I am waiting

I've been waiting for you, Brother.

It’s cold, you know. 

So very cold, on these snowy streets. 

At times, you forget it is there. 

You only remember it when you realize that your movements, 

Your sound

Your voice

Has been stolen

By the cold.

-

With freezing hearts and fading hopes, 

The snow continues to fall.

—---

I lost something once, brother. 

It was a jewel, my star, the only thing I looked at when times turned dark. 

Yes.

Mother’s ring, the very one she promised you. 

When she lost the ring, she replaced it with you, her new jewel. 

Always her favorite. 

Charming. 

Dashing. 

Perfect with every outfit and every occasion.

Dare we even say, perfect?

Hah. 

Of course not. 

Not in father’s eyes

Never in mine.

You were mother's son.

Always the diamond, so

delicate.

beautiful. 

As you were mother’s, I was fathers. 

Tough, and Strong.

A man worth calling a son, in every way, 

But never enough

for anyone.

Even myself.

Brother, here in New York, no one stops to look at the snow fallen on the ground. The only time they stop is for traffic lights. 

Sometimes not even that.

Or maybe they'll pause, and look into the night sky, 

view obstructed by walls of their own making.

Maybe they're trying to catch a glimpse of a star.

Brother,

tell me why I couldn't have been beautiful.

—

It’s hard separating magnets, isn’t it? 

Two sides, distinctly themselves, stuck together.

At least, it should have been.

After all, families are supposed to be stuck together with love, a binder stronger than any glue.

But glue can be melted

And cut.

Glue isn’t magnets.

Separating us, this family, was as simple as someone not coming home.

And life would never be the same

Ever again.

–

Ever since father left, 

I knew I was to fill his shoes.

Someone needed to work.

Someone needed to take care of my mother.

Someone needed to care about you.

Sometime, I found myself thinking, 

“Who’s there to take care of me?”

Not friends. Those went to college, leading their own lives.

Not girlfriends, or boyfriends.

They moved on, while my heart was still in pieces. 

Not dad.

He would never be there for me again.

Not you.

Never you.

You needed to live

A perfect life,

A fulfilling one,

One that I knew

I never could.

—

Sometimes, I wish we were the same.

We would have liked the same things.

Talked about the same people. 

Cried about the same losses. 

Maybe even played the same games

In the old wooden park down the road, 

Laughing.

But no.

fate would have you be 10 years my junior. 

3650 entire days I have lived more than you. 

3650 days I have cried more.

Walked more.

Wrote more.

Worked more.

Died more.

Aren't we all dying, brother?

You knew mother was, but you stayed strong.

You always knew, that’s why you kept so close.

Brother, when you stuck close to her, filling in all the gaps, 

Where was there room left for me?

Everyday we trudge forward,

Our bodies made of stone, 

Hearts of ice.

It’s all we can do, when our stars have dimmed,

Flickered,

And died.

In New York brother, it is always cold.

—

Brother, I am dying.

There is no simple way to put it. 

No way to say it.

No way to lay it softly, on a blanket, swaddled and handed to you delicately. 

No way to trace it on a frosted window

breath, slowly thawing the ice, smiling to you on the inside.

It is simple.

I am dying. 

—

When you read this, I will be gone.

There’s nothing you could have done.

And nothing you will do. 

You will live life.

As you always do.

They might call, whoever it is that handles my body. 

Maybe their call would have interrupted 

Dinner party

Barbeque

Game night

Family movies.

Maybe you’d take the phone to a different part of the house,

Away from your wife,

Away from the kids.

They don’t need to hear what the person on the other end might have to say.

When you see the number.

Maybe it will say 

“New York morgue”

“Police”

“Homeless shelter”

“Deaths”

Or perhaps, 

“Scam likely.”

Maybe you'll pick up, and the first thing you'll hear is someone asking you if you are you.

Of course you are you.

Who else would you be?

Maybe the next thing you hear is silence. 

Silence is a powerful thing. 

When used, it merits thoughts.

It is a ping, something that sends whatever that was on the outside hurtling towards our deepest insecurities.

Brother, that is why New York is never quiet. 

The person on the other side might

Apologize. 

For what, I wonder.

No one ever apologized to me for mother's phone call.

Or father’s.

Or so many more.

Maybe for your loss.

Maybe for delivering the news. 

Maybe because they just felt like they should.

Or maybe.

You won’t pick up at all.

—

Brother, will you mourn me?

Will you bring your family to my funeral, and point to my casket, telling your children

“That’s your uncle...

I didn’t know he was alive

until

he

was 

dead.”

Perhaps you knew I was alive this entire time.

Maybe you thought about it, coming to New York, 

Walking the streets until 

Fate

Brings us together. 

Ha.

Don’t mind my delusions.

just the hopeful thoughts of a dying man.

–

As I look into the sky, it starts to snow.

It’s as if the snow never ends, 

always

Falling.

Brother, if you come to New York and see the snow, 

You will see it is beautiful,

More beautiful than any jewel in all the world.

If you come to New York, I will already be a part of it. 

Maybe, you'll get my ashes.

Maybe you'll press me into a diamond.

Maybe you'll visit my grave, and see that there has been 

A tree

planted on me.

Perhaps you'll put my ashes in a lake, and I will forever be flowing

everywhere.

Perhaps you'll take the sapling home, 

And I will grow in your backyard. 

Maybe finally, I will be worth something.

—

Brother, I am waiting.