Five Years Later

So here I am, five years to the day since I lost my big brother Steve and my good friend Matt. Has my life changed? Yes, much. Have good things happened to me? Yes. Have I grown closer to God through all this? Yes.

Does all that make losing my brother hurt any less? No, no it really doesn’t. God has helped me to bear it, but it really doesn’t hurt any less. I still have intense memories of the moment I learned of his passing and the pain that comes with those memories is choking. It is enough sometimes to make me cry out. I have learned to deal with the pain, but the grief is still intense. I hate that he’s missed so many wonderful things that have happened since then. When my husband proposed and I called my family to let them know I almost started to look for his number in my phone. When I got my wedding pictures back there was something distinctly missing from the pictures and I cried looking at a picture of Bruce and I with my family that just had an obvious empty spot on one side. It looked lopsided and incomplete.  I hate that I can’t share these wonderful moments with him. I know that one day we will have eternity to sing God’s praises together but I still feel the pain of separation now. So many times I think of him when I have good news to share and it makes those moments bittersweet. I miss the little smile he used to give me when we were having a good time doing something and I REALLY miss his hugs and the chuckle he gave when something amused him.

We had this amazing conversation two evenings before I lost him. We discussed things that had happened in our past growing up that we had just never really discussed before. He was hospitalized twice when we were young due to illnesses complicated by his asthma. I remember as a seven year old and again as a nine year old being very scared about losing him (Steve was 9 and 11). I would watch him struggle to breathe and wish I could do something. When you are young and can’t do anything but watch your older sibling in pain, you feel very helpless and almost desperate. It’s been over twenty years since then but I still remember those feelings vividly. Steve was telling me that he didn’t really realize at the time how poorly off he was. He was in pain, but he got through it. He didn’t really have the capacity to worry too much about how things might end, but just faced things and got through it.

Years later when Steve battled cancer he seemed to have the same attitude. I think he felt the cancer was more of a threat to him (and definitely more painful) but I had the impression that all those times I was more worried about his fate then he was. Steve was strong and faced all his treatment like a champ. We also shared some dear memories that night of staying home with our Dad one night when Mike, our younger brother, was in the hospital when he was two. We both gained a lot of each other’s perspective on those and a few other experiences, and even though we were always very close, I feel we grew even closer that evening.

On June 19^th 2008, shortly after Steve was declared to be in remission for cancer and we all breathed a sigh of relief, I lost him anyway. He didn’t have a chance that night, but I know he faced his homegoing head on like the man he was. He was such a rock and confidant to those close to him and always seemed so strong and determined, but he was gone. I was in despair! I had told him only a month before he died that I didn’t know what I’d do without him, and in that instant I learned he was gone I didn’t think I could cope.

The thing about losing someone close to you is that you don’t have a choice but to get through it. People may tell you that you are strong and seem to “able to get through it” but the truth is that you have no control. I had to take one day at a time for weeks. After that it was one week at a time. Everything from that summer is a blur. I did what I had to do to survive and that was about it. I remember a day or two afterwards my aunt made me a sandwich and literally had to make me eat it. I wasn’t really capable of even feeding myself or knowing when I needed to eat. Physical feedback for things like pain and hunger just turn off. Your body literally has to physically deal with the grief to where other things shut down. It’s like the “fight or flight” response, but much worse, and even your ability to remember things shuts down. Sleep only comes when you are so exhausted you have no choice and your body turns off.

The intensity and frequency of those feelings dies down over time but they never seem to go away, and I haven’t forgotten them. I remember feelings, smells, and the last memories of my brother and that event as if they were yesterday, but everything else from that summer is a blank. I also have quite a few gaps from that first year without him. I had watched movies with my husband (boyfriend at the time) that I seem to have forgotten almost completely. Some that I saw again recently, knowing I had seen them before, felt like I was watching them for the first time. G.I. Joe was on TV right before the new one came out and I realized I seriously didn’t remember the plot or anything. It’s a little scary but understandable. I was overcome by grief and simply didn’t have the capacity to log memories that weren’t really that important and even some that kind of were...).

So what do I have now? I still have a family that I love and God has given me the most amazing husband I could ask for. He has been amazingly supportive to me and my family as we have gone through two murder trials and appeals proceedings. My younger brother was married recently, and I look forward to our children growing up close to each other.  I am distinctly aware of what we are missing, as I know Steve wanted nothing more than his own family and I always dreamed of the three of us continuing to be close as adults. But I cling more strongly to my living family, as I know too well how fragile human life is and how quickly our loved ones can be taken from us.

I could continue to ramble on but I will close with this. Psalm 23 has taken on a new meaning for me having traveled the path of loss. One doesn’t really understand the “valley of the shadow of death” until one has been through it. I am assured that my brother is in heaven free from the cares of this world. He is with our Heavenly Father singing praises to Him and I know he finally has peace and is free from the physical and emotional pain he experienced here on earth. I miss him more than words can express but am comforted and my soul restored by the promise that one day I will be reunited with Steve, Matt, and many other loved ones. But most importantly I will also share in communion with my Father and Savior.

Until then, I miss my bro…

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd;

I shall not want.

He makes me to lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside the still waters.

He restores my soul;

He leads me in the paths of righteousness

For His name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil;

For You are with me;

Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

You anoint my head with oil;

My cup runs over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me

All the days of my life;

And I will dwell in the house of the Lord

Forever.

Psalm 30:5

Weeping may remain for a night, but rejoicing comes in the morning.