The day I found out my brother was murdered was a situation where I had to be resilient.
October 9th, 2022, Thanksgiving (in Canada anyway) seemed like a normal day and holiday weekend. When I woke up that day, the air was cold, and the floor was holding a chill. I pour my coffee, and in the spirit of going slow, I sit down to put on a holiday movie; as I open my laptop, on the internet homepage, the news headline read, “Man killed in fatal stabbing outside Cactus Club in Kelowna BC.”
“Very sad,” I tell my husband, “and on Thanksgiving, no less, his poor family.” And we carried on with our day. Not knowing the weight that one headline would hold, how close to home it would hit, and how it would change my family’s life.
We went for a hike and then dinner at my in-laws’ house. The WIFI service at their house is non-existent and peaceful in that way. We eat, we gather, we’re thankful, we say goodbyes, and we head home.
As we leave, two notifications come in: ping, ping. One after the other. They are from my dad…There was one missed call and one text message.
I open the text…
“Hey, little one I’ve awful news… Devon’s being killed.. not sure how or what but in Kelowna last night no idea .. criminal investigation going on . I have absolutely no idea .. but unfortunately he’s gone .. I would have come seen u but have no idea wher u are .. “
He was never a man for delicate words.
But just like his spelling, somehow, he must be wrong.
Instantly, my body reacts. In a matter of seconds, I start shaking, and my eyes swell. My muscles start constricting, and everything feels tight like my body is imploding. I need to move. Tears stinging my eyes, I tell my husband to pull the car over. I need to get out.
I call my dad.
It’s true.
Devon’s gone.
He can’t get a hold of my other brother.
He then tells me I have to be the one to tell my mom… (they’re divorced, it’s been messy for years, I digress).
I tell him I’ll call him back.
My husband is beside me; he heard what was said, and the questions asked, he knows, he puts me back in the car and takes me the few blocks home.
Half collected, but also not; I call my other older brother Chad; I’m not delicate. It’s happened. Devs gone, I tell him to call our dad; I have to call Mom.
With shaking hands and tears pouring from my eyes, I take another deep breath, and I try; I try so hard to steady my voice; I try to calm the chaos vibrating out of me.
I call our mom.
My brother didn’t live a safe life. He lived fast, and he played big. My deepest fear was always that he’d be sent home to his creator too soon, but with all the preparation, prayers, and worry. Nothing prepared me for the moment I had to tell my mom, her son, and my brother was dead.
What was supposed to be the usual traditional after dinner “Happy Thanksgiving, love you, have a good night” phone call was replaced with something of nightmares. A holiday never to be the same.
No answer on her phone. I call my stepdad, he answers.
I say, “I need Mom.”
My voice. He knows something is wrong.
He hands the phone to my Mom.
This. This is the moment my brain chemistry changed. This is the moment it becomes real.
“Mom, he’s gone; Devon has been killed, the man who was killed outside the Cactus Club in Kelowna last night….it was Devon. ”
My mom dropped the phone, and well, you know, those scenes in the movies, the ones where the mother is primal screaming, asking, and begging the sky why. Why my child, my baby?
A primal scream was released. I can close my eyes and still hear it echoing in my ears. The words came from my mouth into the phone and shook my mother’s whole world upside down.
Yes, I lost a brother, but I am a mother, too, and I couldn’t imagine outliving my son.
I felt her pain in my chest. I felt my pain in my chest.
My stepdad picked up the phone, wondering what I could have possibly said to hurt my mother so badly I had no more composure. I’m crying, sobbing again. I get the words out one last time: Devon, he’s gone, he’s been killed, he’s dead.
My stepdad says he understands now and asks me if I’m okay. I tell him not to worry about me. Just take care of her.
And with that day, every breath has been an act of resilience; tears cried so hard and so deep for so long, they burned my eyes, and the skin around them was raw. They felt like they were made of acid. Pandora would understand. Some boxes can not be unopened.
I felt a pain I’d never known; a million what ifs and how comes, and it shouldn’t be this way, flooded my mind. To cope, I “turned off” in self-preservation. I went numb and into the fog of grief.
There was no choice but to be resilient, and it wasn’t thought of as resilience. I had no choice but to get back up for my son, my husband, for me.
For anyone who has ever had to endure such a moment, I don’t have the words or advice to get through it. Somehow, you just do. There will always now be a before and after….but the after the news hits, and the shell shock has set, and the bells stop ringing, feel it, and you are living in your newly changed world, then do something with it, write, make art, dance, sing, and find ways to live again, but do not hold onto that pain alone. Let go of the pain or be dragged by it.
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