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There’s a sentence I thought I’d never write in Osage. It translates to “my older brother is dead”. Sure, we’ve had close calls. But each botched suicide attempt only confirmed the notion that he wouldn’t ever have the wherewithal to carry through.

Mercifully, he didn’t this time either. It was ruled accidental, the kind of spontaneous choking that could fell any of us poor zhlubs who live alone. My mother found him. He had an appointment for a colonoscopy in the morning but wasn’t answering his phone so she went over and checked.

When she called me at lunchtime yesterday, I initially thought it was one of the buttdials she’s notorious for. But there was a voicemail—“Call me as soon as you get this”—which told me at once that someone had died. In fact, when I called her back, the first words out of my mouth were “Did Dad die?”

She corrected me immediately, but it didn’t register. Only as she dispassionately related the events did my mind begin to wrap itself around the unthinkable. I continued to imagine that I’d misunderstood, that he was in some hospital ICU with serious damage. But the only place he went after he left there was a freezer.

I was in the middle of downtown Evanston and it felt like I had to walk endlessly to find a place to cry. On the way, I began texting Nuphy. I couldn’t even type the sentence “M. is dead” because it made it too real. When finally found a place to stop, I texted the man I’ve already begun referring to as “my remaining brother”, who was waiting for his wife to fly back to town.

Unsure what else to do, I suppressed everything and went back to work like nothing had happened. I might even have finished the day, but Bunj texted again and asked to talk. I headed back outside to a campus swarming with students. It took me a while to find a quiet bench where I didn’t mind being observed.

We offered each other what comfort we could. We talked about how he’d ushered us into the world of RPGs and about how enthusiastic he’d been about a current campaign. (His last text to me—perhaps his last text to anyone—was a question about his character’s finances.) We took a moment to think about our poor niblings, who saw more of him than both of us combined. Much more.

I held it together until the very end, when I signed off with “Goodbye, Bunj. I love you.” It’s what I always say but yesterday it occurred to me that I could be saying it for the last time. Then I knew that even if I could stay at work, I shouldn’t.

I went back inside and found a coworker who often left by four. I’d barely asked to accompany him when he said, “Let’s go now.” He rode to my stop, insisting on walking me to the exit. He probably would’ve walked me all the way to my door if I hadn’t begged him not to.

Once I got home, I was overwhelmed by tiredness but I stayed awake to participate in the rondelay of planning texts and calls. I thought I’d fall asleep in short order. Instead, that’s when the sobs finally started hitting me. I was awake marveling at the pointlessness of it all until half past midnight.

Today has been stormy and chilly and it fits my mood. I took two naps and then made a spate of calls to inform the appointment with the funeral director at five. Still no word on how that went. Although we’re having him cremated, the service could be as early as next weekend. e. put her frequent flier miles at our disposal so we can leave whenever.

I’d already planned to visit middle of next month. I will anyway, but it’ll be a quite different trip than I’d initially thought and I’ll probably be hauling some things back with me. Besides a sack of emotions, that is.