LittleTooMuch: So…thanks for not being weird.
My throat tightens.
I stare at the screen for a long moment.
Then I type the truth.
NumberEleven: thank you for trusting me.
NumberEleven: and i’m not going to be weird. promise.
A pause.
Then:
LittleTooMuch: Promises are scary.
My chest aches.
Don’t I know it.
Some promises don’t last, especially when the one that makes them is no longer here. They remain tied to memories and moments your brain can’t forget. Words spoken between brothers, never considering the possibility that each one wouldn’t be fulfilled.
Owen was the best brother I could’ve ever asked for. Instead of thinking I was annoying for wanting to follow him into hockey, he embraced it fully, making me a promise when I wasonly eight years old that he’d be at as many of my games and events as he could.
He was on his way to my game that night, having just finished up practice. He and two of his teammates, whoever wanted to join him, really, would always make it a point to show up for any game of mine they could. Promised to be there, actually. He was my biggest supporter, knowing exactly what it meant to me to have him watching. The big brother I looked up to.
One second, I was skating on the ice finishing up a normal round of warm-ups with my team before our game. The next, my entire life was turned upside down. The weather wasn’t great that night, but a grown man decided his need to drink and drive outweighed the risks of doing so. He hit my brother’s car after running a red light five minutes from the arena where I was playing.
I’ve never forgiven myself for it, even if the blame and guilt aren’t truly mine to carry. I didn’t just lose my brother that night. It felt like I lost everyone.
My parents never came out and said they held me at fault for what happened, but our relationship has never recovered. Outside of texts on my birthday and sometimes around the holidays, I really don’t hear from them. I’ve spent the last five years living in the shadow of a loss I never asked for. Sometimes grief brings people together, while other times it tears them apart. Maybe someday things will change, but I don’t see that happening any time soon.
I’ve learned to be okay with being alone. With Owen’s birthday getting closer, it’s harder, though. November 21 sits on the horizon like a storm cloud, and my ribs already feel like they know it.
The forum has been a place where I don’t have to be alone. Ever since I started talking to LittleTooMuch, she’s startedstealing space in my chest that grief has been occupying for years. And that’s…dangerous. Not because she’s unsafe, but because I might start needing her.
I swallow hard and type carefully.
NumberEleven: then we go slow.
NumberEleven: no big promises.
NumberEleven: just…tonight.
Three dots appear.
LittleTooMuch: Ok.
LittleTooMuch: Tonight I can do.
Relief hits my lungs.
NumberEleven: good.
NumberEleven: tell me one thing that didn’t suck today.
A pause.
