Survivor’s Guilt

“Life takes from us the things we love and robs us of the special ones and puts them high where we can’t climb and we only miss them all the time”

— an unlikely song whose lyrics I don’t have permission to reprint 

The 28th of September is my late brother’s birthday. He would’ve been 32 years old.

I hate to relive it but if I’m going to blog about trauma then I have to at least let people know what happened.

He was riding his Harley-Davidson and had to lay the bike down because traffic in front of him suddenly stopped. He slid on the road and broke his neck while sliding into the car in front of him.

His death was quick and, I assume, painless. Efforts were made to revive him on the scene but he pretty much died upon impact.

Despite the force trauma that killed him, he didn’t have a mark on him. His bike was also in immaculate condition.

Various facts and stories have come to light in the wake of his accident: at one point we thought he’d been speeding but that wasn’t the case; the cause of traffic stopping may or may not have been caused by a jaywalker; and there were questions as to whether his handlebars were faulty.

But one thing remains consistent throughout all the accounts: his breaking his neck was a freak occurrence. He should’ve survived it. He was relatively young and probably should’ve been able to shake it off under normal circumstances. But he landed on the bumper of that car in such a way that he didn’t really have a chance to avoid it.

It is senseless. Perhaps it is the most senseless death I’ve ever known. Maybe because it’s my brother and I still can’t believe that he’s gone… or maybe it just didn’t make sense that he should go out this way. 

Not a scratch on him, or even a bruise. When I saw him at the wake, he looked like he was sleeping. Peaceful. Serene.

It’s such a shame that this happened. My brother was as close to perfect as you can get. Yes, he had flaws and shortcomings like anyone else. But he also didn’t have a lot of enemies, and I can’t remember ever being mad at him. People just loved him.

I loved him. 

We were 16 years apart in age but I saw him grow into the man he became, and he accomplished a lot for someone barely in his 30s: married with two children and a third one on the way, beautiful house, brand new vehicles, great new job (Lockheed) with the future wide open, bright and wondrous.

When I was turning 32, I was single. No kids. I lived in Burbank but that soon changed because I lost my job (one of many jobs I’ve lost over the years) and couldn’t afford rent. I ended up moving into a converted garage on someone’s property. I had a truck that my dad gave me and not much else. I was pissing my money away on drugs and partying. I wasn’t doing anything worthwhile in my life.

Within two years I would make the changes necessary to reverse those stats: I eloped with a girl I’d known for only 6 months and 9 months later she was pregnant. 7 years later we were living in Indiana and I was divorced. Never got that house but I picked up some other vehicles on the way. And I have some possessions I’m proud of, but I’ve never been the type to accumulate things. Pretty much my record collection and my music gear and everything else is just detritus.

My brother’s life was far more fulfilling than mine. Many times I think to myself that I’m the one who should’ve been in the casket. It doesn’t seem fair that he’s gone and I’m still here, sucking up air and wasting space. Yeah, I have things to live for: my son, my girlfriend, my family back in California, the friends I’ve made out here… but I’ll always have that thought in the back of my head, that survivor guilt, that feeling that I should’ve been able to at least plead to Death and offer myself instead, because I’m getting older and have lived enough that it wouldn’t be considered a tragedy that I’m gone, and my brother could continue to be an inspiration to everyone around him.

I don’t think Death would take me, though. Not because it isn’t my time or anything like that. No, I don’t think Death would take me up on it because it’s not a good trade. Death would no doubt see that my value is not equal to my brother’s… I’d have to throw something else in to make it worth his time.

I know, I’m pitying myself here. But it’s all that I can handle right now. Everything else falls short. Nothing offers me that much comfort. It’s only been three months and yet it feels like three years, and it also feels like yesterday. Time is meaningless to me right now.

My family is hurt the hardest, because my brother was a daily presence in their lives. They did so many things together, spent so much time creating memories and living their lives as a community. If I’d been the one to go, they might be sad but they don’t see me as often so it probably wouldn’t hurt them as bad. They’d feel bad for my son being left without a father, the same way I feel awful for my nieces and nephew. But I think it would’ve been easier on them if it had been me. 

I shouldn’t say or write these things, I know. But these thoughts (and worse) come to me when I’m feeling low, and the only way to drive them out is to express them somehow so that it no longer resides in me. It has to leave me so that I can move on.

So if you’re reading this, just know that I trust you enough to let you into my private world of hurt, and that I am just venting… not everything being recorded here should be taken too seriously. Some of it is just my coming to terms with this terrible reality.

This Wednesday, when we remember him on the day he was born, when we commemorate his life and his significance, I’m choosing to remember him in a way that is unique to me. I sent a birthday card to my parents that I want them to leave on his grave. They can read it if they want, but it was meant as a message to him. I know he can’t read it, but it’s important to me that I feel like he somehow will get the message contained in the card.

Since I can’t be there, this is the best I can do. But even if I was there, I don’t know how hard it would hit me. I don’t know if I’d be able to even deal with it. And with the holidays coming up, the next few months are going to be so difficult.

I don’t know what else to do, but this isn’t the first time I’ve ever felt this way.