Originally posted on January 27, 2009 - Tuesday
Current mood: artistic
Category: Life
I cried a lot
today. Even now, I love him so much that it’s difficult to bear sometimes. When
you truly love someone, it doesn’t matter how long their absence, there’s always
a hole in your heart that can never be fully mended. It’s an emotional battle
scar that continues to act up when a reminder, or memory, suddenly pops into
your head. It’s kinda like that tricky knee that gets stiff when it’s about to
rain or get cold. Your lost love is always ‘there’ no matter how much you try to
suppress it. This past weekend included my oldest brother’s birthday whom we
lost several years ago, it still feels like yesterday though. My sister somberly
reminded me of that while working feverishly hard this past early Saturday
morning (she works from home and is ALWAYS working). We weren’t in the same room
when she reminded me; she was in her office and I was in my bedroom. When both
doors are open, we can have a pretty decent conversation through the hall. So, I
stole my moment of quiet sadness and let the waterworks gush forward for a
minute or so. You should know that I’m typing through my tears this very moment
but it’s important that I get this written (eventually). My whole family deals
with his absence in different ways but always in a conventionally sad way I
suppose. At work today, I blamed severe allergies and the awful weather for my
vividly red eyes. This past weekend, I really wanted to describe how absolutely
amazing he was but I couldn’t get through two lines without breaking down. I
won’t try today either because there are too many beautiful things to cram into
a single entry, too many to even put into words. I’ll do my best to record a
light view however. Originally, I’d intended to have a time-stamped
memorial entry on his actual birthday but I can’t do that yet, it’s still too
hard. Regular holidays and anniversaries are hard enough to deal with without
him. One day I hope to be strong enough to memorialize his memory on his actual
birth date. But not today. As I’m sure I’ve mentioned before, there are four of
us kids in our immediate family; two born in January (my two oldest
brothers) and two born in July (my sister and I). I guess my parents
were partial to months beginning with “J.” When someone asks me today how
many kids there are in our family, I always say four. He will never be truly
past tense to me, I don’t think it would ever be possible for any of us
to think of him that way. My brothers are less than a year apart in age and I’m
a year and 24 days older than sis. Aside from our physical similarities, my
oldest brother and I were always considered the boy-girl “twin” sibling
equivalent. He and I look most like my mom, my brother and sister look more like
my dad’s side of the family. My feelings about him are no more significant than
those of my siblings, and to a greater extent my mother, but since he’s been
gone, there’s always something asymmetrically off-kilter about my existence. I’m
sure that feeling would be multiplied by a million compared to how my brother
feels. After all, I still have “my girl twin” to look to for love and guidance
everyday, he doesn’t. I’m not sure how to explain it really, but that doesn’t
make it any less real. You know, it doesn’t matter how much time passes, my love
for my oldest brother never gets any less significant. Every time I think about
him not being here, it still feels like somebody punched me in the
chest with all of their might. I wonder what he would think of the woman I’ve
become. I’m pretty sure he’d be very proud of me, he always was. I’m sure proud
of him and so grateful to have known him. It’s really quite inexplicable, this
feeling. Time makes it easier to deal with, but never erases one measure of the
hurt. In a twisted kind of way, that’s good. That pain always reminds you of
their presence which I wouldn’t ever want to go away. I see pictures of my
brothers as children and would swear on a stack of bibles 10 miles high, that
they were the two cutest little boys I’d ever seen in my entire life. They still
hold that record. They were absolutely gorgeous young men too but I love the
pictures of them as little boys. My dad took all of us camping and fishing a lot
(we had the flyest outdoor gear too). Several of their camping trips were before
sis and I were born but we camped a lot too. My very favorite pictures of them
are the ones of the two little ashy-black boys (in two beautifully different
ebony shades) in the water at Garner State Park without a care in the world. My
mother said they stayed in the water so much that there were gray in color by
the time that got out at the end of the day. Their extraordinarily handsome sons
look so much like them but I don’t think they’d mind if I state that there
couldn’t be any little boy in creation that could be as cute as they were. Not
even the fly young men my sister and I will be blessed to have some day will
compare. I realize I MIGHT be a little biased about that though. Actually, sis
and I were never even supposed to “be.” After my two brothers, my mother was
pregnant with twin boys. She miscarried on a camping trip when she was pretty
far along in her pregnancy. While inside our camper, one of the boys actually
fell out of her onto the camper floor. My daddy rushed her to the hospital where
she delivered the other one, stillborn. She had the misfortune of seeing them
both and knew that one was lighter in color than the other, just like my two
brothers. I think my mother first told me about them when I was in junior high
or high school. As you can imagine, I was terribly sad for her when I realized
what that loss must have felt like for her. Then, I started to realize that had
they been born, my sister and I likely wouldn’t have. I think mere
seconds after that realization, the next words out of my mouth to my mother was
“Peace Twins!” as a kissed my two
fingers and threw them in the air. When I blurted that out, she was a little
shocked at first but quickly forgave me and even giggled a little. She knew that
the two little girls she had afterwards, were then ones she was always
meant to have. My brother’s loss breaks my heart the most when I think of
how my mother feels. She’s always called us her “Four Pieces of Gold” and
loves us all so much. And though she is a wonderfully loving, unique and
outstanding mother, she was never the same after losing him. I can’t imagine she
ever will be. Sadly, that’s her cross to bear for her entire life. I hurt for
myself and my entire family, but mostly for her. I have to confess
that my heart gets heavier with each word typed, so I’d better end soon,
otherwise my heavy heart will drop out of my chest with sadness and pride. I
feel sadness for our Earthly loss and pride for what
was and is. Hopefully, this is a fitting tribute to my wonderful brother and
fabulous family alike. My family, a perplexing mix of
originality, determination and warrior spirit. My father, the fearless rebel
maverick. My mother, the lovingly unique nature child. My oldest brother, the
sweetly quiet poet. My older brother, the powerfully paternal protector. My
little sister, the bravely maternal angel. And me, the grateful loyalist, the
staunch defender of what is and will be, the lover of all my family blessings. I
am the literary keeper of our strong family legacy. I am an astonished admirer
of my origin. I am humbled. I am loved. I am blessed. I am me.
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