Sad Novembers

Today is my brother’s birthday. He turns 38. It's his sixth year in prison.

Isaac, age 3 or 4. I love this photo because THIS is how I see my brother (despite the photo, he hardly ever cried. He was a happy kid).

Before Isaac’s incarceration, November was the month when work slowed down, and I’d look forward to going on a trip or returning home to see my folks.

But after my brother’s imprisonment, my anticipatory feelings about November changed. It’s now a month marked with a kind of sadness and gloom. I call it Sad November.

These feelings don’t surface until I notice October transitioning into November. Then, I’m suddenly reminded that my brother will spend another birthday, Thanksgiving, and Christmas alone in his cell.

Pre-incarceration, I hardly ever saw my brother during the holidays. With each Thanksgiving and Christmas without him, I often wondered where he was and what he was doing. He was always on the move, shacking up with friends I didn’t know, chasing the next get-rich scheme, and eventually, running from the law or himself.

This is the last photo of Thanksgiving (2016) with my brother. My parents and brother drove from L.A. to my sister’s in Oakland. It was a rare occasion when we were together as one big *cough dysfunctional* family.

Since his incarceration, my brother has done the same thing every year—watching the Macy’s Day Parade on the little TV I bought for him, bundled up in extra layers to stay warm.

But while he lays there, I want to know… what does he think about on his birthday? Does he feel extra emotional? Or is November just another month to mentally mark off the calendar until he gets out?

Even if I asked him these questions, I probably wouldn’t get a straight answer. (Frustrating, to say the least.)

Six Novembers have gone by, and for me, every year I experience the same thing. If I had to sum it up, it’s feeling totally… blah.

But this year, I’m beginning to see these Sad Novembers as something I can change. Similar to other aspects of my life that give me anxiety or stress, I realized this was my brain trying to keep me safe.

I do this a lot.

• The dresser where I keep all of my brother’s old letters—I dislike even looking at the bottom drawer filled with envelopes and lined paper. So, that dresser stays tucked away in my closet.

• The prison photo my mom texted to me after she saw her son for the first time in nearly two years. Seeing my brother in a blue prison uniform for the first time made my heart split open. It took months before I could look at that photo more carefully to zoom in on his face.

I could go on and on.

Maybe my avoidance is how I grieve and process something traumatic. But I want to find better ways to cope and heal… and for me, it starts with Sad November.

I have to focus on the good. I know this, yet I don’t do it enough because I’m human and my brain seems to default to the negative. So, I’m changing the narrative because, ultimately, I want to be a better older sister to a brother who needs guidance and love.

So, here’s the new story:

I hope Isaac will change and grow, and maybe the holidays and his birthday will give him more reasons to reflect. Life holds a greater purpose for him and is shaping the life he’s meant to live, even if he can’t see it yet.

Next November, though I know my heart will carry its usual heaviness, I’m determined to embrace this new perspective.

More stories about my bro…

The day my brother was born

Listen: My brother’s first letter from prison

What motivates people to want to change?