Corrections Facility Nurse Works Through Loss of Twin
“The line between life and death is narrow and dark, and a bereaved twin lives closer to it than most.” ― Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale
By Luke Schmaltz, VOICES Newsletter Editor
Natalie Patricio took two months off from work after her twin brother, Nelson, died. When it was time to return, she wasn’t sure if she could manage the pressures of being a nurse in a Massachusetts correctional facility. Her brother’s death turned her world upside down and her heart inside out.
“It’s only been a year and nine months,” Patricio begins. “He passed away on June 30, 2022. We were very close. I never drank and Nelson did, but that didn’t matter, we still had the bond. I didn’t think he was going to pass away from drinking, so it was very shocking. I didn’t know how sick he really was. He had end-stage liver failure and then his kidneys started to go.”
“He had recently moved away, so I wasn’t seeing him every day, and therefore not seeing the progression of the disease. I saw him six months before he passed away. I thought he looked like hell, but I didn’t think he had only six months left to live.”
Shock and Stigma
During the first wave of grief, Patricio was completely lost in a fog. “I was in a different world – I had never lived a day without him. I couldn’t believe that the sun was still rising, and the birds were still chirping because my world had ended. It was really bad at first. If I didn’t have to walk my dog, I would not have left my house, gone outside, seen the light of day, or even gotten out of bed. I felt like I couldn’t breathe, every single breath hurt.”
Since her brother’s death, Patricio has encountered a dismissive attitude toward grief. “When I tell people Nelson had recently moved out of state before he died, they say, ‘Oh, so you were already used to him not being here physically.’ And I say, ‘No, he could have lived on the moon or in another galaxy and we would still be close.’ It’s so infuriating. If I live to be 100 and it’s 60 years from the loss, it still will not have been enough time.”
Finding Support
In October 2022, Patricio attended SADOD’s first annual conference, Finding Hope in Grief, just three months after Nelson died. “I found out about the conference because I had just started going to a grief support group hosted by The Sun Will Rise. Then, I found a sibling-loss-specific meeting at a sober house in Wrentham.”
“Going to meetings was hard. I didn’t even know if I could talk – if I could barely choke the words out – but I did. I had people come up to me at the end of the meeting and say, ‘It’s amazing that you’re here, and you’re able to speak, and you’re so strong.’ I said, ‘Thank you but I haven’t been out of my house in weeks, and I am barely functioning. It took a lot to get myself to drive here for this meeting.’”
The Power of Words
“On the one-year anniversary of Nelson’s passing, I had a few of his best friends come to my house for a cookout,” Patricio explains. “It was just six or seven of us, but I wrote a remembrance which I read for the group:”
“Nelson was impossible to miss, with stunning blue eyes, a deep, distinctive voice, and a booming laugh. He was charming and magnetic – drawing you in. He was a jokester, a prankster, and a real daredevil. Nelson was a ‘take no shit and give no fucks’ type of person living only by his own rules. He was great with his hands, having the ability to build or repair anything. Creative and artistic, he could draw, paint, and craft all he imagined. Nelson had many talents and there was not a single thing he attempted that he did not do well. He was a no-frills kind of guy, most enjoying the simple things in life, including cooking on the grill and listening to Pink Floyd with the fire going outside. He had a green thumb, and all he planted would soon flourish. He appreciated nature, especially the oceans and mountains. Nelson was fierce, strong, fearless – a survivor. He was a force to be reckoned with, a man that did not back down. Nelson was tough as nails, but also had a softer side. At times, being tenderhearted and even philosophical. He loved and was proud of being a twin, telling anyone who would listen about ‘My twin sis, Nat.’ Nelson’s light shone bright, I miss and remember him each day, loving him always.”
Patricio reflects on the process of writing about her brother and the therapeutic value of getting raw feelings down on paper. “I wrote it, and then I practiced it a couple of times to prepare myself emotionally. Then, when the people were actually here, I read it to them and I mostly held it together. I got stronger each time I looked at it, read it, and faced it. Any type of writing can help. I wrote about Nelson finally being free, and that helped me deal with it. I love writing things where I describe him, especially to people who know him.”
One Step at a Time
Looking back on her grief journey, Patricio recalls the difficulty of simply getting from one moment to the next while mired in the initial fog of grief. “At first, I was so weak. It took all my strength to simply take a quick shower. But once I started going to meetings and talking to other people – that ended up being my lifeline. I met someone at the most recent SADOD conference who recently lost her brother. I said, ‘Listen, I know I might sound crazy, but you must go to a grief support meeting. We exchanged numbers and after a couple of months I got her to go to the sibling loss meeting.”
Patricio returned to work with trepidation, but she was reassured by a sign she attributes to her brother. “I had already been working at the prison for a couple of summers, and I had never seen sunflowers in the outdoor area between security and the main prison walls. The first day I went back, which was in the last week of August, I checked in through security and walked through the door and there were a bunch of huge, six-foot-tall sunflowers near the walkway just like the ones Nelson used to grow. I lost my breath for a second, and I felt like it was him, saying, ‘It’s OK , you can do this.’ I worked my shift that day, and I’m still there.”
Teaching by Connecting
Patricio places the onus upon people with lived experience to help others understand the nuances of substance use disorder and mental health issues. This is especially true when one frequently encounters people who dismiss these complex problems with stigmatizing attitudes. “A person is so much more than their addiction,” she explains. “Some people don’t understand that this is a disease. Nobody wants to be an addict, just like nobody wants cancer. A couple of months ago, there was a young, incarcerated man who was going to be released. He was in the on-site recovery program. I was seeing him for treatment and, as always, there was a corrections officer in attendance.
The inmate mentioned that he was in recovery, he was being released, and he was never coming back. I said, ‘OK that’s great, good for you.’ Although we are not supposed to talk about our personal lives, we can bend the rules a little bit. I said, ‘I’m going to tell you something, you matter to somebody, you probably matter to a lot of people. I lost someone to substance use, it wasn’t that long ago, it was my twin brother.’ He said, ‘I have a sister and I am really close with her.’ I said, ‘Please remember meeting me. You don’t want your sister to one day be saying she lost her brother. You matter to her, you’re worth something, and try to remember that.’”
“When I got in my car after my shift that day, I really hoped that the young man about to be released would remember what I said. It gave me hope that maybe I helped by telling him what happened to my brother, that he matters, and that he can move forward with his recovery.”
A Message Resonates
“The officer in attendance heard all of it and I was glad he did, because earlier in the appointment, when the young man said he was in recovery, the officer said, ‘Well, you shouldn’t have started doing shit in the first place.’ He was nasty about it and that pissed me off. But, when the officer heard my story about losing my twin brother to addiction, his whole attitude changed, and I know he regretted what he said.”
“I also hope that the officer thinks twice the next time he is talking to someone in recovery because he was so callous. I know what I said resonated with him too. It was hard to say, my voice was cracking, but I was strong, and I did it. I also attribute that to my brother because he was the tough one. I was always quieter but since he has been gone, he is speaking through me. I am standing up for myself, I have a voice, and I have this new power that I never had before.”