A Tribute to You

There are many things that can break a person. There are many things that have broken me. But, the one truly heartbreaking variable for me is grief.

On November 29th, 2020, I woke up to my phone vibrating against my comforter. It was five in the morning. It was even more concerning that it was my sister. I knew it was bad. I knew it wasn’t anything I’d be prepared for. I didn’t know it would be world altering though. Not until she said the most devastating words to me she’s ever said.

“Timmy’s dead.”

The actual words didn’t register to me. It felt like a cruel joke you’d play on someone. So, I didn’t say anything. I thought she was kidding, I hoped she was kidding. But, she kept talking. She told me what happened. She told me to take care of dad. I barely noticed when I started to sob because it just felt unbelievable, incredulous even.

Timothy O’Brien Clay died that morning a few hours before I got the call. My brother died that morning a few hours before I got the call.

You hear about people whose loved ones have died much too early. And all you can think to say is I’m sorry because you don’t really understand the magnitude of what it could do to a person. Until it happens to you. I never expected anyone in my family to pass anytime soon and honestly, I thought if it was going to be anybody, it’d be me.

But, it was him. He died at the age of thirty one. Someone I’d least expected to die. Especially because of how he passed. My brother was a soldier, literally and figuratively. He served in the United States Navy for almost as long as my childhood give or take a few years. He was deployed a few times and even before then he’d experienced a significant amount of trauma. But, I looked up to him and all the accomplishments he made. I don’t really think anybody knew the immense pain he must’ve been harboring for years. Because when she told me it was suicide, I think we we're all utterly and completely shocked.

It felt like a mistake. When I saw him in that casket, everything felt wrong. My sister held onto my hand while I looked at him and I could barely recognize the person I was staring at. That pain was insufferable, too overwhelming to barely stand.

Guilt ate away at me, because maybe there was something all of us could’ve done to prevent it. Maybe there was something I could’ve done to stop it. I’d been fighting my own battle with depression for years before I got that call. I had multiple suicide attempts by then and it felt wrong that it was him and not me.

My brother and I were not close. Maybe it was the age gap or maybe it was just the lack of communication between the two of us. But, a few months prior to his death, I told him I was going to come visit him in the summer. I promised him I would. The summer came and I never went. And just a couple of months later, he was gone. I felt like I’d allowed the opportunity to see him alive one last time slip through my fingers. I felt like if I would’ve gone, maybe I would’ve seen the signs that I felt almost everyday. But, I didn’t go. That ate at me in the worst possible way.

We all had different ways of grieving. It felt like someone had tore through our family and shattered all of us to pieces. A lot of us were separated then. We had bitterness from old history and arguments. But, when he died, nothing else mattered. It was important for us to be together. I sometimes wish that was still what we thought.

The pill was hard to swallow, but it was easier with all our siblings together in what felt like years. There were a few people who couldn’t fly out to San Diego for the funeral, but it felt like as a collective whole our family was mourning together even if it wasn’t in the same location.

When I got home from San Diego, it didn’t even feel real. I wanted to call him because for some reason, I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that he was truly gone. It hit me a few days later. It truly hit me. The blow was so devastating that I could hardly get out of my bed. I had to go back to work. But, I could barely handle breathing. His death was like the final piece of heartbreak I could take and it was too much to bear.

For months, I tried to make peace with the thought that he was gone and I was here. I tried to embrace what it felt like to feel him dying, so I didn’t resort to it too. Because I wanted to protect my family from another death. I felt like I didn’t deserve it. To be alive, when he was in a grave. It felt wrong. I wished plenty of times to switch places with him. I wished it was me, because he had a family, a career, friends, and so many things to be proud of. None of it was perfect, yet I still felt the desire to take his place. I was young and I still am. I didn’t have any of those things, I was barely holding onto the apartment I had to keep me out of being on the streets. It didn’t feel fair or right or make any sense.

I remembered all those people who came to see him at his viewing. All those faces and people mourning him. It hurt to know that he was gone and nothing could erase that he was no longer here.

It’s been two years since Timmy passed. As much as I’d like to say time heals all wounds, it’s not true. I can say that I no longer lie in bed wishing it was me. I no longer feel guilt over his passing. I no longer cry when people ask me about him. Grief comes in waves, it never leaves. But, I’ve found peace in his passing. It still hurts but now it is bearable. Because even when he’s not here, It’s like he’s watching over everything I do.

When I want to end all the pain, he’s a reminder not to. When I want to accomplish something, he’s a reminder to do anything I can to make my dreams come true, because I know he’s cheering me on.

I never want his legacy to leave. His memory will forever be in my mind and I will always think about how proud he’d be that I decided to stay and live this life. If not for me, for him, for our family, for my sister, for all the people's lives that I could change.

Timothy O’Brien Clay, we love you and we always will. There are so many people in this world who will not forget you or the things you’ve done or the way that you’ve changed them. And I am one of them.