Ten Years to the Day + Last Butt Dial: Inside the Poem

A raw reflection on the day my world caved in

Photo by Nicolas Gaborit on Unsplash

These pieces deal directly with loss, grief, addiction, mental illness, trauma, and fighting my way back up. These two pieces were written in one sitting on the tenth anniversary of my brother’s passing — an unfiltered snapshot of memory, guilt, humor, and survival. Please take care while reading.

Ten Years to the Day

So today is here. And I’m feeling feelings.

Ten years.

In some ways it doesn’t seem possible.
In others… my body and soul feel like much more time has passed.

Mom found him when she came downstairs that morning.
She pulled him out of the chair, to the floor, to perform CPR.

He was gone.

I had been drinking the night before.
2am hate texts from the mother of one of my kid's friends.
They were all so very broken.

The call came.
It was around 0530.

I was not in the headspace to receive it.

She called me from his phone.

I thought it was just Steve having some weird thought.
In my stupor, I silenced it.
I would have called him when I got up.
I was not an early bird at that time.
She called two more times before I answered.
In irritation, “what the hell?”

And my world crashed.

I didn’t really have words.
I quietly mumbled I would get dressed and drive up immediately.

The tears came in the shower.

Then unreality set back in.
Had to mom my kids.
Had to mom my mother.

I didn’t even want to be in her house.
I remember being so freaked out.
Just sitting around the place where he had died.
Hours before.

Like it was normal.
Like anything was normal.