I Swear You Will Be Fine

Dear brother,

I have new friends now. I can see you smirking, wanting to say, “Who would be friends with you?” but holding yourself back. But I do. They’re people who have only met me in the hospital. Everything they know about me is from what I tell them.

By extension, everything they know about you comes from me. I’ve been surrounded by new people for more than a month. Yet only yesterday, when I was hanging out with the only new friend I’ve told about your passing, I realised this. She was asking me questions about you, and I clocked that I have to paint your first impression. Not just to her, but to everyone who becomes important in my life.

What would you want me to say? I’ve mentioned your weight loss to loads of people. Don’t worry, the reflex reaction is awe. I think they picture you as a taller me with a six-pack. Don’t say they should also picture a better-looking me – that’s rude. They know you study Psych and how happy Mum was that we were both planning careers in healthcare. They know we fought like crazy. No one could push my buttons the way you did.

They know how good-looking you were. Mainly because you’re still my wallpaper. I know my colleagues have seen it. I’m sure they wonder why my little brother is my phone screen. But they haven’t asked me yet. They know how close you were to Mum and how utterly lovely your girlfriend is. They know how you laughed when I got upset over a boy, but I know how you let me cry into your shirt. I loved wiping my tears on your shirts. I’m only telling people close to me how smart you are. I know that would drive you insane. A lot of them know your full name. I used to find it weird that Mum named both of us J.S.Glenn, but now I love it. They know how much of a gym freak you were, and how it’s inspired me and Shalini (more Shalini) to continue this. They know how charming you became, especially with older aunties, and how younger kids couldn’t help but adore you. I don’t possess this charm.

They don’t know that you had BPD and depression for half your life. They don’t know how many psychiatry and psychology appointments you had, and how long you held on. I don’t know how to use words to tell them how hard you tried and how long you stayed for us.

I tell them how you couldn’t find a son closer to his Mum or a grandson more filial to Ammamma and Patta. I tell them how our dogs are not really my dogs; they’re yours. If things were in your control, the dogs alone would have been enough to get you to stay. I tell them how smitten you were with Shalini and how proud you were to call her your girlfriend. I also tell them about conversations I have with your friends and the music recommendations they give me. Don’t worry – you’re not here to make me feel old and lame, but they’re taking over for you.

Love you and miss you so much dude.

Love,
Acca