My Brother Mitch
My Brother Mitch
Some days, I miss my brother so much I can barely breathe. Some days I can hear his voice clearly cajoling or encouraging me as if he was right next to me. Some days I just want my big brother. Today is some day. Memories scattered and jumbled flail about in random rotation, vying for a spot in the front row. All the while emotions flood my consciousness, threatening all my senses into overload.
Tears. Frustration. Wistfulness. Anger. Love. Fear. Resignation. He’s been gone for some time. Too many days to count. Too many months without him. Not enough years to dull the pain. He took himself away from all of us. From me. Maybe he was too proud to ask for help. Too lost to find the courage to seek help. Too alone to feel worthy of redemption? All these thoughts hang in the air like soap bubbles caught in an eddy, drunkenly swaying in a tone deaf rhythm, droning silently forever. All the questions yet to be answered. Answers that will never come.
Help. The word he never used. That’s the call to action. One tiny word. Four little letters. Yet these four letters together are heavier than the weight of the world for some. Maybe for most. Definitely for my brother. Help is a word that once uttered exposes your weakness and unworthiness to all around you. Brands you as someone who can’t hack it. Whatever “it” is. Help is failure.
This is simply not true.
Help. It’s not a clarion call announcing your failure. All it means is “I can’t do it myself, at the moment”. Not forever. Just for now. That’s all it means. No more. No less. I need help now, or help with this, or just because I need help. Not forever. Not because you’re a failure. Just for right now, Help, I need…something. An ear to hear me. An eye to see me. A shoulder to cry on. A smile to take the pain away. A strong back to help carry the load.
Help.
Oh how I wish he had said this word to me, exposing his weakness and unworthiness. How I wish he could see in my eyes and heart that he was not weak nor unworthy, but strong and wise in realizing and voicing that he needed and was asking for help. That he was worthy of help. That he had more. More love. More life. More smiles. More laughter. More to give. More of everything. He was not done.
I’m lucky though. I got to know him a bit. I was fortunate enough to experience his oversized personality, for better and worse. Saw and felt his amazing gift of healing. Was part of his work during Stand Down, a gathering of health services and state and federal program representatives to assist veterans who have fallen on hard times. He spearheaded and organized the Alternative Medicine Program that offered massage, reflexology and acupuncture (his speciality) to round out treatment options as a part of this amazing event. He exhausted himself with his efforts of spreading the word to get these vets to Stand Down. The ones he saw and treated at or heard about through VVSD (Veterans Village San Diego). Oddly enough, these were people who he encouraged to ask for help. He didn’t see them as unworthy, or weak, or any of those adjectives he would have applied to himself. Ironic. I’m also lucky that his birthday is a shared day with my daughter. A yearly reminder that he was and is my brother. He was brilliant, with a huge heart and a glowing soul that his body could barely contain. Every year I am reminded that their are many many memories of him and our life to cherish. To keep alive. To share.
Lincoln Mitchell Lehman
January 23, 1963 — May 22, 2017
Help. If you need it, Ask. If you’re feeling low or down. Tell someone. Ask someone for a helping hand. You are NOT a burden. You are NOT asking too much. Please. Don’t give in to shame. Or despair. Or fear. I will listen. We will listen. Someone WILL listen. That I can promise you. Don’t become someone’s memory.
