Forgetful

Extra Letter; Mikey

Dear Mikey,

You died three days before Christmas day. The big question for Alicia and I was whether we should even open your gifts at all or send them back to the people who sent them. We ended up keeping them in their packaging in the back of her closet, and to this day, they still are not open. They probably never will be if Alicia is the way I know she is.

It was hard, Mikey. I won't ever lie about that. The last few weeks have been the hardest in my memory. This includes the years my depression threatened to kill me. Mikey, you wouldn't imagine the kind of guilt and grief that runs through a person after a family member dies, much less their only brother.

Guilt because... I gave up. I gave up on you, and I shouldn't have. In that last month or so when you stopped recognizing me, when I would walk up to you and I could just see in your eyes that you had no idea who I was, I couldn't stand it anymore. I distanced myself from you, and I stopped visiting, knowing full well your days were numbered. Mikey, until the day I die, I will always regret that decision. I should have spent every single day by your side. Every. Single. Day.

On your last day, I got the call from your home health nurse. I still remember where I was and what I was doing at the time. I was in my office, reviewing some of the old ideas for the new comic I'm going to write eventually. I always used to tell you my old ideas, Mikey, towards the end when I kept trying to fill the air with something instead of the blank silence as you stared at me. I know it was pointless, but I felt like I was doing something.

She called at exactly eleven forty-five AM. I remember because I checked the caller ID the second I heard the ring. Your health had been declining so quickly in the past few days, like when somebody throws a lead weight into water and all that you can see is a ripple and bubbles. When I saw the number, I knew it was happening. I almost considered not answering. How awful is that?

She told me you were dying. That you had maybe and three or four hours left, and I needed to be there now. I had never been so thankful that we live two miles apart. I sprinted to your house, leaving my drawings and words on paper to be abandoned for nearly a week when I would return.

I still remember seeing you laying in your bed. The lights were off in your bedroom. The nurse was at the edge of the bed. Alicia was holding your hand. There was a slow, dull beeping from the heart monitor that filled the sick and hollow air. I moved beside you, and I sat on the bed without a word, and I took your hand.

Your eyes were open, Mikey, but you didn't see anything.

I didn't know what to say. I knew you had no idea who I was, or where you were, or what your name even was, but somewhere in my heart, I hope you were at peace. I don't know how you felt to die, Mikey. I didn't need to.

I don't know how long it was. It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. It could have been days, but you did die. The heart monitor stopped beeping and went into a dead buzz. Your hand, which had been limp, suddenly tightened for the briefest moment, and then it went completely still. You drew in one final, harsh breath, and then-

You didn't breath at all.

I had never seen somebody die until then, Mikey. It's the most magical, darkest, most disturbing thing I have ever seen. At first, I didn't even know what to think, what to say, how to react, but when the nurse went and turned off the monitor, Alicia lost it.

I have never seen a human being cry as hard as she did right then. Her face tightened, and she moved forward, clenching the sheets by your chest. She buried her face in your shirt, and she sobbed, literally sobbed. I didn't even know what to do. I moved one hand, and I patted her back, but I couldn't feel a single thing. Only confusion. And... Loss. Like a part of me had died along with you.