A poem I read today

It's all I have to bring today – This, and my heart beside – This, and my heart, and all the fields – And all the meadows wide – Be sure you count – should I forget Some one the sum could tell – This, and my heart, and all the Bees Which in the Clover dwell. by Emily Dickinson

come home

the past few weeks haven't turned out the way I had planned in my mind. Last Friday my father was admitted to the hospital and has been in the hospital ever since. He is okay, but he needs surgery on Monday. Monday is Dec. 22nd. Three days before Christmas. We don't have a tree, we have no decorations. it's not that I thought it would be much different since my brother died I figured we just wouldn't go through the motions of a "normal" Christmas, however I never thought it would be like this. 

I am not yet done with my christmas shopping and haven't mailed my cards. The motivation is gone and I think I'm just done with the celebration of Christmas that typically happens. I love Christmas for what it originally meant. I love the fact that God's son was born to Mary in a lowly stable in Bethlehem. I love that a star guided shepherds and three kings to kneel at his hay bed. I love that Jesus loves me so much to died on a Roman cross for me. 

I think that many people might find it odd that I haven't turned away from my faith. I actually find it hard to believe myself. After my grandfather died, I never turned my back to God, but I stopped listening. I had to explore. I had to figure things out. I tried yoga, I read about Judaism, I invested in some Kabbalah books and wore a red string. Yet, all roads led me  back to my methodist church. It was the only thing that ever felt right. The only thing that fit. It's like finding the perfect outfit, or like as a child you have a favorite dress that you just can't live without. You wait for it to be washed and dive into the dryer to find it. 

After my brother's death, my pastor told me I could be angry with God, and that it was okay. I think it is okay. It hurts really deep, and I still have moments where I am deeply angry at God--why couldn't he have made my brother take a different road, or stay longer at work that night, or leave earlier. Why couldn't he have had me think to call my brother, and maybe had delayed his drive home. All this longing becomes a weight that bears down upon my lungs and hampers my breathing. 

So I carry on. I try to move forward and make sense out of what I can wrap my head around and leave for later what I cannot. There are so many times when I wish my brother would just come home. How I long to hear his foot steps upon the cellar steps, loud-fast-strong. The sigh in his breath. His insistence on sitting on the right hand side of the couch with his legs out-using the "not broken" tray table. 

and a single tear rolling down my cheek reminds me that what I am writing really did happen. And I am waiting for my father to come home.

solace

This morning was spent at church. A very busy morning indeed at church. At 9:30 I had Sunday school and then the service, which was quite long, and then I had coffee hour. 

During the service we decorated the church. Prior to the beginning of the service the Pastor asked the youth and me to set up the nativity scene, during a certain song in the service. The above picture is Mary. I always find these figurines very interesting. 

Again, today I was approached by a woman who said she has been thinking about me and again said that it must be hard for me because of the holidays. I could tell that she was genuine. She does care, but again isn't quite sure how to approach me. 

My brother stopped attending church after high school. I think partly because he was always going out on Saturday nights and partly because he spent almost a year and a half in Florida. When he was younger and when I was younger we went every week. We were part of Sunday School, plays, visitations and everything else. Most recently, he helped me set up the tables and chairs for the Easter morning breakfast. 

When I was little, Sunday afternoons were spent at my grandmother's house eating egg salad sandwiches and playing cards. As I grew older my brother began spending more and more time with my grandparents--in my place. He and my grandfather were very close. They had a special bond that I think only male relatives can share. My brother was fascinated with everything military and my grandfather loved his enthusiasm. But I stray.

This is the second Sunday in Advent. The candle of peace was lit today. I began reading the grief book again, last night before bed. I cried so hard I couldn't breathe. I read the chapter on Solitude. It is an unfortunate paradox that a person grieving seeks solace in being alone. This chapter called out to me, and reminded me of what exactly I have been doing these last few months. Yes, I have been going out occasionally; to dinner with a friend, to an event with my cousin, but I have not once sought out a friend directly and did something fun. I have watched Season 1-4 of The Office on dvd about two times now, some episodes more than twice. I have watched movies alone, I go shopping alone. Something just feels really right about being alone right now. I think because I hate uttering words that have to do with grief or dying or death or my brother. Its not because it hurts to do so-although it really does. It just seems all too much to say out loud. I feel myself becoming annoyed with people who ask about my brother. Something I show it, and sometimes I don't. Again, it is not directed at the person asking, but at the emotion it makes me feel. 

I am going to go and begin baking my cookies for the cookie-swap at work. I'll post pictures and the recipe. Also, tonight I am going to a lessons and carols service. Hopefully I'll take some cool pictures. 

what dreams may come

This is my new necklace. I've been wearing it for at least two months. I use to wear a simple gold cross that my grandmother bought me. You might think that I've abandoned the cross because I'm questioning my faith because of events in my life. However, I've found that it simply doesn't represent me at this moment in my life. This is a labyrinth pendant, which I bought, in June, at the Annual conference for my church. I bought it from a gentleman from Israel. He was selling a whole bunch of items from Jerusalem and the surrounding area. I picked this up and was instantly drawn to it, for its simplicity. It is silver and on the back has a notation engraved "Chartres Labyrinth Chartres, France"

I feel like I am walking around inside a labyrinth. Its odd though, because I can go days without feeling sad-almost like I'm close to some sort of "normal." Then, one day, I wake up and my chest begins to heave and I feel the weight of the lost all over again, or I am walking through a super market and my whole body becomes flush and I realize my brother's dead. The worst though, honestly, is driving home from work, believing that miraculously my brother didn't die and is at home and this whole thing is a mistake. Throughout the month of August I would drive home from work as fast as I could, somehow believing that he was going to be there. This subsided for a while, but this past week I find myself feeling the same way. 

Christmas is fast approaching. I've been semi-lazy with my shopping. It's a very odd feeling.  A few people have approached me, I'm sure with the best intentions, and said "The holidays must be hard for you, because of what happened." I'm trying to be understanding of people who simply have no clue what to say to me. I understand, if situations were reverse I honestly wouldn't know what to say. But seriously, every single day that I open my eyes and breathe is hard. I hate to be trite, but every breath I take hurts with sadness. So I find before me two choices: to stay in bed, curled in the fetal position, drowning in my tears or to wake up every morning and survive the wicked world.

"The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks 
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation 
Devoutly to be wish'd." Hamlet - Shakespeare

Britney Spears

i'm pretty sure that if i had enough guts i would have shaved my hair off.

with that said I figured the best thing to do would just not cut it off until i stop feeling this way, who knows i might end up with really long hair.

maybe a lot of people think i'm actually okay because i don't cry in public and i don't freak out when i talk about brian, but the thing is: no one has really asked me how i have been doing.

in the last few months i really haven't heard from any of my "friends"...no phone calls, e-mails, letters etc. so how do you think i have been?

it's okay because honestly if i was put in the same situation maybe i would be as cold, but now i know how to act when a friend of mine is slowly sinking

you might say, "well i've never been in that situation before", or " I don't know what to say" or "Should I mention it? Or just ask about the weather?" or "Oh, it's been two months, she must be moving on"

SERIOUSLY


So if you are still reading this, here is what the book I'm reading says about what doesn't help:

"Since the most common complaint among surviving siblings has to do with insensitive remarks, let's begin with what not to say to a bereaved sibling (or any grieving person, for that matter). Topping the list of things to avoid saying are such well-worn expressions as "He's in a better place" and "At least he's not suffering any more." Along the same lines, I recall several people urging me to "Cheer up. Your brother wouldn't want you to feel so sad." (Gee, if you shouldn't feel sad when your brother or sister dies, when should you feel sad?)... Another condolence no-no is to make false promises or statements that on the surface sound very caring and sincere, but are really just fluff. A good example is the ever popular "Call me if you need me." Rest assured, a grieving person will NEVER call you. It's not that they don't need you or want you around because they probably need all the help they can get. The reason "Call me if you need me" never works is because most grieving people simply lack the emotional energy to call and ask for help. Some feel too embarrassed, while others recognize the statements as insincere to begin with. It's probably a better idea to say something like "I'm going to call you tomorrow to see how you're doing." Better yet, decide on a time to visit, and then follow through.... Surviving siblings also cite story topping as another inappropriate but common reaction from others. Story topping is usually intended as a way to commiserate with the bereaved--to try to let the grieving person know you've been there--yet story topping usually has the opposite effect. Unless you've lost a sibling under similar circumstances, it's best to avoid comparing your loss to another's, thus making their loss really about you.....
Similarly, surviving siblings find dismissive condolences unhelpful. A dismissive condolence... is a lot like story topping, only worse. A dismissive condolence appears to be an expression of sympathy, but it usually just diminishes your grief. The most common dismissive condolence, "Your brother/sister died? How awful! How are your parents?" is probably the most difficult to bear because, in most cases, the person offering the "condolence" doesn't even know your parents. The condolence, then, is not really meant for you at all." T.J. Wray from her book "Surviving the Death of a Sibling"

un-used things

I purchased a book on amazon.com using my brother's gift certificate he did not use--was a christmas present.
It's called "Surviving the Death of a Sibling: Living Through Grief When an Adult Brother or Sister Dies" by T.J. Wray
I've read the first chapter on shock. The next is on denial. I find it even hard to just hold a book about the death of a sibling, let alone have my eyes look at the words on the page and my brain process the words in my head and string them together in sentences and paragraphs and then have my hands turn each page as I continue on.


32 days 3 hours and twenty minutes

In the stillness of remembering what you had...And what you lost

I had a dream last night that I just cannot stop thinking about, it was truly odd. I remember crying and being very upset because I knew the ashes inside the nice oak box were not my brothers. I saw him walking around the house-although at points it was my brother when he was much younger. I talked to him and he said he had to do it and I think that meant that he had to die. But I remember screaming at my mom and dad saying it wasn't my brother in the box, and they were getting ready to go to the funeral. I ran to my brothers room and opened the door and saw him in there cleaning up and re organizing (something that we've been doing since he actually died) and I tried to talk to him, but it was if he couldn't listen to me just kept saying it was something he had to do. I was so angry because he was alive and I didn't want him to get made into ashes. I was so frantic and I couldn't understand why he was so adamant about telling me that he had to do this. It was just very strange because he was a younger version of himself, mostlikely when he was eight, nine or ten. I woke up startled because in my dream I was so angry that no one believed me that it wasn't my brother.

This is the third or fourth vivid dream of my brother that I've had since he died.
A few days afterwards I had a dream that he and I were going for a ride in his car and that after the car ride I would have to say goodbye for good to him. I remember in the dream telling my father that it would be so hard to say goodbye and I remember seeing my brother get into the driver side door of the car. And in my dream I felt this huge dread with the thought of never seeing him again.
Then I had another dream that my brother came back, but he didn't have some of his skin and his eyes were broken-like they didn't work properly and we were trying to track down where his eyes went to and where his skin was. And I gave him his cell phone so he could call his friends. You see in real life my parents decided to donate his corneas and skin and heart valves. I just remember being really happy that he came back, although I was concerned with trying to get him put back together.
It's been 31 days since he died. I remember that night like it was yesterday. I remember driving to north adams thinking he was at his friends house and I had a vision of my brother on the side of the road-bloody and crying. I started to cry while driving because I was so worried that something had happened. I couldn't shake the image out of my mind. I turned around to go home after I found he wasn't parked outside his friend's apartment. I just had a very unsettled feeling in my stomach. As I drove around the bend in my road I saw my father's friend's car parked in my front yard. Like he had driven so fast he almost hit the house. I got out of the car and my father said "It's over...Brian's dead."
I didn't shut the car down behind me, my arms went limp. I knew I had to walk forward but I just couldn't look at anyone. I walked past my mother and my grandmother and cried that we needed to call our minister. My stomach became a rock and I just sat. I then had to call friends and family. I called our uncle jim, our cousin charlie, his friend jessie and his friend from infancy-james' parents.
sometimes...sometimes when I'm driving home there is this little hope deep inside that when I get home my brother will be there. I miss his voice, I miss his smile, I miss his grumpy attitude, I miss when he use to yell at me. I miss hearing him type on the computer while I watch tv in the living room. I miss when he would yell at me to get off the computer. I miss teasing him about his "girl" friends..........
It's been 31 days and 1 hour....that was when I began writing this...now it's been 31 days and 1 hour and 12 minutes


"Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life" - Stevie Nicks



*subject line written by Stevie Nicks

his fingerprints

I looked at my brother's death certificate yesterday. he died august 4, 2008 at 8:04 p.m. there was some medical term written on the bottom, the reason he died. it's just so weird. the other day i found his birth certificate and yesterday I held his death certificate, you know like in grade school you get certificates for like reading 50 books or like running the fastest in gym. I mean those are the certificates my brother and I should have. and then there is his room. i've gone through it a few times. I sit in there and look around. the other day jessie and i went through the drawers of his dresser, and his entertainment system. I found things I thought didn't exist anymore, he saved so much. there is so much stuff in there and now we have to sort through it.

tonight after my parents went to bed I sat up for a moment I thought that he was coming home. for a moment I thought "hey I wonder when brian is coming home" And I hate that I even thought that. I hate that it even crossed my mind. You know I'm sitting at the computer desk, typing this on his laptop. Like two weeks ago he was sitting right here...it's just so hard to explain, so hard to express what it's like...

you know the worst part, s trying to be so strong...

my baby brother

okay here are the facts.

My baby brother Brian, 21, died Monday, August 4th around 8 pm as a result of a motorcycle accident. I don't know the specifics, but I doubt I'll ever know what really happened. There is, in fact, only one person who will ever know. Anyway, after the crash he was meda vac'd to Albany Medical Center and he died there.

His funeral was August 9th at the First United Methodist Church in my home town.

I am not porcelain, I am not going to break if you talk to me.

Brian died doing something he lived doing. I pray that we all find that something we love and do it until we die.

love

~amanda