Learning to Live

My father was the first one to step into Ben's room. The floor was slightly cluttered, but I knew it wasn't the way he had left it. The investigators had messed with his room, not having an ounce of sympathy or care for why Ben had made his final decisions. In their eyes, he wasn't the victim in the least. I understood where they were coming from, but I wished they would try to step into our shoes.

I breathed in and the scent of the older brother I lost filled my nose and lungs. I don't think I had missed him more than I did in that second. I longed for his embrace, his jokes, the looks he gave me behind our parents backs, even the times he had to sit down with me to help me figure out a complicated math problem. I missed my only sibling, my only brother, my main conspirator. But Ben had been cooking up a more sinister plan than any we had ever made together.

I glanced at his desk. They had taken the computer to check his hard drives, and notebooks that had filled the top of the desk that I never dared to look in were gone. A computer monitor sat on the wooden desk with only a can filled with various writing materials to keep it company. I guessed that the drawers of the desk were completely empty, too.

"I'll start with his desk..." My mother said quietly.

"Want to help me with his closet, Rach?"

I glanced over at my father. He stood by the closed doors of Ben's closet with a plain brown box in his arms. Even though my father never had the pleasure to teach Ben how to throw a baseball or how to shoot hoops, I knew that their relationship had been immensely strong. They would read the New York Times together, making comments on stocks and the latest news story. They would watch shows I didn't care to know the name of. I would avoid the living room while they sat in it on those nights. I always felt even more like the dumb child if I tried to watch with them.

I noticed the differences in my father before I noticed any with my mother. The small patches of gray hair on his temples had gotten more prominent. He no longer bothered to button the very top button on his dress shirts when he left for work, and ties were no longer something he cared about. He would come home and kiss my mother and I, then go silently into the living room and turn on the TV until he was called back into the kitchen for dinner. My father didn't exactly withdraw, but he stopped being as alive as he had been. As if Ben had stolen a piece of him when he died.

He opened the door to the closet, and I swore to myself that I saw a flash of complete depression pass through the blue eyes he had passed to my brother and I. Ben's clothes hung feebly on their hangers, and dirty clothes spilled out from the white hamper my mother had bought for $1.99 at Wal-Mart. I looked at the shelf above the wooden rod that his clothes hung from and saw boxes that I knew were filled with pictures, old schoolwork, and various other things Ben felt the need to keep. Things that were apparently invaluable to the officers that had raided his room in an attempt to find answers.

My father took these boxes down first and set them on the carpeted floor. One, two, three, four. I scanned the tops of them, reading "school", "pictures", "old stuff", and "junk".

"I'll take these out," I offered, and stacked the pictures box on top of the school box. I lifted the two up and made my way out the door. I must have been holding them at an angle, because the top box slipped from my grasp and its contents spilled onto the hardwood in the hallway.

"What happened?" My mother came up behind me as I placed the school box onto the floor and got onto my hands and knees to replace the pictures back into their box.

"It's okay, I've got it," I told her.

I watched her reluctantly retreat back into Ben's room with a final glance at the pictures. At first I picked them up in bunches, not particularly wanting to experience the hurt I knew would come by looking at these memories that I would never be able to talk to my brother about. But after a while, I took the time to look at each picture. My stomach was flooded with a now familiar feeling of longing. I knew that even if Ben was still alive I could never get these times back, but it was the fact that I would never be able to make new memories with him that really got to me.

Ben wouldn't be able to teach me to drive, or tell me how scared he was to be on the roads once I finally got my license. He wouldn't be able to come to my softball games or sit on the sidelines at my basketball games. I'd never see him blow out candles on a birthday cake again, and I'd never get to celebrate my 21st birthday with him.

"How are you doing, honey?"

I continued staring at the picture of Ben and I at my 6th birthday party - me blowing out the candles on my Barbie cake and Ben smiling widely in his Transformers shirt. I saw my dad sit down next to me and pick up a picture. He chuckled and placed it into the box, picking up another and doing the same.

"This really sucks, Dad... More than anything I've ever had to deal with," I finally broke the silence.

"I know, babygirl. It's been hard for all of us," He wrapped one arm around me and kissed the top of my head.

"Will it ever get any easier?"

"I think it'll get easier to live without him, but I don't think we'll ever stop missing Ben. Every day is another step towards feeling okay again," He told me.

I laid my head on his shoulder and took a deep breath, letting it out in an audible sigh.

"I don't think I'll ever miss anyone more than I miss him, though."

I stared at the house I had grown up in through the passenger seat window of the UHaul truck. My father sat in the driver's seat, as he was going to drive the truck for the first day while my mother drove our white GMC. They would switch off every day after we stayed in a hotel for the night.

I had chosen to sit in the UHaul truck with my father for the first part of the ride. I had promised myself that once we officially left Washington I would continue the remainder of the drive to the Comfort Inn in the car.

I told myself to take a mental picture of the big blue house I would always know as my home. I would forever miss the times I spent in the front yard playing "prince and princess" with my brother. I remembered how he'd brandished the toy sword my parents had given him for his 9th birthday at the "dragons" who kept me captive. He would gallantly save me after slaying the beasts that held me against my will. He would pick me up piggyback and we'd run to the spot by the flowerbed that we had designated as our "castle".

I remembered how a few times a month Ben would begrudgingly mow the front lawn as I watched from the living room window, telling my parents that my allergies would get the best of me if I was forced to mow it instead. Ben never really complained, but I knew he didn't like the chore.

I looked at the mailbox that Ben and I would stand at every day for an entire summer at exactly 11:30 waiting for the mail to come. Ben and I had both decided that we were going to be mailmen in the future. I was 4 and didn't really know the difference between a mailman and a mailwoman. It didn't matter to me either way, as long as I was doing whatever Ben was doing.

"Ready to go?" My father asked as he looked at the house one final time.

I nodded and he started the truck up. I listened to him shift it into drive and watched as we slowly rolled away from the house we would never occupy again. I felt almost guilty leaving it behind, but I knew that the only way I could possibly go was away from it. We were leaving everything behind. Everything.