It's been two years since my brother died. Well, the actual anniversary was June 19th. We call that whole week "hell week" in my family because Father's Day (the day he died in 2011), the 19th (the actual day he died) and his birthday (the 25th) all happen within a week. On one hand, it's nice that we get it all over with at once but it makes for a pretty heavy time emotionally.
Gearing up to that week, I felt more than I have in the last two years. I think I've finally resolved the anger part of grieving and moved into sadness. The finality is also hitting me hard this year. The fact that I've had so much life transpire since that time that my brother never saw just escapes my ability to comprehend. He never met Milo. He never really met Cameron beyond a drive by hello once. Another thing I find myself fixated on is that he was cremated, thus no part of him physically exists anymore. I find myself thinking about the same details: his nose, his mouth, his teeth, his saggy jeans on his butt, and when his hair was long and would get the back of his shirt wet after a shower. The weirdest little details. And then I challenge my brain to comprehend that those things are no more. I think it would have been marginally easier for me if I knew that his body was in a grave somewhere; even with the understanding that it would be decomposing. At least it would help my brain process "death" with the comprehension that the body still exists, just the soul is gone. The fact that no physical part of him exists any longer is just more than my mind can wrap it's arms around.
There is also a shift in reality for me in that I'm going from the "Yeah, my brother just died" phase to the "My brother died a long time ago" chapter. I think about how that is wrapped up in who I am now. My kids will tell their friends our scandalous family secret when they're older. I think of what I would have said as a child; elaborating the story to make it as interesting as possible. I guess I just imagine what other people would say about me, "Her brother died of an over-dose when she was 27. Her kids never really had an uncle. She grew close to her in-laws, and had close cousins but isn't it sad that she has no remaining siblings?" Maybe no one says that, but it's just a weird processing thing my brain does.
There is also the severe isolation that the span of time creates when you're dealing with loss. I feel like I don't want to burden anyone with my feelings. There is nothing they can say that hasn't already been said, and it would just make them worry about me - or worse, uncomfortable. I come from a mother who is very in-your-face with her emotions; very "I'm sad. I'm going to cry. My son died, and I am going to cry if I feel like it, and you can't stop me." Her style of handling emotions has had a huge impact on my own emotional processing. I know that it's the reason I don't want to burden others with my feelings, because I grew up feeling burdened by hers. That worried, out-of-control feeling of knowing that someone you love is hurting and not knowing how to fix it. Ugh, it's the worst feeling in the world for me. I would never want to risk making someone else feel that way, which makes for a very trapped grieving process. I get so good at compartmentalizing my feelings as to not raise any red flags that it becomes impossible for me to tear down those walls and open up. Even the thought of talking to a counselor repels me emotionally. Driving is a common time for me to get sad about Tom because it's one of the only times I'm ever alone and just thinking. I have all this yuck feeling inside of me - this heaviness - and I just feel sad about my brother. And I think, "Maybe I should tell someone, and get it out?". Then I start thinking of what that process will look like, I imagine starting off the conversation light-hearted, "Hey! How are you? Oh good, good. Just got off work. Yeah, kids are great. How's blah-blah-blah? So anyway, I'm really sad about my brother." How awkward is that? Or I start thinking, they are just going to say "I'm sorry, Jenni. You have a right to be sad. It hasn't been that long, it's okay to feel this way. Maybe you should talk to someone?" And then I imagine the discomfort I will feel when they run out of things to tell me to fix it. I'll immediately over-compensate and assure them I feel better, thank them for the great advice and let them off the hook for this horrific conversation.
It really feels like I am on my own with this one. No one understands how I feel. Not even my mom. She lost a child, but she still has a child. She is still a mother. I lost my only brother, I am no longer a sister. That identity has been taken from me.
Add to that the child's burden of dealing with the grief of their parents. I know for certain I'm not alone in this. I've read about sibling loss and "dealing with your parents grief" right up there with, "dealing with the fact you don't have your parents to support you through this". It's such a unique situation where the people that would normally help you through something so traumatic, simply aren't there. They are unavailable. Spiraling in their own grief cycle.
I called my Mom a couple Fridays ago, and she was obviously drinking. My mom is an alcoholic. I debated whether or not to put that on my blog, but I don't see the benefit in keeping it a secret. I "outed" my Mom's drinking habit as a teenager after years of watching her change from my loving mom to someone else, someone who was mean and lied and made shitty decisions. I promised myself that I would never let anyone pull me down with them emotionally like that, ever again. I had exhausted my "dealing with addiction" account around age 16; which is a huge reason my brother didn't get the benefit of any sympathy from me. I was all used up, tired of that story. I have a family full of addicts; it's exhausting.
So this isn't any kind of post that can wrap up with a nice little resolution. I'm still trying to navigate my feelings that I've effectively buried deep. A good friend of mine recommended an awesome book called, "Everything you do is everything you are." and it's basically a soul workbook. You draw pictures and answer questions, write letters to yourself and others - it's super hippy and I love it. I've been trying to do artsy creative stuff. I'm baking again. I'm trying to talk about my feelings to people I trust. I've taken a step back from anything and anyone that doesn't perpetuate peace in my life. I'm trying to focus on my strong core - Jesus, my husband, my kids. Everything else is just details.
As always, my favorite quotes that get me through everything:
I crossed the street to walk in the sunshine.
I've woven a parachute out of everything broken.
