I Swear You Will Be Fine

Josh and I hated raised voices. I think most kids do, especially if it involves your parents arguing. But certain arguments are normal, and we could recognise that. But just over 10 years ago, the arguing changed to shouting, primarily from our father. And Josh and I became so attuned to noises. As did our mum. We could pick up tiny changes in tone, which warned us that the next few hours would be far from easy. Doors slamming and drawers being shut angrily were other red flags. Cadbury served his own role in this too. He would bark whenever someone was outside our flat, which often served as a warning that our dad was approaching. There are certain songs I still struggle to listen to, because they played through headphones I forced Josh to put in while our father yelled. Josh could still hear the screaming, and I still remember watching him cry despite the music playing.

Once our father moved out, we realised how calm a household could be again. It’s not that we didn’t argue. God knows I raised my voice to yell at Josh several times (he did too). But Josh was so sensitive to being yelled at. Even as a 20-year-old, disagreements with my mum could results in tears. We had several tiffs where he would say I didn’t need to shout, to which I would yell “I’m not shouting”. Our sibling fights changed to consist of condescending noises and smirks. Frankly, we knew each other well enough for that to suffice for full-blown arguments. Words weren’t necessary for Josh to know his older sister was pissed at him.

He absolutely hated raised voices. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that both of us, but especially Josh, gravitated towards people who were quiet, sweet and mild-mannered. Basically people like our Mum. I think Shalini embodies that best, but almost all of Josh’s close friends fit this mould as well. I don’t think I heard Josh raise his voice at all in the last three years.

The reason I thought about our shared sensitivity to arguing is because of a protest I witnessed recently. It was during a classical concert, and audience members were audibly aggressive. I didn’t realise how much it had shaken me until my friend asked if I was ok. I’m quite sure Josh would have agreed with the politics of the group (quite certain he was pro-Palestine, though we never discussed it – politics was one of the few things we knew we had in common), but he would have hated the hostile environment it created.

One of Josh’s biggest worries was becoming like our father. I don’t think I ever said it to him, but it was one of mine too. I was always worried he may treat his kids like our dad did, but Josh would hate me for saying that. And frankly, it’s unfair. Josh tried so, so hard. He got all the help he needed, all the medications and therapies available, but it still wasn’t enough. The closest we got to Josh being a father was watching him with the dogs, which pisses me off even more. Because he loved the dogs so much, and he would have been a good Dad. I feel so guilty for doubting him at all.

I hope Josh knows he was nothing like what we feared. Especially in the last few years. He was so cognisant of his emotions and knew when he would get upset. Instead of screaming and shouting like a child, he would remove himself from the situation. If a snappy comment escaped, an apology would follow. I’m so proud of the man you became Josh. You were never anything like what you feared. The dogs wouldn’t love you as much if not.

Love, Acca