A few times a year
I’m starting to write this post several weeks before I will post it. Partly because I’m already thinking about it before it gets here. And partly because…I really have to think. Hard. About what needs to be said on this day.
6 years ago today, my brother died. For those who don’t know, he was 12. It was horrific. For those who do know, thank you for reading this anyway and allowing me to continue the intricate process of healing.
I wrote about it with more detail than I can now recall here…(that entry is NOT for the faint of heart) and filled a few entries with the The things I wrote then… shortly after the event. I knew the memories would fade, and I knew I needed to remember long after I was able. And recording things was…so important. I’m glad I did. And then there are tidbits like this:
“Better”
The funeral was last night.
I made it without crying until my mom made the kids put roses in the casket and say our own goodbyes.
The service itself was amazing.
Everyone actually feels better. It’s weird, but it contained all the closure that funerals are supposed to have. Probably because it’s all over now, and we can get on with learning how to live again. But seriously…I think everyone feels better on some level.
The funeral home did a terrible job with his face…the make up was unbearable. I thought about complaining, but then I realized…it was actually better that way because it just drove home the point that THAT wasn’t Alan. Just his body. Alan would never look like that, and it helped especially with all the kids.
I’ve never seen so many kids at a funeral. It seems like the whole neighborhood came. All the kids alan played with. And all the family, of course. Kids from church and from school groups….They had a chance to say something during the service too, and that was really neat. To hear what the other kids thought of Alan.Yeah. I feel better. The hurt and confusion is still there, of course. But I feel free to move on and learn how to deal with it. I don’t have to keep hugging people and pretending I care about their sympathy. I don’t have to feel on edge, or like I have to meet people’s expectations.
There is healing. Now it can come.
There are two kinds of deaths, I’ve discovered. One is slower, a process, almost a natural course of events. Even if it’s only weeks, when you have warning, it feels different. The other is the sudden death. The only way I can describe an unexpected death is “traumatic.”
When my grandfather died, 4 years ago, we knew it was coming. It was relatively fast, but we had a few months warning. Time to put things in perspective, and process ahead of time the ramifications of a world without him.
With my brother…one moment the world was normal. The next moment, the ground was gone.
It has taken years, and is still being processed…what it means that he isn’t here anymore.
I never cried before that day. In my teen and adult years, tears just weren’t a part of my repertoire, and I could probably count on my hands the time I’d cried. I was stoic. Not given to emotion. Not interested in displays or drama.
That changed in seconds though.
If I ever took up acting, I would be able to do crying scenes like nobodies business. You know how they say “Think of your childhood pet, when you’re dog died” etc or something sad and you can cry? Really, all I have to think about is one moment, one aspect of that day, one little emotion I felt then or since, and I can command a waterworks. I feel it in my chest, the heaviness, the suffocation, and tears well up instantly.
I hate that.
“There is healing. Now it can come.”
I wrote that six years ago. At the time, the concept of being a whole person again seemed impossible, but I knew people did it.
I think I understand now, a little better…the healing does come. But it isn’t complete, and likely won’t be until…well…heaven.
A few times a year…today, his birthday, christmas, etc. these thoughts surface from the deep of my consciousness and the light shines brighter on these things I really don’t want to think about and emotions I want to forget, and feelings I would prefer not to feel.
And I think about the other people thinking the exact same things, like my mom, or my brothers, or my dad…and I know they’re dealing with it the best way they can too.