Right after my brother passed away, a very wise person took me to buy a diary (I was 12, you have diaries at 12.) She literally pulled me from the awkward funeral home viewing and walked me right into Hallmark. I still have that journal and opened it up when I decided I wanted to connect with more people that have lost a sibling. I realized then, the power of a journal.
As I poured through the entries, I realized the holes that it filled in my memories as well as things I wished I’d thought to write. Grief causes…
I want you to think about Tigger in Winnie the Pooh. You know the one–orange, black stripes, kooky laugh. Think about how he’s “bouncy, trouncy, flouncy, pouncy, fun, fun, fun, fun, fun!” I’m going to draw a strangely odd, yet fitting, parallel that hit me as I sat in a meeting.
Now, think about a trigger. One minute you’re doing dishes and staring out of the window and the next minute, you realize that your husband should’ve been home…
A few months after Andrew passed away, his eighth birthday rolled around. As a family, we weren’t sure what to do. Do we celebrate? Bury ourselves in our beds? Ignore it? Ignoring it didn’t feel right but celebrating didn’t either. As a 13-year old, I decided we would have a party and I would make a cake. Our family gathered at my aunt and uncle’s house. I don’t remember if we sang “Happy Birthday” but I do remember my dad declaring afterward that we probably wouldn’t do that again.
Look at the picture above. What do you see? Do you see a mess? A work of art? Or a tool used to create?
I was on a Zoom call and we were talking about life and how complicated it can be (yes, this was a business meeting, not a counseling sesh but, to be honest, it could’ve been.) I happened to look behind me to see what was in the picture. I saw this.
I’ve shared my story about the loss of my brother on Medium and my own site. I’d like to understand more about how to help others in similar situations. Could you please take this quick survey for me? There are only 5 questions.
I appreciate this so much. By helping me, you’ll be helping others who have lost someone and struggling to figure that new world out.
Around the anniversary of my brother's death, I tend to think about other people in my situation. How did they feel? What did they experience? How are they now? Finally, I decided to do something about it. I’m gathering information to see how I can help other’s who have lost a sibling (or other losses). Please help me out so we can all help each other.
Today my parents have been married 42-years. Anyone who has been in a relationship for a while knows that is no small feat. As I sit here in my 12th, going on 13th, year of marriage, I realized just how much they had to weather, and through it all, they still choose each other (most days).
My parents met in high school. Dad was a football player and science geek (the two don’t usually go together but if you know my dad, you know he’s quirky like that). Mom was into art (shocker!). They went through high school and didn’t…
I don’t like things being drawn out, I need them buttoned up and dealt with so I can move on. I attribute that to the loss of my brother, and what my parents describe as, my “high need for closure.”
Right now, my husband is at work and I’m at home with our two girls, dog, and cat. COVID-19 is currently working its way through the U.S. and so I’ve been working from home full-time and “teaching” the girls school. I will never say “I homeschooled the girls.” If this is what homeschool is, it would be outlawed.
Dear Papa Bear,
I don’t know what my first memory of you is. You’ve just always been. I remember staying the night at your house when I was a kid–so many sleepovers. I would wake up for two reasons: you were snoring or you were leaving for work at Dow Chemical at 5 a.m. in the morning and it was still dark. That darkness impressed me, it meant you were responsible. That snoring scared me at first and then turned comforting. No one would dare break in because they could tell a big strong man was on the other side…
This week you’ll have been gone 27-years. I’m about to turn 40 which means that you would be turning 35 this year. You are part of our family history at this point. We’ll never forget you, we can’t, but so much has happened between 1992 and 2019 that I have begun to wrestle with the fact that you were only 7-years of my story. Georgia is 7-years old. Right now, she is as much of my story as you were…are…well that’s a revelation I’m not sure I like.
I feel like the expanse of time is discrediting the…