It's Not Your Fault | Teen Ink

It's Not Your Fault

March 4, 2012
By KateLA GOLD, Everett, Washington
KateLA GOLD, Everett, Washington
11 articles 20 photos 194 comments

Favorite Quote:
Don’t you find it Funny that after Monday(M) and Tuesday(T), the rest of the week says WTF?

As the day my brother died has dawned upon me once again and the hours creep ever closer to it's end, I have been able to recover a precious memory of him. I would only get to see him on weekends when I was court-ordered to see my dad who was mentally abusive. I remember now how my dad would yell at me and how Kris would sometimes manage to diffuse the situation before it got out of hand. I always liked knowing that my brother might be there, though as he grew older his visitations were sparser. As I can recall from my memory we had gotten out of the car to his house where his dog ran at me, and he yelled at me to get in the car. I did, and once Kris had gotten what he needed, he was in the car with me and we drove back. He said he was sorry for yelling at me, and I, unable to control going into my automatic defense system and becoming nonchalant, cold, and as unemotional as possible, just said: 'That's okay.'-in thinking there was a situation that had to be diffused. But there wasn't. There was just my brother and I. And he said, 'No, it's not okay.'

It was the first time in my life I ever heard that, and those alien words caught me off guard.'s not okay for someone to yell at me? You have no idea how much this one sentence my brother said to me has made a difference in my life-how much I cherished it. It meant so much to me that my mind had blocked it out because of the pain of missing my brother when he died. As usual at the time though, I assumed it was meant as a reprimand-like I always assumed when it came from my dad. To give you an idea I basically processed it as this in my head: 'No it's not okay, that means you shouldn't be saying that! Say something else, you know he's angry now, say something else before it gets bad!'. But my brother had never yelled bad things to me, never mistreated me like my dad. And instead I stayed quiet-perhaps we chatted more, but I don't remember-though I wish I could remember every detail of every single thing he said to me. All I have are my memories. I would like to think I stayed quiet in that car because something in me realized-even then in my maimed state, that I was safe, that my brother was different and he knew right from wrong, and was one of the most genuine people I could have ever confided in.

I would love to say I did just that, that we talked weekly like friends. But I never could trust anyone enough, because of the harsh reality I was shown from my dad. My brother was the only good thing that ever came out of me going to that house. He was like one small, jail-cell window that streamed in the light. I remember the night he died. Something happened that night. It was really late and I had no idea what Kris had done, as I lay crying in agony, my mouth open: screaming silent screams. In my head-over and over, I said to myself, 'Its all your fault, it's your fault,' over and over, telling myself it was my fault I was sick and couldn't do things right, like I used to. Suddenly I felt this great anger come over me like someone else was angry, angry at me for saying these things to myself. It came out of nowhere and it scared me, my heart raced. And what I heard-I actually heard, next in my head was astonishing;
'No, it's not.'
It was a guy's voice and I didn't recognize it at the time, but this old sense of familiarity came over me. But now that I think about it, I may have actually been blessed enough to hear something from Kris. Some last words I needed to hear, 'It's not your fault.'
In the morning we had gone somewhere and had just arrived back when my dad came up to me and took me back to his house. We live close, and at the time things had settled a bit, we were on speaking terms, and I had begun to start opening up to my dad again. The moment we were in cover of his fence and I really let myself see his face I knew, but didn't want to. I asked if it was Kris and he nodded, unable to speak hardly. Once that was confirmed I felt something in me sink-it was like some deep confirmation. I asked if there was an accident hoping he was only hurt, but knowing it was pointless to ask. That's when my dad answered, “Suicide.”

Today, the day I write this is March 4th, 2012. March 4th was the day my brother died and this is the anniversary of it.
My brother is the best, most upstanding and respectful person I have ever known, he was good to everyone and he was kind. I want my brother not to be whispered away until the memory of him has dimmed, but to flare and be remembered for his goodness and his works of masterpiece-his sculptures. I want his memory to be like the bright light he was for me on those weekends when I was demeaned and felt so alone. I can't ever let him be forgotten.

The author's comments:
I had to write today (March 4th), to remember him. He was there for me and I just wish I could have done more. Now I'm trying.

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This article has 2 comments.

KateLA GOLD said...
on May. 18 2012 at 6:51 pm
KateLA GOLD, Everett, Washington
11 articles 20 photos 194 comments

Favorite Quote:
Don’t you find it Funny that after Monday(M) and Tuesday(T), the rest of the week says WTF?

Thank you, it really was shocking, but in a way now I kind of understand it. Hey-if you ever want me to check out some of your work I'd love to, I'm sure it's great!

OwenDark said...
on May. 18 2012 at 6:18 pm
OwenDark, Ellicott City, Maryland
0 articles 0 photos 14 comments

Favorite Quote:
"Too late."

I don't even know what I would do in this situation. It's good to write to vent, you know? and you write well too, good job