When I was living abroad, my mom always called me at 6 am my time to talk to me before I headed out for work. I went to bed quite early the night before, around 9 pm. I had a good night sleep meaning that I didn’t wake up during the night or anything. I slept from 9 pm until my landline started to ring. I looked at my phone, it was 5 am my time. I looked at the number and recognized it was from home. I thought maybe my mom got the time wrong as daylight savings can be confusing at times. It was January 18th or 19th or 20th, I don’t remember the exact date. I picked up the phone and it was my dad. Strange, it’s usually my mom who calls me in the morning.

Dad: Hey, I know it’s early but, your brother’s gone.

Me: Gone to where?

Dad: He’s gone. He passed away.

Me: (Panicking) What? How? (I knew exactly how. I started to crawl up into a ball on the floor, crying and shouting)

Dad: I know you’re upset but I need you to calm down for a second. I need you to…(I knew he’s trying to hold it together the best he can)

Me: (Breathing deeply, picked myself up from the floor, wiped my tears) I know, I’ll ask for two weeks off and buy a ticket to fly home tonight. My friend can drive me to the airport.

Dad: OK, there are still a lot to deal with. Once you booked your flight, call us.

Me: Is mom OK? Are you OK? (I knew they’re not but I had to say something)

Dad: We’re still dealing with it and there are stuff to be done, we’ll talk in a bit.

Me: OK, I’ll call you later.

I was 30 years old when my brother passed away suddenly by unnatural causes. That phone call changed my life. When I say “changed my life” doesn’t mean it made me a better person or a worse person or made me pursue my dreams or whatever. It changed the plan I had for myself. I had a promising career, a nice apartment and a group of friends that I can depend on in one country. Then I have my parents, my relatives and an uncertain future in the other country. Without even thinking, I chose the latter.

Since the phone call, the rest of that day was kind of a haze. I remember pieces of it. I tried to eat breakfast, I cried, I yelled into the air, I asked my brother why, I made tea or coffee and drank some. I waited until the tour agency to open and drove to the mall complex to buy a round trip ticket home. I went back to my place and started to pack. I asked my coworker to come to my place after work to pick up the food I had left in my fridge, mostly vegetables that won’t last two weeks. I sat on my couch and watched TV but I don’t remember what I watched. Then the sky turned dark and I took shower before heading to the airport since it’s a 12 hour flight. My friend picked me up and in the car she said “I’m so sorry” and hugged me and she had tears in her eyes but I didn’t. I felt numb and tired and lost. I felt empty. I couldn’t feel energy. It felt like there are strings that moved my limbs and I just floated through space. We got to the airport and I hugged her and thanked her and said goodbye. I went into the airport and waited to get checked in. At the boarding gate, I found a few chairs and put them together to face the window and laid there to sleep. I was so tired but my mind wouldn’t let me go. I tried to listen to music but couldn’t, everything sounded sad. Finally the plane started boarding at around 2 am.

On the plane, I couldn’t sleep either. I tried and slept in segments of time but mostly I just closed my eyes to cry. I don’t remember eating anything. Thank whoever is above that the seat next to me was empty. I watched a movie called “Fury” by Brad Pitt which actually took my mind off of things for a couple of hours. That movie was really good.

Landed, found my parents waiting and we couldn’t say anything to each other on the way home. My dad tried to hold it together. My mom looked like she can start crying at any second. I was just so damned tired.

The two weeks went by and I don’t remember much of it. I did what I was told to do because there are just way too many rituals regarding funerals in my country. I tried to do them all and make my parents happy. Actually they didn’t ask me to do much, I think they just wanted it to be over as soon as possible too. They’re too heart-broken. It’s weird to see your parents being heart-broken because usually they’re the ones who have it all together. Then it was the day I had to fly back to the other country and at the airport, waiting to get to the boarding gate, I felt panic. I didn’t want to go back to the country that I loved and had a wonderful job and a great apartment and cool friends. I guess I knew I had to give all that up now. I was resentful. My grief started with resentment.

I don’t think I’ve gone through all the stages of grief because for four years, I have tried every possible way to stay distracted from the fact. But lately I’ve started to learn how to forgive my brother. I read it somewhere that to forgive, you must kill some things like a dream or expectations. So to forgive my brother, I had to kill the wish that one day my parents will become who they were before, the hope that this thing isn’t real and it didn’t happen four years ago and that he just went on a trip, and the blame that everything wrong in my life is because of him and what he did. I had to kill all these in order to start forgiving him. I think it’s a good step to take for now.