Treasures

To those who have lost a sibling while incarcerated: When I close my eyes, memories of my brother Joey fill my mind with treasures. When my brother Joey died, I suffered tremendously, alone. Siblings are too often neglected and experience “disenfranchised” grief, a loss that is not openly acknowledged, publicly mourned, or socially supported. I am bringing sibling grief out of the shadows.

Joey and I had a profoundly strong attachment to one another. At 13, I had to make a “big adult” decision. If my brother and I stayed at home, we surely would have been killed. My brother was 11 when the two of us left with only the clothes on our backs and entered what I deem the carceral system, a system with many interconnected liaisons: shelters, foster homes, group homes, juvenile detention, supervision, jail, prisons, probation, parole, electronic detention, mental health facilities, immigration detention centers.

We faced many challenges together. Our childhood was filled with abuse. We did not choose the life that was handed to us. We were children when we entered the carceral system. All we had was each other. At 21, I was sentenced to a term of natural life without parole, and I entered prison. My brother did five prison terms along with me. Throughout our incarceration we remained close. I talked to my brother every day. In between the times he was not incarcerated, we kept in touch by phone calls, mail, and visits. The phone calls were very expensive, but he made sure I would be able to call him. My brother was the only one who understood me, the only one who understood prison inside.

Two days before my brother was about to be released from prison for the fifth time, the love of his life, Carol, passed away. Now, coming home to a home that was no more, he had to begin his life over without her. Although he did his best to cope, he was very depressed and turned to heroin to numb his pain. On June 18, 2018, my brother passed away from a heroin overdose suicide. When I received the news about my brother, it felt like I had received a blow to my stomach and all the air left my body. From that point on, I was frozen and felt like a zombie.

Incarceration on top of losing a sibling is frightening. I had a new identity: I was the unthinkable — a sister who had lost a brother. I had to deal with the coroner, the funeral home, signing a cremation authorization form, and arranging to have time with my brother’s remains in the chaplain’s office.

I keep thinking about what I could have done or shouldn't have done. The first year, I completely stopped all communication with anyone on the outside. I was being very selfish. I felt that if I couldn't have all that I had with Joey, then I would not have it with anyone else. I lost some special people during my grieving. In the six years since Joey's death, I have continued on an emotional roller coaster of disbelief, anger, frustration, and guilt.

There is a place inside that carries the weight of my brother's ashes. I will never get to see him again, see him smile, or hear him laugh again. All of these thoughts leave me with a lump in my chest, because my brother and I made plans. Losing my brother has given me a reevaluation of life that I never wanted.

There is a constant ache in my heart for all the memories we won’t get to share together. However, there is also goodness. It has brought me to a better understanding of who I am as a person, to see the preciousness of my life and those close to me. It has made me stronger.

Siblings are not secondary mourners. We share a history, common memories. The ensuing loneliness and grief are a heavy burden to carry, especially in prison. You have nowhere to grieve. Sibling grief must be acknowledged and validated.

In closing, I return and close my eyes. Memories revisited are treasures. Losing a sibling is like an ocean. Emotions ebb and flow. Sometimes the waves are rocky, sometimes the water is calm. I know how to swim, but I was drowning. To put it differently, I experience survivor's guilt. To those in the free world whom I hurt during my grieving, I deeply apologize. I was not in a good space, and I was hurting.

Today, I am here on behalf of my brother Joey and all of you in the carceral system who have lost a sibling. I have been given another “life sentence” — one without my brother. This is my “new life.” Who am I if I am not a sister? Who are you without your sibling? I miss my brother every day and wish I could tell my brother all that I’ve been doing since we last spoke, but I cannot.

We will not get over our grief; we will get through our grief. The grief becomes a part of who we are. The world may not acknowledge sibling grief, but I see you, I hear you, I acknowledge you.

In loving memory of all our siblings, Patty Ouska