I actually like winter. Probably my second favorite season after fall. Something about the world getting quieter as the cold descends. It’s easier to think when there’s less noise. It’s easier to be with oneself. Alone, you finally have a moment to answer to all the demands of those inside, instead of reacting to the demands of a relentless outside world.
The week my brother died it had just snowed. The cold descended on Kansas city. I had just accepted a new job at Prodigy in Canada and in the evenings I was working on a random retro gaming project. I was working on modding an old Game Boy Advance to have a backlit screen, upgraded audio, LiOn battery pack, and a new shell. It was a challenging mod. When I was done with it, I was going to show it to my brother Eddie. Figured he’d get a kick out of it.
Halfway through that week I remember hearing the news that Eddie tested positive for Covid. I remember my heart sinking, but parts, before I knew they were parts, kicking in and pushing those feelings aside. Telling me to focus on the new job, and dig into an evening project to keep myself busy.
When he’s better you can show him the finished piece. After all, he’ll be fine. He’s young and healthy and the folks are checking on him daily.
But I would never get a chance to show him that project. Or tell him that I got a job at Prodigy, he knew about that game. His kids played it. He would have been really proud…
I had worried that my family would be more easily exposed because of working in the service industry. Like many minorities, they showed up to work every day, unvaccinated, rolling the dice because there was no choice to stay home and still keep food on the table. That was my brother, who took care of his two kids 5 out of 7 days of the week. Would it be too bold to say it’s an example of systemic inequity? Because, most minorities don’t work in white collar offices that afford them the right to work from home. They work at grocery stores, landscaping, food service, or hospitality jobs. And during the early stages of the pandemic, they might as well have been lambs for the slaughter.
But no one talks about that.
And I guess, what does it matter? All that means is that my aunt died. My brother died; and no one else I know lost anyone to covid. My friend who died recently? Actually died of a heart attack at 33 (not covid); although he was 1/2 Native American and proud of it; so would have just factored into the statistic anyway, lol.
You know, my best friend asked me if I felt any guilt about my brother dying. I always thought that was weird of her to ask. I wondered if it was because, when he was sick, I told her that I wondered if he was faking it. Dude, he faked illness all the time to get out of work because my parents would never give him any time off and it was Superbowl Sunday – wouldn’t put it past him or blame him. lol But, I checked in on him several times throughout the week. He said not to worry, he was fine.
But he wasn’t fine. He went to sleep and never woke up. Severe pneumonia scarred up his lungs and according to the autopsy report, he died of a blood clot. To be honest, I read the full report and I don’t actually remember – but it was deemed Covid in the end. My brother Juan found him; stiff and cold in bed. He had to call my parents and me and tell us what happened. He waited as the paramedics showed up. They tried to resuscitate him; but Juan knew it was hopeless. He’d been gone for hours. Months later, I would be the one to clean up the mess the paramedics left on the floor trying to bring him back. But on that day, as my brother waited for the paramedics to finish up, something weird happened.
The police asked my brother to come down to the police station – which apparently is not common in this situation as we found out later – but they made it sound like a necessity. They should have just taken a statement from my brother and let him go. But the police held him, and questioned him for an hour. They started to insinuate foul play and my brother started to get suspicious and upset at their motives for bringing him down. He finally told them, that if they had nothing to hold him he was going to leave. My brother Juan is not intimidated by much. One time at the stores he chased down a notorious shoplifter and got into a bloody and brutal fist fight with the guy – my brother Juan is nuts. So by this time, even though the cops kept trying to keep him there, he’d had enough. He stood up and walked out; the police officer followed him out, one step behind him practically breathing down his neck and all the way to my brother’s car; trying to intimidate him. Juan ignored him; got in his car and left with the police officer staring him down as he drove off.
They have never liked the Loredo’s in Olathe (Kansas). My brother got in a bit of trouble when he was a teenager, we’e talking 15, so like over 25 years ago – I think he got an MIP once. I remember him telling me that cops used to follow his car around when he was older and could drive. So, we already know what it’s like to interact with cops in Olathe for us. I had a poor experience with one too on a traffic stop when my ex was driving. I got personally told to go back to Missouri (I feel like he wanted to say Mexico and had I not spoken English well, I’m sure he would have) – clearly I was influencing this poor white boy. lol
So, if you want to know what it’s like to be something other than white in this country – it’s growing up with an increased risk of being exposed to domestic violence, and when abuse does happen, it’s likely that it will never be talked about or reported. It’s never seeking treatment for mental health no matter how badly it wrecks your relationships or life because of stigma and cost; it’s being uneducated because you couldn’t afford it or it was never encouraged for you, and last year it was having to risk your life to put food on the table because that’s the only option you have; and it’s having to find your brother’s dead body and then being accosted by the police because, of course, you probably had something to do with it.
***
Months later, I got a massive text from Casey, Eddie’s ex-gf and mother of his children. She said she couldn’t “keep it in anymore”, that she felt incredibly guilty because she was talking to Eddie and told him to get an oximeter and how she wished she would have just brought it to him. When I saw her in person the next time, through tears she said to me, “Eddie would have been so mad that he is not here for his twins”. His twins. His. Twins. Those were her words as their mother. That should tell you right there, how much he cared for his kids.
Eddie wasn’t perfect by any means. He struggled a lot with alcohol, depression, low self-worth. He couldn’t maintain relationships. I could tell how much he struggled, but I never did anything to help him. I did my best not to think about it. I did my best not to think about my own issues too. So, maybe I should feel guilty about that. I was scared for him at times. I thought one sunny Texas day I might get a call from back home letting me know he committed suicide because of how alone he was. When the twins were born he struggled to be a new dad, and I could tell he wanted to run, badly.
But eventually, as time passed, he made it through the tough times and he came to love being a dad. And then little by little, his kids became everything to him. He lived for them and it kills me to know how mad he would be.. that he’s no longer there for them.
I often feel like that burden should now fall on me…but their mom is still around. I don’t really know where I fit in and that’s what makes it so hard for me. I love them but I also struggle so much myself. It’s just, I don’t think the twins are getting the support they need, it worries me, and there’s not really anything I can do about it. I feel really helpless at times; and also tired, so very tired. This year has been so very difficult for all of us.
I didn’t expect all of this to hit tonight, but I think there’s just a lot of parallels. A difficult Chief’s loss, a snowstorm on the cusp of hitting our fair city. I feel like as the storm arrives, so does all of my grief and pain along with it. And as the city becomes quiet tomorrow, as the world stills, I can’t help but wonder how I’ll feel tomorrow…this week… and on February 7th. Tonight, I already feel cold, asleep, and utterly dead inside.
But, like my anthem for this year, maybe, I’ll do better in the morning. One can only hope.