Four Months

19. September 2008 by admin.

To Whom It May Concern-

For four months, I grieved. I agonized. I railed against God and gods, man and non-human. I crawled through mud and blood and horror and came out more or less unscathed, but still not fully alive. For days I didn’t sleep, didn’t close my eyes. I was afraid to see what was inside me. Other days, I never woke. I lived in a dream-world, one that spun out of control as wildly as my waking world. I had lost everything.

Last night, my brother came home.

I was given my greatest wish, my most fervent desire. The one dream I would sacrifice everything for came true. And suddenly, everything that has happened in the last four months paled in comparison.

I couldn’t bring myself to write this to Bobby. I don’t think he would understand, or maybe he would understand too well. It’s as if saying it out loud would make it true. And I don’t want this to be true. I don’t want to feel this way. But if I am going to be honest with anyone, I have to be honest with myself.

Last night, my brother came home. And my greatest, most overwhelming emotion was not happiness. It wasn’t relief, or a feeling of completion or revenge or any damned other thing I would have expected.

I was afraid.

I was scared of my big brother, the guy who raised me, made sure I had enough to eat, played army men with me even when he was way too old, shared a room with most of my life… he taught me to tie my shoes, took care of me when I was sick.. he was always always there for me, every waking moment, and every sleeping moment too, until I went away to school. When Dean died, I felt like I had died too. At least, I stopped living. I spent every single minute plotting, scheming, dealing and strong-arming anyone and anything into trying to help me get him back. I swore vengeance, I swore retribution and I swore to God and anyone who would listen that I would bring Dean home.

Somehow, Dean crawled out of Hell alone. No help from me. Just walked through the door. “Hey, how’s it goin’?” Hi, I’m home from Hell. Whats for dinner? And I’m not sure what happened or how it happened; hell, even Dean has no idea. At least, he says he doesn’t. I guess he’s telling the truth, or what he thinks is the truth anyway.

But what really scares me most of all is that, at some point, Dean will recover the last four months and realize that I did nothing to help him. Nothing at all. Despite everything, he did it alone. And I was of no use whatever. And I’m really, really afraid that he’ll finally discover that he doesn’t need me anymore. And that, I couldn’t live with.

-S.W.

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