Dia de los Muertos, the ‘Day of the Dead’ is a Mexican holiday that is celebrated on November 1 and 2, coinciding with All Saints’ Day and All Souls’ Day.  Here in Tucson, the tradition is richly recognized and culminates in an ‘All Souls Procession’ downtown.  Family and friends gather to pray for and remember those who have died and to help support their spiritual journey. Private alters are built honoring the deceased with sugar skulls, marigolds, favorite foods and mementos.  It’s a celebration of life, a joyful occasion of remembrance, in which death is recognized as a part of the natural process of living. 

After seeing a Día de los Muertos exhibit in Tucson recently, I felt inspired to look outside of myself and focus on Austen’s spiritual journey, especially as the one year anniversary of his death is approaching on November 25. So, in the spirit of joyful remembrance and love, I have put together a little alter – ofrenda – of my own, including some of his favorite ‘mementos’. 

Austen Berj Brooks
September 26, 1991 – November 25, 2014

Soccer    Elite    High School    Travel

Competitor

Passion    Strong     A Fighter    Fierce

Mitts, balls and bat stored in his closet.

Intelligent Smart            Savvy

High School Graduation from Grosse Pointe South.

Graduation day from Indiana University.

His watch.

His collection of ‘The Hundreds’ shoes.

His prized backpack.

Love & Peace.

Always up on technology.

Looking cool.

Sarma and cheese boereg were his favorite Armenian delicacies.

Austen and Sam in Tucson.

“I don’t want to just say how it is, I want that flair, that personality, that swagger.  I lived it, I survived it, I got stronger, I fought my way back.  Let’s go.

Ride waves of positivity.  Follow the path in front of you. Be right, do right, good night.”
Austen Berj Brooks, July 9, 2014  

As it gets closer to the one year anniversary of Austen’s death, I find myself in a more peaceful place, more able to deal with the onslaught of welcome and unwelcome memories, knowing that, whatever happens, I won’t have to go through that horrible day again, and the days that followed, ever. I am proud to be Austen Berj Brooks’ Mom and that will never cease. Here is an excerpt from his “Journey Through Sobriety,” written last year:

No one can ever say that I didn’t try.  That I didn’t look for solutions to my problems.  That I didn’t challenge myself and the world every day.  I’m not done.  I am 23.

The goal is not external success.  The goal is internal. Peace and love consciousness.  Victory over fear, depression, anxiety.  Great confidence coupled with awareness and humility.  Not needing things to be happy.  Not needing money.  Positivity, success and belief. Rising above cultural expectations and social norms.  Becoming a real genuine human being and enjoying my life.  Helping other people and understanding myself.  Being in the moment and being connected with the entire universe.  Seeing the truth and not running away from it.  This is what I need to strive for. Everything else will follow.  I am the first domino in the chain.
                                    Austen Berj Brooks, October 31, 2014

Above, Austen at Scholars Inn Café in Bloomington, Indiana,  2011. Below, Austen having a laugh in a shed behind the house he was living in during his junior year.

‘Thumbs Up’

Austen Berj Brooks was born 24 years ago today, September 26, 1991, at 6:57 a.m. He weighed in at a hefty 9 pounds, 8 ounces, was 21 1/2 inches long and had a 14 1/2 inch head.  He was almost one week late and looked like a 3-month old. Fortunately for me, he was my third baby and the delivery was so fast my doctor missed the birth.  That was just like Austen – take your time and then when you finally decide the moment is right, go for it.

Austen was named after one of my favorite authors, Jane Austen. I told him this one day when he and I were sitting on the couch watching the BBC’s version of Pride and Prejudice. He must have been around 4 years old. He looked up at me and said incredulously, “you mean I was named after a girl?,” only he couldn’t pronounce his r’s so ‘girl’ was more like ‘geeil.’ “Well,” I said, Jane’s father was Mr. Austen,” which seemed to pacify him.

Austen’s middle name, ‘Berj’, is an Armenian name which has various meanings depending on the source: superb, sumptuous, luxurious; magnificent, splendid; elegant. When we saw how big he was at birth, we quickly determined that ‘Berj” was a perfect middle name.

Here is what I wrote in “The Austen Journals” shortly after his birth:

Austen has come into the world surrounded by love from his parents, his sister and brother and his grandparents.  I cannot get over the amazement I feel when I look at him — amazement at his very being, his size, his good nature.  I don’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of a third child.  He is not a given, but something given to me as a kind of reward.  I am forever grateful for his being, his conception, the good pregnancy I had, his apparent health and vigor, his beauty, his wantedness.

And today I found a letter my mother wrote to Austen from Longboat Key, Florida, when Austen was 2 months old.  I believe I read this to him when it came in the mail and then I put it away safely in his baby album. At the beginning of the letter my mother presents her ‘resume’ and then expresses her gratitude:

Name:  Roxie Sahakian
Age:  64
Education:  marriage
Experience:  raised 3 daughters
Specialized in:  grandchildren
Courses:  pancakes, gatah (Armenian pastry)
Extra curricular:  loving 7th grandchild, Austen Berj.

How lucky I am to be your grandmother.  How lucky you are to have wonderful parents and siblings.  How lucky we all are to have each other.

As I reflect on all that’s happened, I have concluded that the day Austen was born was one of the best days of my life, a joyous day worthy of the happiest of memories – of all those family celebrations, those children’s parties, gifts, balloons, cakes, candles, birthday dinners in Bloomington, and then in Chicago. I am hopeful that on this day each year I will always feel a serene joy and a profound sense of love and gratitude. How lucky I am to be Austen’s mother.  And as his grandmother wrote, ‘How lucky we all are to have each other’.

Austen’s 11th birthday celebration in 2002 with his maternal grandparents, parents, siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins in Grosse Pointe Park, Michigan.

This week Austen’s brother, Lee Gaizak, started graduate school in Paris at the Panthéon-Sorbonne, also known as ‘Paris 1’. This is a dream come true for Lee. In 2010-2011, Lee was living in Paris and taking French classes at the Sorbonne.  Now he is taking philosophy classes in French and working on a Masters in modern European philosophy. While he was there in 2011, Austen and I traveled to Paris over Austen’s Spring break.

We arrived in Paris on an early morning in March and took a taxi to our hotel in Le Marais, a hip, historic part of Paris on the Right Bank.  As Lee had a morning class, we headed out on foot towards the Sorbonne, in no particular hurry, stopping along the way to take in the breadth of the city.

First morning in Paris.

Espressos at a café on the Place de la Sorbonne.

Meeting up with Lee G, 2011.

Lee G, September 2015.

Austen and Lee G, 2011.

The next few days we walked everywhere, Austen using my iPhone to navigate, seeing the sights, exploring the neighborhoods, eating wonderful meals, where Austen attempted to order in French, much to the delight of the waiters, marveling at the scenery, the history, the culture, the bigness of the world. Photo: A French Mexican restaurant where we celebrated Lee’s 23rd birthday and where we all agreed that the margaritas were very strong.

On this trip, Austen was 19 years old and in his sophomore year at Indiana University. During the previous summer of 2010, Austen had been in a rehab program in Chicago and was getting help for his depression and addiction. But, the ‘problems’ he faced continued to preoccupy him. In a journal entry made during our trip to Paris, which I found after he died, he wrote:

“It’s like an obsession, I’m absolutely preoccupied with my problems, they control and consume me, I can’t free myself from their hold and just be alive and feel freedom.  I’ve tried a lot of things and I always end up in the same spot, even when I’m starting to feel good 10 minutes later I could be right back where I started, it’s hell, I live in hell, nobody could ever understand the frustration of just trying to take in the moment and life and not being able to separate myself from my problems.  A lot of it is the inevitability that I’m going to be fucked up on drugs, that one hurts…it’s corrosive to my soul.  See all I want is to forget all this, and I’m trying to do that, at least while I’m in france, but it is apart of me, it’s a tumor that cannot be removed, I want to do me, without the negativity….I have no choice but to ask for salvation, in this life or the next…”

This is what makes a situation like Austen’s complicated – on the outside things looked fine most of the time. In public and in family situations he presented himself well, was very polite, upbeat and thoughtful.  I think he did enjoy himself in Paris, his natural curiosity finding refuge and perhaps distraction in a new place, a foreign adventure that gave him some sense of limitless possibilities and maybe hope – and maybe more than 10 minutes of feeling alive and free.

Austen in the Tuileries Garden, approached by an African ‘entrepreneur’ who engaged Austen in conversation, placed a woven bracelet on his wrist and then wanted money for it. We declined.

While Lee was in his classes, Austen and I explored Paris, the Left Bank, the Right Bank, mostly on foot, walking along the Seine. We saw the  Eiffel Tower, we viewed the art collections at the Musée d’Orsay, where Austen wanted to see paintings by Vincent Van Gogh.  We saw modern art at the Centre Georges Pompidou, we sat quietly in a pew at Notre-Dame, marveling at the majesty of the stained glass and intricate architectural details, we strolled through Luxembourg Gardens and the Tuileries by the Louvre and we walked by the American Embassy where my Aunt and Austen’s godmother, Anna Der-Vartanian, worked at some point. We talked, we shared observations and thoughts, we took breaks at little cafés and people-watched.

Van Gogh’s Starry Night Over The Rhone at the Musée d’Orsay.

I have asked myself repeatedly why such a beautiful mind and soul should have been so tormented at such a young age.  There is not and will never be a satisfactory answer, but I know he had more than a few moments where he felt good about himself, happy to be alive, free, and able to enjoy life, his family and his friends.

At Lee G’s apartment in Paris. Austen admired his older brother for his passion, intellect and creativity. He would be so proud of what Lee is attempting to accomplish.

Lee G took this photo on our last night in Paris. Austen is wearing the hoodie he picked out at the Paris Uniqlo store. He wore it often and it remained one of his favorites.

As Austen persevered through total sobriety last year, he kept a journal of his development, his hopes, his dreams, his perceived self-growth. He had been through much in his short life, and as sobriety settled in, he was cautious, hopeful, honest and grateful for what he had, for his uniqueness, for his beautiful mind and “a bright future if I stay sober and keep growing.” He urged himself on even as he fought continuous cravings and depression.  This excerpt is taken from his entry on June 8, 2014, three months sober:

     “Controlled passion. Manage the fire. Let it spray when it’s appropriate.  I’ve been down for too long. I’ve risen to the surface now I’m going to reach for the sky.  Existence is going to be everything I thought it could be.  No regrets, learn from your mistakes.  Let the caged beast run free.  Every day, every situation is another chance to grow and shine.  Let your emotions out Austen.  Let them run wild.  Stop criticizing yourself.  Don’t dwell on what you had and lost, think about everything you’ve gained and everything you stand to gain if you stay on this positive road.  Life is a long journey.  The sun will rise and fall for years to come.  I don’t have to have it all figured out today or tomorrow or this year.  I can take my time.  I’m alive, things are happening, I’m sober, there is hope, I am strong and I know I can be an amazing person.  Just be patient and trust the universe. Just know yourself.

     White hot blade slides through my chest, cauterizing as it cuts, the design is at first unfamiliar but with patience a pattern emerges.  The sign of the beast.  The wounds heal instantly.  This one will not go down easy the Gods chuckle. A spear through the heart should put him down but there’s ice in his core and the spear shatters as fast as it was thrown.  The thunder and rain shake the ground as lightening strikes and puddles turn to rivers.  Demons chase him up and down the blood drenched streets.  So many wounded, so many dead, but he keeps running.  As he hits his stride, a full on sprint, everything shifts.  The clouds part, the rain stops, flowers bloom and trees turn every perceivable color.  Reds, yellows, oranges, purples, pinks, yellows.  The variety is jarring, but he’s smiling.  Laughter erupts accompanied by a soft, warm glow that emanates from the center of his being. His wounds are gone as if they never existed at all.  His run turns into a walk.  The skies smile upon this soldier who fought for his freedom.  The first test is complete, congratulations.  This boy is a man.  One day he will fly.”

Austen Berj Brooks, “Journey Through Sobriety,” June 8, 2014.

Photo of Austen that he posted on Facebook on September 15, 2014, taken by a friend in downtown Chicago.

In 2012, when Austen was a junior at Indiana University, I let him use an old Nikon D50 camera with a 28-200 mm lens. He took some photos in Bloomington, which I saw. After he died, I found the camera in his room in Evanston and discovered some photos I had not seen, ones he had taken in late May 2012 from our 13th floor condo balcony and others he had taken on a walk to the lake. Many of the scenes are ones I have photographed myself. I paired some of Austen’s shots from the balcony with excerpts from his “Journey Through Sobriety,” written on June 6, 2014, in which he describes the view from the balcony and his state of mind:

“How beautiful the world is… Moon in the sky, sun setting over the clouds, open water to my left, big metropolis in the distance. Here I am.  The green expanse of the trees spreads off into the distance as far as the eye can see, a lone church chapel sticks up in the distance.  Planes speed off to destinations far away, a train meanders through the urban expanse into the heart of the city and right back out of it.  Here I am.  Thirteenth floor balcony.

                                                                           * * * * * *
To find out that you are a wonderfully complex and ancient being expressing itself through the configuration of a human being. That’s what’s waiting for me.  It can be a lonely journey.  Most people shun the truth, they run from it.  They die on the way to the other side.  I am brave enough to make it.  Stay calm, stay focused, stay in the moment, breathe.  You don’t know what other people are thinking, their judgments are inconsequential.  I am what I am.  It’s not up to them.  It’s up to me and the universe.  * * *  I just want to go full bore into it.  Keep writing until my words become magic and take off.”  Austen Berj Brooks, June 6, 2014 (emphasis added).

The photos below were taken by Austen in May 2012 from our 13th floor balcony.  The first 3 photos provide a panoramic view of Lake Michigan and downtown Chicago. The last photo is a ‘selfie’ by Austen standing on the balcony looking into the window:

Photos taken by Austen Berj Brooks on May 27, 2012, from the thirteenth floor condo balcony.  © 2015 Suzanne Sahakian.