My Big Brother
June 12th, 1993 at 8:39 AM, an author began writing a book. It was long and weighed quite a bit, It followed a boy and his travels through life. He moved around, living in Iowa, Oklahoma, and California. He was a middle child with an older brother and 2 younger siblings. He had enjoyable, exciting experiences like graduating high school and having different girlfriends. He also had mile-marker experiences, he was a double school shooting survivor. The story abruptly ended when it was stolen during an invasion on January 25th, 2017 at 17:55.
After the book was taken, his family was devastated. They had worked so hard and experienced all these ups and downs with the boy. 5 years later, his youngest sister decided to speak up. That’s me. I’m the youngest sister. I’m his youngest sister. I was 9 when he was taken from us, which means I was with him for only 9 of the 23 years he graced the earth. We had a big age difference, he was 14 when our mom had me. But when I was little, he was everything to me. Our mom was wonderful but battled a lot during that time. She went back to college, fought and beat cancer's ass, and raised 4 amazing kids all at the same time. My brother was also 23, He was college-age and did all the college-age things, in southeast Oklahoma City, where we lived at the time. He ended up meeting 3 guys, the same guys who would later shoot my brother and take his life.
Now, I’m 15 and when people learn about him, it’s always the same “What! Omg, I’m so sorry.” Or, if it’s an older lady, “Oh bless your heart.” It’s nice on the surface, but when I’m up at night thinking about it. It’s isolating, if I don't talk about my brother, I feel like it all happened for nothing. No one knows my brother's middle name, no one knows his story, no one knows that he loved mac and cheese and rib crib. This was such an influential event in my life, even now it still affects my family members. When I found out about my brother, me and my sister were in elementary school, I was in 3rd grade and my sister was in 5th. We came home on the bus, got off, and walked down the street to my house. When we got there, my mom's car was gone and the doors were locked. Luckily, My sister was friends with the girl across the street. So we just went to her house and hung out with her.
About 20 minutes later, my grandma came over and got us. That was weird, my grandma being there out of nowhere. When we got our bags and went across the street my grandma told us we had to get in the car. She was driving and my mom was curled up in the passenger seat bawling her eyes out. When I asked Grandma what happened, she didn't answer the first time. She sat calmly and pulled out of the driveway, so I asked again. “Grandma what happened, why is mom crying,” I asked her, almost as if my mom wasn't listening. Even now, I'm not sure if that's exactly what I said, but I know for sure what my grandma said. “Your brother was shot, honey,” my heart started racing. I asked her which one. “Antwon, honey,” My oldest brother, Wesley. Was living in Iowa at the time so knowing that it was Antwon who was in the state brought me some relief, but it was the only one I’d get for a while.
I ended up going to my dad's and staying there for the day. My sister went with my mom. It was late into the night when I went back to my mom's house. I had spent the day playing with my other sisters and friends. When I got home, my grandma, mom, sister, and my brother's best friends were all at the house. I told them all about how much fun I had that day, reciting the jokes my friends made and acting them out. “That’s fun,” my mom said in the most depressing voice ever. Then, I figured it was time to get to the elephant in the room. “So where's Bubba,” I said as I went and looked in my room. I had shared my room with my brother when he came to stay at Mom's house so it seemed logical that he was in there healing. In my 9-year-old mind anyways. My grandma was the one that told me, I was the only one standing up and I couldn't even do that. I collapsed to the ground and I still couldn't even tell you who picked me up and sat me on the couch next to my dad. We all sat there in silence. I eventually called over to my dad's house where my sisters were and told them. They were crying too. My grandma took us to McDonald's down the street for ice cream. It was late and I got a fudge sundae with nuts, did you know they don't offer the nuts anymore? On the way there my grandma was telling us some stuff, that he may be gone but now we have to carry him on through stories. My grandma was always pretty good with advice.
I didn't go to school for like 2 months. And when my mom told us we had to go back to school, I prepared and prepared. But the night before, i broke down crying. How was I supposed to go back to school and learn, when my brother was gone? My mom told me okay one more day, but you have to go on Tuesday. When I got there, my friends were shocked to see me. My 3rd-grade teacher gave a little announcement at the beginning of class that I had recently lost a family member and for everyone to be kind. I’m not sure what we learned for the rest of that school year, or how the news got around my school so fast. But, by lunch, a kid I had barely known but was sitting next to me told me he heard about what happened and that he was sorry. That was 5 years ago, now I'm a sophomore in high school. That's 5 birthdays, and 5 death anniversaries without him. Even now, I don't know what to call that. I remember googling what you call it when the death day comes back up, but anniversary was the only good answer. It still seems too upbeat for the event though.
My older brother, Antwon, was 23 when he passed. He loved mac and cheese, ribcrib, root beer, and partying like every other 23-year-old. But he also loved us. I hate to think about what his last words were, Since I wasn't at the hospital all I have is 2nd hand accounts. My mom told me that she still has PTSD from seeing him. Something that always is a thinking piece for me is how my mom told me she accepted that he wasn't going live while he was still breathing in front of her. She knew even if he was able to live, he would never be the same. She sat next to him, leaned over him, and prayed. She prayed for the lord to take my brother and treat him greatly. I never got to say goodbye, but I still talk to him. And, I know he’s being treated beautifully.
He was with me a few weeks ago, when I got back from my nightly park escapade and saw our mom cleaning through the front kitchen window so I hid around the corner and threw some wood chips to see if she’d look up. I threw one, no look. Two, no look. Three, and as I was peeking around to see if she had looked. Not only was she gone, but another one flew past me to the window. Immediately I recognized that wasn't me. But, I wasn't scared, I didn’t even look around to see if it was anyone else. Right after, my brother put himself into my thoughts. So I just bent down, got another and threw it. After We lost our grandma, I knew my life was going to be led in the right direction. My Grandma and Bubba are backstage pulling all the strings to make sure I don’t make stupid decisions.