Little Big Brother
My brother Jeremiah lived a dangerous life and my family could not save him. His addictions led him to a hard life on the streets. He struggled for so many years to get clean, to stay clean. His pattern of street-to-jail, jail-to-sober living, sober living-to-street was the continuous cycle he was accustomed to.
On March 1, 2020 Jeremiah, 37, lived his last day on the street. We will never know who he talked to, where he went or where his mind was that final day. Our family will have lived our normal lives, not even knowing he was dead, for the next 30 days. Dead. Such an ugly word. I hate that word.
What we do know. On the early morning of March 1, Jeremiah walked along Highway 110 in the number 1 lane in Los Angeles. He was hit by a car that was traveling 64 miles per hour. The impact of that hit took my brothers life instantly. He died of head trauma.
The driver of the car and his 3 passengers pulled over and called the CHP. My brother was pronounced dead at the scene. His body was identified by his prints, which revealed a criminal history of drugs, alcohol and mental health issues. His case file was sent to another department to find and contact next of kin.
During the month of March my family lived our normal day to day lives, not knowing Jeremiah had died. My mom knew something was wrong, she just had a “bad feeling”. She called the different counties he was known to frequent to find out if he had been arrested. She called the LAPD, the representative she spoke with checked with the Los Angeles coroners office and gave my mom hopeful news, by confirming he was not there. She continued her search and on March 31, my mom filed a missing persons case in Santa Clara County.
On April 1 at about 10:00 a.m. my mom received a call from Investigator Kato who gave her the worst news of her life. Her youngest child, Jeremiah, was gone. I received the call from my Grandma at 10:14.
It’s a call I was afraid I knew would happen, but at the same time it was a call that I was NOT ready for.
It’s so difficult looking back at his baby pictures now, with such innocence and a huge smile. The boy in the photo had so much potential, so much life to live. Knowing now the road he would travel and how it would end is to much to bear.
When you lose someone, it’s almost like every bad thing that person did disappears, and all you see is good. I never got to know my brother as an adult. His addictions led him to a life of homelessness at the age of 16.
He had addictions, mental illness and he had pain. This is the hard truth. I mourn and grieve for the life he never got to live; I guess it also grieves me to think of the life he did live.
I wish I had something to hold on to. One good memory of him.
I know there is a good memory buried somewhere, but I honestly can’t even think of one. I know I loved him. I tried to help him, but he wasn’t ready to change his life and I refused to enable him.
When he would call me, fresh off a jail term — clear headed. I would try my best to encourage him. Even the few times he would call when his mind was clouded with drugs, I would be so angry with him. “Why do you live this way Jeremiah! When are you going to get tired of living this way!?”
On our good calls, I remember answering the phone saying “Don’t ask me for money”, he would laugh it off and ask about the family, but I knew he wanted to ask me for money! After catching him up on family stuff, I would tease him, “You want to ask me for money huh… don’t do it Jerry, don’t do it.” Before we’d say goodbye he’d always say, “I love you Charity, God bless you.” I would always end my conversation by telling him, “Stay safe my little big brother.” Although he was my little brother, he was a big guy.
I guess that’s my memory of him. I guess I want more.
But that’s all I have.
Rest in peace Jeremiah. You are finally clean with no more clouded thoughts. I picture you with Grandma Lupe and Grandma Gloria.
I picture you happy — no more hurt and no more pain.
I love you my little big brother.
