Whiskey's Second Chance

Prologue

 "It's not the future that you are afraid of. It's the fear of the past repeating itself that haunts you." - T.T.W.

Responsible.

Paralyzed.

Angry.

Alone.

Loss. It's over-romanticized, underplayed, overwhelming, and all at once.

It isn't pretty or perfect and finding words to describe it is near impossible. The simple act of breathing becomes harder. Every time you try to return to normalcy, taking part in life again, you feel out of place. What is normalcy after a loss?

People expect you to grieve according to the unspoken timeline they have. When your grief interferes with their lives, they walk away, when you rely on them the most. They don't want to know the truth, that you have fallen into the abyss of darkness and welcome its presence. The lies roll off the tongue. The brave face you've mastered holds you together, all while feeling lost at sea with no direction.

Behind closed doors, healing pauses as you live and revel in the anger and depression, allowing the pain to consume you. You keep the anguish, shattered glass, ungodly screams, and endless tears bottled up inside. Never making their way out. Never making it known to others.

Mornings aren't guaranteed as the silent nights take hold of you. Thoughts and actions drive you further into the hole that now exists because you lost someone. Bright white curtains become blackout curtains, never opening, not wanting to let the light in. It serves as a painful reminder of whose light was so quickly diminished before they had shown the world what they were capable of. Wishing it was you instead of them.

Life changes and continues, and you have to choose to drown in the sorrow or begin living again?

*Two Years Ago*

Everything hurt, but I felt nothing at all. Not wanting the shock to wear off and the pain to seep back in, I continued to live in a numbing state. Slipping into darkness, allowing the half drank bottles under my bed to the hole of my room and the bottles that I hid under my mattress letting it consume me whole. It was easier to pretend as though to consume me, leaving both the bottles and myself empty.

Everyone handles grief in their own ways and my family is no different, as we all find our own way to process...or not. My mother constantly cleans the house, sisters quietly sob from their rooms, and I could hear the ice clinking in my dad's whiskey glass as he threw it back effortlessly.

*****

The funeral went as expected and the place filled with people who loved him. They asked to speak. Days before, I sat in my room, recalling everything about him, not knowing what to share at the funeral. The thought of standing in front of everyone, talking about him, felt wrong. No amount of words would be enough or perfect enough to say goodbye to him. I don't want to accept that he is gone. To know that this is final.

Finality: the fact or impression of being an irreversible ending.

His death is final. Irreversible, no matter how many times I pray for it to be. It should be me. What I wouldn't give to ensure it was me and not him.

At the funeral, I didn't talk. I didn't give a grand speech. Instead, my goodbye was private, between the two of us, as if we were sitting in his room talking to one another like we had done a few weeks before. Others however, spoke for hours about the person he was.

Every mother wanted her daughter to marry, every underclassman strived to be, and I simply wanted more time with him. He meant the world to my family and I, but we never told him and now it was too late.

He filled dinners with laughter as he retold his adventures from that day. When he was home, the house was never quiet as music from his room filled the house. He spent his summers outdoors, hiking or camping, only coming home when mom complained she missed him. The midnight drives through empty streets, blasting our favorite 90s throwbacks as we drive until the sun comes up.

When I needed advice or someone to talk to, his door was always open. Although I am older than him and should give him life advice, he always knew what to say, no matter what time of day. We talked for hours and I always left with his nuggets of wisdom.

"Kayla, 'Sometimes the smallest step in the right direction ends up being the biggest step of your life.' and don't forget that."

Those were the last words of wisdom my brother ever told me, not knowing how true they would be a short while later. I knew he would always be there for me. Or so I thought...

The following months were a blur, and all I remember was feeling lost. Lost without him. Only waking up to have reality body-slam me back into bed. Afternoons drifted by as loneliness crept in, and by dinner I welcomed sleep again. The crying, anger, and questioning of why had stopped after the first year. But I allowed myself to live in the numbing state for two years, until it wasn't an option for me anymore.

My dad took Caleb's death the hardest and since then he allowed his life to take a turn for the worst. The police completed a thorough investigation, but after a few months of no new leads, it quickly became a cold case, and my father lost control. Liquor consumed him. He lost his job and revenge took hold of him. Working constantly to find those responsible for his son's death, refusing to stop until he brought them to his version of justice.

Two years after burying Caleb, my dad announced we were moving. No discussion, no opportunity to talk it through with anyone, and no choice. It was the last thing I was expecting to uproot the last twenty-eight years of my life and move to Texas. What the fuck is in Texas? Nothing, nothing is in Texas! No family, no friends, and no Caleb.

It felt wrong to leave my brother behind, accepting the finality and moving on, forgetting him. While my family accepted moving, I refused. They packed up, found a house, and left Caleb and I behind in the dust.

The thought of leaving Washington state, the place my brother and I called home, made me sick. Needing a fresh start myself, unwilling to continue living the way I was, I packed up and headed north, taking my brother's advice. Going out on my own, starting over, is an enormous step, but one that I need to take for myself.

This is my second chance. To honor my brother by living life to its fullest and putting myself first. I hope to make my brother proud.