Today is the third anniversary of my brother, David’s death. He was only forty-five years old when he died and it was a mere four months after my mother had died. My father had been gone since 1999 after committing suicide. There were only the four of us, so, since David has died, I have felt very much alone.
I have a large family, with five living children and nine grandchildren, but somehow, not having anyone with whom I spent my earliest years on a day-to-day basis has been challenging.
I was looking at a photo the other day of the shed behind our house in McCloud. I remembered how, during the winter, the shed would get covered in snow. My brother, the neighborhood children and I would all get on the roof and slide down the snow until the snow fell off the metal roof.
At that moment, I wanted so much to call my brother and simply say, “Remember?”
Now, his grandchildren are growing up, going to school, having medical issues and he isn’t here to share these things.
I was angry at first because he died from complications of his alcoholism; now, however, I’m just sad.
I am happy, though, that we did spend the last couple of months together while my mother was dying of pancreatic cancer. At least, I got to know him in a new way living under the same roof again after all those years apart.
The journey now is very lonesome and there’s nothing I can do about it except accept my current state. I’m fortunate to have my husband, children, grandchildren, cousins and friends, but with all due love and respect, it isn’t the same.
I miss my brother. There’s nothing that can change that. I just have to learn to live with that loss. And, I am.