are lots of people praying and sending good thoughts your way.
Pat,
I've lost my father and mother, a son and a brother. My brother's passing hurt the most by far. Don't know why…maybe it's all the things we shared that meant so much. Here's hoping the burden of your grief is lifted soon.
Blessings to you and your family Chase. You are in our prayers.
Relying on the words of Grace Potter & The Nocturnals to say what I am feeling and thinking.
"Stars…They make me wonder where you are…Stars…Up on heaven's boulevard… And if I know you, I know you've gone too far. So, I can't look at the stars."
What an amazingly beautiful tribute to your brother. His spirit will continue to live along side each of you. My condolences…
Thank you for all your comments.
Chase. Your strength is amazing. Your words eloquent. And the genuine love, respect and rivalry that only brothers understand jumps off off the page. Your words express emotions thatI hope I can thank God for the rest of my life that I can can't quite relate.
My thoughts are with you Chase. I lost my brother two years ago. He was only 35 and had a 5 year old son. Reading your post, it sounded like my own thoughts echoed. I feel so sad for any family having to live through this pain first hand. Know that you and yours are cared about. I hope you find solace in beautiful memories.