the last time I was here...

change.

I've been meaning to update this blog for a long time. My life has been filled with change over the last two months. Happy change, welcomed change. I met my now husband in October of 2009, became engaged in August of 2010 and we were married on May 22, 2011. In less than two years my life changed.
When I began planning our wedding I wanted to remember Brian in some type of way. I wanted it to be a small gesture - nothing big. As a child and teenager I often would dream about my wedding and my brother always played a role. I wanted him to read scripture and maybe be a groomsman This dream died with my brother. It was a reminder of similar dreams that died that night. I decided upon a floating candle in a vase that had his name and dates etched into the glass. I also put a small mention of the candle in the bulletin. I am happy with these choices.
Now in the months after our wedding I can't help but realize where I am. I've moved to a different state, and changed my name. I wear a diamond and a simple band on my left hand ring finger. I call a house without my parents my home. There is little in my new life that connects me to my brother. For a while I've felt something missing and I have finally been able to name it. Would my brother recognize me now? Would he know where to find me?  These questions have sustained me throughout the last three years and now I'm not sure of the answers.

Three years.

Last Thursday was the three year anniversary of Brian's death. I didn't plan anything to do except dinner out with my husband. I never really thought about it. I thought maybe if I ignored it - it would go away. This didn't help. I've become weepy at bedtime and stay up late crying - waking up in the morning with puffy eyelids. Last night I found a picture of my brother and studied his face. I looked into his eyes, looked at his nose and mouth - the shape of his check bones and chin. I'm so worried I'll forget what he looks like. I'm so worried I'll forget the stories of him or the memories I have of him.

Fear.

Tomorrow we leave for my parent's house. This weekend there is a family camp out up in the beautiful hills of western Mass at our family owned small camp. It's a tradition in my family for the last ten or so years. Every second weekend in August we gather - except for the year my brother died. His funeral was held on the second Saturday in August. The last time I was at this camp my brother was alive. You see the camp holds treasures for a boy and young adult man - woods, dirt, fire. My brother loved being at camp. He always set up his tent in the same location, would take walks in the woods with my younger cousins and was always messing with the camp fire pit. He'd sit for hours in front of it, poking it and adding branches. Our young male cousins would sit next to him and learn from his wisdom of fire. After dinner, and once it became dark we'd roast marshmallows, but Brian would try to get the jiffy pop popcorn to pop. The small alluminium pan which was not meant to be used on open flame would sizzle and pop. One year he caught it on fire but still ate the twenty or so semi popped kernels inside. He got better at popping it though, and would sit and eat his popcorn happy to have mastered it.
One year I slept in the small camp building and woke in the middle of the night to squeaky noises of mice. Against my better judgement I had agreed to sleep in the building and not in a tent. However, in the middle of the night, and even though I was afraid of bears or other animals outside (which were unfounded fears) I gathered up my blanket, grabbed my flashlight and walked across the small camp towards my brother's tent. As I unzipped it he woke with a jolt and I told him I was sleeping there because there were mice in the camp. He fell asleep and so did I. I know he wasn't happy about me sleeping in the tent with him, but he dealt with it. I knew his tent offered me safety and protection. I knew he was the one I could turn to in the small crisis. These are the memories that I'm fearful  of reliving when my husband and I camp out this weekend.
Even though I'm fearful I need to go. I need to camp out this weekend and be with my family. I need to go back to the place where my brother and I once went together. I need to make new memories there and invite my husband to do the same. I can't run away forever.

Maybe this sudden sadness is fleeting and will pass just as suddenly as it came about. Is this the new grief of my heart? Is this the new pattern that will continue for the rest of my life. Or could this be more serious? Questions abound without answers and the only thing I know for certain is that my eyelids are puffy, my eyes hurt and there is no one left to call me sister.