I am sorry.

“Jump, Rahul! Just dive and tread like I taught you. I will be here for you,” you said. I jumped. But as the last of my body crossed the interface between air and water, panic shot through me. I struggled to come back up; moving my hands and feet in a frenzy, hoping that my random, uncoordinated motions would magically pull me up to the surface. But the force of gravity was stronger than the buoyant force that I was counting on to stop me from sinking down. Holding my breath, struggling to see because of all the chaos I was creating in the water, I felt something grab onto me and pull me up. It was you, Sammy. I held on to you as your small body carried me towards the shallow end of the pool. And finally, I was able to catch my breath.

–But you couldn’t.

I was always afraid of water. Didn’t know how to swim. Feared that I would drown. The worst part — I wouldn’t be able to scream because if I opened my mouth, water would rush in at high speed and fill in every space of air in my lungs, replacing oxygen with water. Isn’t it ironic? Water — a requisite for growth and life, but also a means for its destruction? Imagine being in trouble, unable to scream and ask for help. Contemplate the popular philosophical question: “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?” Do we acknowledge it? It’s a fact that it happened, but our lack of awareness impedes our conscious from processing and accepting it. Similarly, drowning in water and unable to scream, how does one process the silence as a cry for help? Do you have to make noise?

So why didn’t you Sammy? Why didn’t you scream?

August 2019, the month of my birthday… and what will henceforth mark the anniversary of your passing. I still remember waking up early that morning getting ready for Didi’s (cousin sister) wedding at the gurdwara. My younger sister was at Didi’s house probably taking pictures as she was one of the bridesmaids. My parents were still getting ready when I heard the phone ring. I ran to pick it up and it was my eldest uncle asking for my dad. There was something in the “hello Rahul” that still rings in my ear. Within minutes of conversation with my uncle, my dad let out a piercing scream and fell back on his bed. I was shocked, I didn’t know what happened! For the first time since my grandmother’s passing, I saw tears in my dad’s eyes. Then, he said something I never thought I was going to hear

–“Sammy is dead.”

I froze. Was I dreaming? If so, what kind of absurd dream was this? I wanted to open my mouth and say something, anything — but I couldn’t. I wanted to scream but no sound came out. And in that moment, I experienced my biggest fear. I was drowning.

All I could think was, “I am sorry, Sammy.” I’m sorry that I waited till the end to acknowledge my thoughts for you. I was so caught up with my own life that I didn’t stop and appreciate your presence. I never thought I would have to put together that PowerPoint presentation of photos for your funeral. Worse, I never thought that I would have to let the last slide be the cottage trip. The last of our memories together. It’s just not fair. Our time together was supposed to continue. YOUR time was supposed to continue.

Why did it have to be like this?

I wish I could tell you brother, but I can’t. But what I can tell you, is that I wish I did more. I regret not being there as much as I should have been. I wish I could take so much back, but I can’t. I wish I could reverse time and tell you everything that I learned from you while our paths were near, but I can’t. Growing up with you was a privilege that I will cherish forever and the memories we made, I will carry with me to my grave. I just wish they didn’t end so prematurely. We were inseparable when we were young, and I hoped that it would stay that way. I didn’t think anything would take you away from me. But I guess I was wrong.

You left me. You left us. And I didn’t do anything to stop it.

I didn’t turn around to make sure you were still there. If I had, I would have been able to see that you were slipping away from me. I didn’t offer my hand and let you grab it. I didn’t try to pull you out of the depths of your misery like you had many times during my leaps of faith into the deep end of the pool.

I’M SORRY Sammy.

I really am. Every day I wake up with a pit in my stomach, but I choose to put a smile on my face to let people know that I’m okay. Time will do its magic, I tell myself. Every day I immerse myself in work and life, hoping that they will help me get through the day. But I’m not okay. I think about you every day. I replay our childhood memories. I wonder why all this happened. I wish I had the chance to see you, to say simply “hello” to you, to hug you and tell you that

“I really miss you Sammy.”

I admit it, I had a role to play in what happened. I FAILED to be your older brother. I failed to answer your 12:30am phone calls because I was preoccupied with my work. And I failed to return those calls when I woke up in the morning, rushing to get to my morning lectures. I am sorry that those missed calls never got returned. That I was so carried away with my own life, I now have to face the consequence of not having you in it.

I am lost without you Sammy. While you were there, I missed you; and now that you are gone, I miss you more.

I’m trying to be strong in front of my parents, your parents, everyone. But I’m not. I’m avoidant. I don’t talk about you in the fear of losing control of the emotions I have tried so hard to hold back. But some days it feels impossible. It breaks my heart to think that I didn’t get a chance to see you one last time. To talk to you, hug you. I’m hurting everyday Sammy. My heart feels heavy. But as I reminisce about our old memories, I find myself smiling; only to be reminded again of how finite our time was together. And how much I wish it wasn’t.

Your mom asked me something that I think about every single night, hoping that one day maybe I will find an answer.

“Why do we show how much we love people when they leave and not when they are here?”

I don’t know. And I don’t think I will ever be able to give your mom an answer to that question. But I do know that I was a culprit of it, and that might just be something I will have to live with for the rest of my life.

I never got back to you Sammy and I regret it every single day. You’re gone now and I can’t do anything. All I can do is write this piece and keep you alive through my memories –the happy, and even the sad ones. I love you brother and always will. You will always be my favorite person. I’m going to carry you in my heart and hope that I can make you proud.

And so, I am sorry Sammy. For not being there to catch you like you were there to catch me when I jumped. For not listening to you when you needed to be heard. You were crying for help, but I failed to listen. Your actions and mannerisms were speaking thousands, but I acknowledged nothing. I am sorry for blurring you out as I focused on my own life.

Death is a strange concept. We know it will come inevitably; yet we still fear it. We know it’s impossible to live forever because we are not immortal creatures and our time on this earth is limited. What is hardest to process, though, is when that time comes to an end prematurely. And you Sammy, left prematurely. So many things left unsaid. So much left undone.

I am hurting and I think I always will.

I am sorry.

Till this day, I haven’t learned how to swim. Still as scared of water as I was before. Or maybe even more so. I don’t think I will ever be fully at peace with it.

Because it’s what took you away from me.