That said—come on in and take a
seat. Or stand. Or curl up in a ball and sob. Pick one. You’re here for life so
you might as well get comfy.
The story that got each one of us
here began the same way: Death locked your brother in his crosshairs and ripped
him away from you. Now here you are-- stuck in this stupid unspoken society
with the rest of us. None of us want to be here and yet we’re all so thankful
for each other.
There is no welcome committee
here—only hearts that will bleed with you and understand your pain. Although each
of us feels the pain uniquely, we understand grief waxes and wanes. We know the
grief cycle like the back of our hands and the sickening amount of emotion it
brings. We literally feel your pain.
We won’t lie to you and tell you
time will make this better. It won’t. You’re going to learn how to ride the
grief waves like a champ though, I promise you that. We’ll be here when the
undertow sucks you down and you need help resurfacing.
We look at you with understanding
but not pity. The majority of us HATE that pity stare we get from those who
haven’t experienced this kind of loss before. You learn to fake a half smile
and nod as a thank you for their acknowledgement of your loss. Don’t be upset
by it—it’s not their fault they pity you. They want to help and empathize but they
can’t imagine what you’re feeling. Be thankful they don’t understand. We would
never wish this kind of grief on anyone.
You’re going to deal with your
grief in an untold amount of ways. Don’t fool yourself—the majority of your
choices over the next while will be fueled by a broken heart. Most of us will
tell you not to make any rash decisions during the first couple of years after his
death.. but we also know that’s easier said than done.
You’re going to lash out, torch
bridges, end relationships and make horrendous decisions because you’re wracked
with grief. I wish I knew how to tell you to avoid this part but.. I did all of
those things. I’m not sure I’d do them
differently if I – GOD FORBID—had to go back and do it all over again. It’s how
I chose to cope.
You’ll pick your own poison, your
own coping method.
At some point you’ll think you’ve
got a handle on one stage of grief and you’ll be ripped back to the beginning.
This is normal. I wish someone had told me that. I’ve run through the stages many
times—some days all before breakfast.
He was almost five years older than
me so he quite literally would pick me up when I fell. He was there when I
learned how to walk. He waited with me at the bus stop. We took piano lessons
together. He found me on the playground and risked looking uncool in front of
his friends just to check on with his little sister. He played dolls with me
(sorry for disclosing that, bro!). We annoyed each other like only a brother
and sister know how to do. He made me believe I deserved so much better than
the first boy that broke my heart. When I was a teenager he’d come pick me up
no matter what time of the day or night I called. He played songs for me on his
guitar. He loved my babies with the fierceness that only an uncle would
understand.
He loved me unconditionally. He
was always on my side even when I was wrong.
You’ll jam earbuds in your ears
and run for miles and miles thinking you can outrun some of this pain -- even
for a few moments. (Spoiler alert: You can’t.)
You’ll become fascinated with
death.
You’ll feel like your heart was
ripped out and put in a washing machine indefinitely.
You’ll develop a dark sense of
humor.
You’ll relive that autumn night
over and over-- the leaves crunching under your feet, the lights and sirens of
the ambulance, the medics that held your hair as you violently threw up from shock.
It was the definitive event that defines your “before” and “after.”
I’ve been at this over seven
years—I feel like I know a thing or two about a thing or two when it comes to
grief. I can feel it coming on most of the time now. Like an aura before a migraine
I’ve learned when I need to brace myself for the inevitable wave crashing down
on me and choose a route to channel it
before it channels me.
Believe you me, that beast will
body slam you into next week if you don’t find some way to keep it in check.
Find at least ONE person you can
go to—your No Matter What person. They’re someone who loves you unconditionally
and has seen you at your very worst. They know when to sit with you and simply be. They know you need to feel the
heartache but will keep you from getting sucked into the grief abyss. They know
they can’t get you out of a tailspin but they know how give you the strength to
get yourself out.
You’ll find strength in yourself that
you never would’ve dreamt existed. It
was born from necessity. No one can pull you out of the dark headspace you’ll
get stuck in—you’ll do it yourself. This
is going to make you or break you. For his sake.. let it make you strong. He
wouldn’t want it to destroy you.
You’ll find yourself saying “my
brother” instead of his name. It becomes
sacred. Invoking his name has such an effect on you—as if saying it will cause
your heartbreak to materialize in front of you.
Accept this: the pain is forever.
It’s part of you, just like he is. Where there is pain there is evidence of
love. Don’t hide the pain or run from it.
One of the most devastating parts
of this loss is the horror of thinking he’ll be forgotten. Keep his memory
alive. You can and should do that. Talk about him when you feel like it, write
about him, do things that would make him proud.
To adjourn this meeting I want to
remind you he’s very much alive in our minds. We’re here for you.
He loves you. Still. He’s part of you and he’ll always be with you.
