It has been one year since I lost my brother. 365 days and it seems to be getting harder instead of easier. Social media only ever shows the good, but I’m going to share the bad. The real, raw feelings I’ve been struggling with for the last year. Because I think people need a reminder that it’s okay to not be okay. And if anything comes out of my brothers death, I’d love nothing more than to help other people who are going through a traumatic experience in the same way I am. And social media, believe it or not, isn’t just for wishing Becky a happy birthday, or posting your meals, but it’s a platform to reach other people.
Every day is a different type of struggle. Some days easier than others. Most days though, my thoughts consume me. No matter how hard I try and busy myself, no matter where I am, these thoughts prevail. I may be running on the treadmill, or opening up the refrigerator door, and BAM there it is- it hits me like a ton of bricks, hard enough to knock the wind out of me- An unprovoked flashback of the minutes that I watched him die. I see his eyes. All the time, I see his eyes in that moment. Right before they went lifeless. That is a heavy, heavy memory for me to carry around. Sometimes this flashback seems so real that it still makes me cry. Couple this with the daily feelings of guilt and regret that I chose not to speak to him for a few years because of the lifestyle he was living. If only I knew there was a timeframe. I’d give anything to get those years back, and talk to him. Because now time goes by, and I can’t talk to him, but this time, it’s not by choice.
And I’ve dealt with it all for a whole year now. And truthfully, I haven’t always dealt with it in a healthy way. My biggest strategy is keeping myself busy with school work, or friends, anything I can do to avoid bringing up feelings. To occupy my mind. But it really bites me in the ass when the feelings pile up, and have to get out and I misdirect my anger at some poor soul who got caught in the crossfire. And I’m aware that I’m not always alright. I’m not always the happy, outgoing, funny person most people know me to be. Some days I’m sad. And I don’t feel like smiling just because it’s other people’s expectations. Some days, I have breakdowns. And that’s ok, because I learned that I need to allow myself to feel sad. And I need to give myself some credit. I’ve learned at such a young age, to live with such a heavy burden. That it’s ok to keep going.
Before he died, we spent so much time together. He told me he wouldn’t want me to be sad. He told me how proud he was of me, and how impressed he was at my knowledge and all I’ve learned in school. He mended our previously tarnished relationship by telling me he understood why I didn’t talk to him for a few years, and how sorry he was for the things he had done, but that he never gave up on me. He made me laugh again. He made me feel important to him again. I had thoughts of a future relationship with him, spending holidays together again, and hanging out with him because I wanted to! Because he had so quickly become my best friend again! I hated the days I couldn’t be at the hospital with him, because I missed him. But he reminded me often to go have fun. Instead of visiting him, some days he made me go to the beach, he once made me go to a concert that my friends were going to, even though I didn’t want to because I didn’t want to be far from him. He told me over and over to make sure I spent time enjoying myself, because I had been doing so much for him. So Johnny, I’ll never move on from this hurt, and there will always be that feeling that something is missing. My gut will always feel knotted when I remember that awful moment. But I will happily take with me some other, very special memories. Little by little, I will pick up the pieces, and keep going like you wanted me to, but I’ve learned not to rush. There is no timeline for grief. There is no way to simply “get over” a death. I can only hope that I am making you proud, and following all the advice you gave me, about Kerri, about mom and dad, about my own life (however I’m sorry I didn’t quit PTA school to become a nurse. That advice is impossible, as you know I don’t do needles. But thank you for being my first PT patient). I miss you, everyday. And I will love you, always.
Love, your sister.
A Sibling Estranged 