Sitting in My Grief w/ Hope

This was not an easy write. Nor do I imagine it to be an easy read. These are my thoughts this morning.

One year ago today, I landed on the tarmac in Dublin, Ireland. I was sitting next to my younger daughter, Kira. As per usual, I switched my phone out of airplane mode and texted my family that we had arrived safely. Two seconds later, my phone rang. I looked down and saw it was my sister. And my heart broke. It instantly shattered. I could feel the shards of pain tear through my entire body. There was only one reason she would be calling me. My hand was shaking so much, it took three tries to swipe correctly to answer her call. 

I then heard her courageous voice sharing the unbearable news that my baby brother had died.

I went numb. Cold. Ice cold. And heavy. Cement heavy. I have only spotty recollection of what happened next. I know I told Kira the news. I know we hugged. For a while. I know I asked her to let me try to grieve in a different way this time (having had multiple losses recently) by going on with the trip we had planned for her college graduation. "It's what Uncle Billy wanted." I don't remember waiting for an answer from her. We got off the plane and miraculously adventured our way to our Airbnb. Eventually my older daughter Katina and her boyfriend Tommy arrived and I repeated the above, telling them the news and asking Katina something similar in regards to going on with the trip. Again, I don't remember waiting for an answer from her.

In the next 24 hours, I vaguely remember some churches and Trinity College and card games and hiding in bathrooms to cry and feeling deeply guilty that I couldn't muster up any semblance of motherhood to hold my daughters in their pain. I still feel horrible about that. 

And then I broke down. I remember waking up unable to breath. Gasping for air and needing to move. Needing to hit something. Needing to run, to scream. I needed to get home. I've never felt so helpless in all my life. "What was I thinking??? I'm in f$!%ing IRELAND?? WHY?? Oh my GOD. I need to get HOME! Oh, my baby brother..." And sobbing uncontrollably. I remember Katina holding me, tightly. I remember Kira's fingers tapping on her computer at lightning speed and her speaking on the phone in a firm voice. This lasted for hours, it seemed. The end result was that she got us on a flight out and I was able to calm down. I don't remember how much time passed or what we did before our flight. I really don't. Perhaps if someone reminded me...In fact, what I described above might not be how anyone else would recount this situation. 

Once I got home, a myriad of chaotic family life chapters ensued. For the next year. It's literally been nonstop since then. 

Clearly the request I made of my daughters to "let me grieve in a different way by going on with our trip" was bullshit code for me looking to escape. And it's clear to me that this has been a pattern for the past five years. I've spent so many years trying to forget. Other than work, every memory I have is haunted with excruciating loss. Dan, Mom, Billy, my marriage. It's quite obvious to me that I am capable of deep love because I feel such deep grief. (Thanks, Mom. I blame you. ;) 

But something new has happened during this pandemic. I've been forced to pause. My usual escape of work has not been available to me. Don't get me wrong; I am still working eight to ten hour days. But when I would go into the office, my days would always get sucked up by the unexpected, both good and challenging. Which means I would play catch-up at night. For the last three months, however, I've had at least 3-4 hours of free time in the evenings. That's new to me. Just me, alone with my thoughts. Let's be clear. I'm not a fan. At all. My head knows this is good for me, of course. And my discomfort has taught me a lot the last few months.

I've learned that time does not heal all wounds. I've learned that forgetting now doesn't lessen the pain later. I've learned that there is no circumventing grief. I've learned that strength can be me in a puddle on the ground as much as it can be me holding my daughters and sisters in their loss. And I am learning that memories of my losses can be simultaneously painful and pleasant. 

I was six years old when my brother was born. It was December, right after Christmas.

I remember my dad bringing him home in a stocking & me questioning when he could play ball.

I remember crawling into my brother's crib  & cuddling with him. Often.

I remember pulling my brother out of his crib when he was crying and the metal bar between his shoes (because he wore a brace) hitting me in the shins every time. I had permanent bruises. 

I remember reading WOW magazines with him, and doing the projects in each.

I remember swinging, running, jumping and throwing contests with him.

I remember climbing trees with him, particularly our willow tree.

I remember him wetting his hair down every morning & putting a cap on to straighten his curls.

I remember pulling out his loose teeth for him, per his request.

I remember teaching him how to handle a basketball with my dribbling glasses. 

I remember soon after, he was teaching me new tricks.

I remember letting him drive when he was ~12 & getting pulled over; he was driving too slowly.

I remember him at my basketball games, cheering me on.

I remember being at his basketball games, cheering him on.

I remember him being angry when I started dating, until my senior year when I dated someone who enjoyed spending time with him, too. 

I remember how he would be seemingly disengaged from a conversation, sitting silently on the side, secretly observing and absorbing intently. And then, in his quiet, clever, seamless manner, injecting some unique perspective that either made us think deeply or laugh uncontrollably.

I remember his genuine love for my daughters, how in awe of them he was, how proud of them he was. Every single time we talked, he bragged on them something fierce.

I remember so many moments in my life when he was my confidant and guide.

I remember his deep voice, contagious laughter and protective hug.

And I would give anything to have him here with me today.

I remember so much more...this is all I have the capacity to share right now.

I'm in so much pain today. Indescribable pain remembering my baby brother. And for the first time, in the years I've been navigating three major life losses, I'm setting aside time to feel. To heal. Gods I'm a slow learner...And I f$I&ing hate this. AND I know it's needed.

Billy, I miss you so very much.