When your world turns upside down, you learn to believe in impossible things, embrace the sparks of madness, and create within the chaos.

Cooking engages each one of our senses: We feel the chop of the onion, see the glisten in the oil, hear the sizzle of the garlic as it hits the pan, and smell the enticing magic that is the simple perfection of heated butter and garlic. In the wellness world, we call this sensory immersion, “grounding”. A technique used in mindfulness. In other words, it is that which brings us to the present moment; The now. It is a therapeutic outlet, nourishing both the mind and soul, as much as the body.

The kitchen has always been my sacred space. A place where no matter how the day has been, I can roll my sleeves up, put my hands to work, and lose myself completely in my creations. It is where I feel most alive and happy. You can find me there on any given day mixing and meddling to a good soundtrack.

My brother, Nicholas, died by suicide during the summer of 2018. He was my baby brother, and only sibling. He was just 19.

His death felt like a grenade went off in our family. No place seem untouched by the damage. Even when the smoke began to clear, and I slowly attempted to pick up the debris, there was the emptiness that emerged, and I’ve felt at a loss with how to fill it. We survived on the kindness of our inner circle, the first few weeks, meal trains, then carry-out, then frozen whatever. Life moved on and expected things from me. And I couldn’t comprehend how I was ever supposed to do anything remotely normal, again. My husband soon realized I wasn’t returning to my former self anytime soon, and filled the shoes of both his and mine around the house.

It was Thanksgiving when I cooked my first meal again. I decided after a lot of back and forth on whether I was in the mood to do anything at all, that I needed to. I forced myself into the kitchen. Nothing fancy, just the basics. A small group of family came over. The plates were set, the food was served, and in between the bites, laughter, and tears, there it was again.

Love.

One gift of grief ( a positive way to look at it) is my different outlook on time. The way it exists and doesn’t simultaneously. How there are no real constructs or limits. Music, pictures, smells, and memories, all take us back and forth within it. We often hear people wishing we had more time, or that we had done more or less with our time. Appreciated time. I find myself here, often ruminating over the time that I didn’t check-in, pick-up the phone to say hi, visit, say the words “I love you” and told him more how I thought the world of him.

I am also so incredibly grateful for each and every time that I did.

Time has really changed for me. I no longer feel the need to plan my life the way I once did, around arbitrary goals. I think a lot of different things about the same things on any given day. Some days, I feel incredibly lost and aimless. Other days, I want to take on the world. Mostly, I’m just trying to make sense out of something senseless, or try to bring meaning to this “tragedy.” Actually, tragedy doesn’t describe what my brother’s death is to me. Not even close. There is no meaning to be made. Nick’s suicide created this ubiquitous longing for everything that he was, and all that he should have been, with a side of the type of “eating away” at you pain and guilt, that comes with the territory of being a suicide survivor.

And “Survivor” is the right word for what we’re doing. Everyday, people like me, wake up, and relive our never-ending nightmare. We face our unimaginable truth over and over again, and move forward in a world that’s still spinning in its monotonous normalcy, while we’re looping in a cycle of pause.repeat.rewind.

It’s taught me to be braver than I knew I could be, and in a way that I didn’t understand before now, was brave, or strong. It’s taught me to be vulnerable. To take risks. To allow myself to be seen, just as I am. It’s taught me to want to truly live my life, for me.

A forgotten picture inspired this blog. It took me back to a moment of Nick and Time where we were incredibly happy. I can see his smile, hear his voice, feel his embrace. We were in the kitchen, cooking, laughing, dancing, and all was well. I want more of that. More Nick, and more time.

This is my story, or some chapters of it, and my journey to create a new relationship with my brother. They say the kitchen is where the heart is, so it feels right that this is where I am healing mine.

xoxo ~ Alecia, Nick, and Thyme