NOT KEEPING SCORE

Sometimes there is nothing to say. Sometimes there is nothing to write.

My brother died suddenly this past week.

He didn’t call Tuesday for my father’s birthday; I made a mental note to chide him when I saw him later that week. When Thursday arrived, I called to ask him when he thought he would make it to my parents’ house for Thanksgiving; maybe he could come a little earlier so we could have a little one-on-one time? No answer.

When he still hadn’t shown up to the family dinner, I really started to worry. I left Thanksgiving dinner and drove to his house. His car was in the driveway. He did not answer his door. The light was on inside.

I hopped the fence and banged on every door and window around the house, trying to break in, or get his attention. All I got were the dogs barking.

The police were called, and they found his body inside.

We still do not know the cause of death, and have been trying the best we can to piece together information. What we do know is that there is a perverse interruption in our lives, a manifestation of the unthinkable. There is nothing to say. There is nothing to write.

Except that I have found that I have to write. Writing has saved my life before, and I have a feeling it will again. So, despite my reluctance to 1) write about this very troubling and personal loss in such a trivial public venue as my blog, and 2) write about something so unwritable to an audience traditionally used to reading, let’s just say, more lighthearted fare — I am writing about this.

I have to. I have to chronicle this process of loss somehow, and Not Keeping Score is my chosen method.

Sometimes there is nothing to say. Sometimes there is nothing to write. And that is precisely when we must.

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