in fact, i had started to truly wonder if writing was lost to me. for most of my life, i've been a writer. then things occur that smother your voice somehow, or take it away temporarily. life changes and shifts and gets the kind of busy that doesn't allow for quiet moments of reflection or creativity to be written down.
and then something massive happens. something that affects you at a core level. looking at my last written blogs was bittersweet because i'm reminded everytime i look at something i haven't seen for awhile, that i'm not the same person i was when i saw it last. these blogs were written by a different me. a me that had all kinds of problems, it's true; but that me wasn't missing an integral piece of my being. i thought i knew pain, and i thought i understood loss. after all, i've lost so many things that regular people take for granted because of my health. that kind of loss affected me...but it didn't leave a chasm behind.
losing my brother did. losing my brother has left a chasm so deep, i get lost trying to find the bottom of it. the magnitude of his loss and what it's taken from my core being, is something too immense for me to measure or even understand. i have questioned absolutely everything about existence - mine and everybody else's. i have looked at each person i love and imagined the horror of losing them. i have cried so constantly that i have a permanent, dull headache behind my left eye and the only makeup i trust myself to bother with is waterproof mascara.
most of all, though, his name floats around in my head 24/7. sometimes i find myself whispering it. sometimes i start saying "why" out loud, over and over. i have a hard time getting out of bed, even with taking care of an eight month old. i wear his shirts every day and every night, and i have a bracelet he made me in high school that i'm scared to wear because it's made of yarn, and what if it wears down and breaks and i lose it somehow? things that were his or things he gave me are more precious to me than i can put into words at this point. they're my tangible reminders, my comforters.
i don't quite know who this new me is. i am raw, like i was just burned severely and am standing in sunlight. i am so overtaken by grief, and i'm not the same mama to my eight month old baby that i was 21 days ago. i see who i was, and how i'll never be that person again. and it's not just hard.
it's unbearable.
but we bear the unbearable in life, don't we? growing up seems to me learning hard lessons like that one. you think it's unbearable, but you are still here.
every morning i wake up in a world where my brother isn't, anymore. i don't know how, but i do.
i don't think that our souls die with our bodies. i believe he's still somewhere else. that we'll see each other one day again. until then, i'll use an analogy from a series both me and Aaron loved: it's said that after fred's death, george could never cast a patronus again.
that sums up the bottomless emptiness losing my brother has left behind.
losing my brother did. losing my brother has left a chasm so deep, i get lost trying to find the bottom of it. the magnitude of his loss and what it's taken from my core being, is something too immense for me to measure or even understand. i have questioned absolutely everything about existence - mine and everybody else's. i have looked at each person i love and imagined the horror of losing them. i have cried so constantly that i have a permanent, dull headache behind my left eye and the only makeup i trust myself to bother with is waterproof mascara.
most of all, though, his name floats around in my head 24/7. sometimes i find myself whispering it. sometimes i start saying "why" out loud, over and over. i have a hard time getting out of bed, even with taking care of an eight month old. i wear his shirts every day and every night, and i have a bracelet he made me in high school that i'm scared to wear because it's made of yarn, and what if it wears down and breaks and i lose it somehow? things that were his or things he gave me are more precious to me than i can put into words at this point. they're my tangible reminders, my comforters.
i don't quite know who this new me is. i am raw, like i was just burned severely and am standing in sunlight. i am so overtaken by grief, and i'm not the same mama to my eight month old baby that i was 21 days ago. i see who i was, and how i'll never be that person again. and it's not just hard.
it's unbearable.
but we bear the unbearable in life, don't we? growing up seems to me learning hard lessons like that one. you think it's unbearable, but you are still here.
every morning i wake up in a world where my brother isn't, anymore. i don't know how, but i do.
i don't think that our souls die with our bodies. i believe he's still somewhere else. that we'll see each other one day again. until then, i'll use an analogy from a series both me and Aaron loved: it's said that after fred's death, george could never cast a patronus again.
that sums up the bottomless emptiness losing my brother has left behind.
