The loss of a brother and How Love Never Dies
This blog post is dedicated to my late brother, Michael who left this world on May 8, 2015
My brother Michael was born on September 5,1960 in New Haven, CT. I was already nine, and old enough to help mom with him. He would have turned 62 on September 5th of this year. Looking back ,I do not have the clarity of memory about our early relationship but I am going to start at the end of his life and work backwards.
On this date, May 8th, seven years ago, Michael made a clear choice and a decision that impacted all of us. After suffering for years with bipolar disorder, he decided to end his life. He left a short letter, most of it addressed our mother, with deepest apologies and gratitude for her continual unwavering and unconditional support. We were sad that there was very little that we could have done for he never spoke of the depth of his sorrow, pain and depression. Life on earth was very hard for him. He never gave up his dream of playing guitar for a living, nor his interest in understanding what he was experiencing.
One of the first memories and sweetest memories of his was when he was about 1 or 2 on my birthday. We danced to the music of Chubby Checker. He was little and yet did the twist in such an adorable way, that it will be etched in my memory forever.
He was the youngest of four, and I was and still am, the oldest sister, the big sister. I always had a care-taking instinct for young children, so I took him under my wing. And, later in life he took me under his. Details of that are personal and private and could be told perhaps , at a later time and place. If we had not had such a deep non-verbal connection, I might not be here to write this today.
There was a sweetness about him , a kindness, a sensitivity. One could read it in his facial expressions of innocence.
We were blessed to have parents who were generous, and flexible and knew the importance of nurturing innate talents. He was also out-of-the-box.. not your everyday happy go lucky kid. He saw the good in others and at times the world was a bit too much. He settled into playing his guitar which provided that artistic and creative connection that he craved. Sadly, I missed seeing his talent as I grew into adolescence and school. The nine-year difference between us in the beginning was a lot. Yet, our love and understanding of each other and who we were as people never waned.
When he was thirteen, he went to Montana on a ski trip and broke his leg. Mom thinks that something changed inside of him after that, and he became “different”. Sadly, by then, I was already married and in graduate school in Illinois.. so, I continued to miss many of those years as indeed he was changing. Yet, beneath his outward rebellion, and isolation there was a strong perception within of not fitting in.
As it turned out, he had many of the same issues that run in my Dad’s side of the family, a struggle with bipolar disorder. This was to last until the end of his life, but I digress. Michael was to go on and meet his future wife, AnnMarie in the late 1980s and they married in the early 1990s. They had a fabulous and amazing son, the blessing of their lives and has grown into a perceptive, sensitive, kind and aware man.
Having always had a calling towards the West , he decided to move to Colorado in the mid 1990s with his young family. His talent for playing music was still present and palpable, but for some reason, working in the real world and having a job to support his young family was a challenge. He held a few jobs, but they rarely satisfied his soul. He had a heart attack in about 2003, and the challenge became more real. The mountains were a sweet haven, and he hiked there often.
Yet, his talent and his disappointment and depression after his heart attack took a toll. As time went on, he became more and more isolated, felt more and more alone and eventually came to a decision that was in a way no surprise. We felt it coming for a while. There were intermittent calls on the phone and emails which if we knew the signs, we could have seen the inevitable. He left us on a Friday, the details of which are not important and in our later communications on both sides of the veil, I was told no longer matter. So, in respect for his wishes, they remain within the family.
There was so much that wanted to be said, from our family to his soul, so much that he, on the other side now is understanding and processing.
And then this happened…….the beginning of powerful communications between us, to say what was wanting and needed to be said, not just from me, but from Mom, and my two siblings.
On the night of his passing into the light this happened……
I was sitting in meditation on the night he left, not sad, but filled with confusion. Feeling his energy on my right side, I heard a voice, “ I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry”. I knew that he badly wanted out and I told him that he made a decision and I supported it. My interest in the Afterlife had happened long before, and I knew that life continues on the “other side”. I asked him to go to his mom and speak with her and tell her he was OK.
The sadness of his passing lasted a short time, because he kept popping up and sending me signs, like a long playlist of songs about California and San Francisco on XM radio that normally were not on in a row. I knew it was him. He even showed up in my car on my Sunday trip up to the redwoods to teach yoga. I even had to ask him not to speak to me while we were on the windy roads up to the top of Skyline Boulevard. In time, after learning more and more about connections to the other side, I realized that communications with loved ones are common and can be nurtured regularly. As a result…..
His death catapulted my own interest in the Afterlife. I discovered a podcast called “We Don’t Die Radio” hosted by Sandra Champlain and attended their afterlife conference in Arizona two years later. Just two weeks after his passing,. I even took a short four hour class about the Afterlife with Thomas John of “Seatbelt Psychic”, at which I met my BFF, Jeff, a now practicing budding medium. I learned techniques like automatic writing to communicate with Michael and others across the veil. We tuned into loved ones and practiced together. Signs came often and then stopped as they do once they are acclimated to their new homes across the veil. Yes, each May 8th, I dedicate part of the day to our continuing relationship across time and space doing various practices and rituals. But that’s not all….. One last thing.. that recently happened…..
Jeff gave me a reading for his new podcast early this year, and Michael was the first one to come through. Do you know that he said? That HE was the one who suggested first that I go public and help others with my gifts. SERIOUSLY… So of course, on this seventh anniversary of my brother Michael’s death on May 8, 2022, I dedicated this post and this site to him.
Big Blessings of Light to You All.
Namaste,
Susan
(and Michael)