Questions Left Unanswered

Your absence is screaming at me today.

Questions that will never have answers run through my mind. Did you really think you had nothing left to live for? Were we not enough? Did you even give a thought to how we'd feel? Did the 11 years of love and memories not mean anything to you? Did you even consider the pain we would live with for the rest of our lives? You may have put an end to your pain, but you magnified ours for a lifetime.

Did you not know how greatly you are loved?

How deeply your absence would be felt?

I can't fathom the idea that you thought the answer to your problems was found at the end of a gun. I can't imagine you making that decision without a thought, without a care, for your mothers, your fathers, your sisters, your brothers. Your son.

Did you give a thought to what kind of man he would become? Do you know that he is in honor band for not one but two instruments? Do you know that he looks more like you everyday? Do you know that we aren't able to see him? Not only did we loose you, we lost him; the only part of you that is left in this world.

Do you know that tomorrow our niece will come into the world? A beautiful, gentle, innocent little girl who will never truly know what a radiant and loving man her uncle was. She will never know your infectious laughter or your bright smile. Your playfulness or giddiness. She will never know monkey butt or pottyac. She will forever live without the joy just knowing you brought to our lives. All she will ever have of you are photographs and stories. Did you think of that as you walked to the tree? Did you imagine the things left still to do as you sat down? Did you wonder of those who were still to come when you raised your arm? Did you not consider that maybe life isn't so bad after all as you pulled the trigger?

Or how final that shot would be?

I don't know how you could ever think that we wouldn't be there for you, wouldn't love you unconditionally, wouldn't do everything in our power to make sure you were happy. That you weren't loved beyond all reason, with anything less than the entire fiber of our being.

It's said that you really don't know what you have until it's gone. I don't know of any words that speak more truth than that. I'm living it. I didn't fully comprehend the privilege it was to be your little sister or to know the love of the best big brother that ever lived. Not until it was too late.

Too late to tell you a million times, "I love you".

Too late to hug you and never let go.

Too late to hear you laugh.

Too late to make a lifetime of memories.

My heart aches - no, it's deeper than that - my very being aches with your absence. I think I'm moving forward, that I'm grieving less and living more. But the truth is I will never move forward. I will never grieve less or live more. I will never not think of you every minute of every day. I will never think of the memories we shared, or those we could have shared, with anything less than complete and absolute sorrow. Because when you have someone that carries such a light in your life and then one day they aren't there anymore, there isn't anything on this earth that will make their absence bearable. When someone is taken from you so tragically and unexpectedly, there isn't anything that can be said or done that will make it ok to live without them.

You give the best imitation you can, but behind the mask, the sorrow and emptiness remain.

I often wonder who I might have been had you chosen a different path. We don't realize that the choices we make affect those we love. The moment I found out the devastating path you chose, my path, the woman I was, became completely and irrevocably altered. I see two different people when I think about that moment. It's like the movie Sliding Doors. The person I was is living in a parallel universe completely oblivious to the abject sorrow of the loss of her brother, while I am here, in this life, in this pain.

I've lost count of how many times I've cried myself to sleep. I don't know why I can put on a brave face during the day, but at night I breakdown with the weight of your absence.

It took me 5 years to realize that when you sent that text, "Happy late Thanksgiving", it was days later that you were gone. How has it taken me this long to realize that? I had the chance to change the path of both our lives and I didn't take it. I didn't know I needed to. That realization led me to wonder if that was your way of reaching out - of trying to find someone to help you through the pain. And all I replied with was, "Happy late Thanksgiving". Not "I love you" or "I miss you" or "You need to come see my new apartment". No. Just a generic, reciprocating, meaningless response.

One that I will forever regret.

Did you really think this world would be a better place without you? Because I can tell you unequivocally that it is far worse. You may have thought you didn't matter to the world, but you sure as hell mattered to me. To mom. To Jeff and Taylor. To your son. Why wasn't that enough?

Do you know how many times I have wanted to run to my big brother and tell him of my problems? Or to just see your smile or hear you laugh? How many times I have wanted to tell you I love you? How many moments I have wanted you to be here for?

After all this time, I can't accept that this is my reality. That living this life without you is now the norm. It's been 5 years and still I can't find the joy and laughter in life I once took for granted. I never considered what my life would be without you, because I never, in a million years, thought I would have to.

But you made that choice for me.

You took the selfish way out, without a thought, possibly without a care, to what I or anyone else would feel the very second, and every minute after, that we found out you were gone. So now we live this life, welcome new people into our family, celebrate Thanksgiving and Christmas, and in between the fleeting moments of joy, excitement and happiness, and every moment, good or bad, we wish you were here to share it with. To be a part of this messy, chaotic, heartbreaking, beautiful life.

But you aren't. So I pick myself up every day, put my mask on and head out the door to live as best as I can, to find out who this new woman is. And when that doesn't work, I think of you and the love and memories we shared, the laughter, and I realize that you wouldn't want me to be anything less than the little sister that you admired and loved.

So that's what I'll be.

Until I can see you again.

A Letter to Heaven

I woke up to another day without you. How many is that now? Too many. I never imagined one day I would wake up and you wouldn't be there and now it's my life. I wish I knew then that our time was limited. I would have put a thousand years, a million moments, into those 11 years. I would have told you every day that I love you, that you are the best big brother a girl could ask for, and that I am so thankful that  you decided to come live with us. Those words seem hollow now. Worthless. For how can they hold any meaning when I can't tell you? When I can't see your face light up knowing you meant something to somebody? When I can't hear you say "I love you, too"?

You've changed my life twice. First, when you stepped off the plane and into our lives. Second, when you went behind a tree, put a gun to your head and decided to end it all. You took everything when you went away. Joy. Laughter. Light. Love. Life seems empty now that you are not here. Our troubles seem magnified because you are gone and the light in our life is diminished.

I was 14 when you became a part of our family. Up until then, I was the oldest sibling. But you came along and I became a little sister. A role that I was proud to hold, if only because you were the greatest big brother the world has ever known. You were always there for us, giving us brotherly advice, making sure to bestow your wisdom upon us, encouraging us when life got us down. You never took anything too seriously. Laughter was a constant noise in our house. You would steal my leftovers that I had been craving, or something equally big-brother annoying, but I could never be mad at you for long before you did something to make me laugh or bring a smile to my face.

Your giddiness was infectious.

Your smile incandescent.

Your love profound.

It was so easy to love you. Which is why your absence has left such a void in our lives. We  must learn to adapt to this new life we were forced to live; a lesson that has been difficult to say the least. Our life is now measured, not in days or months, but before Nick died and after Nick died. Because what is time when your life is dimmed with the loss of someone so full of love and laughter? Nor am I the person I once was. Your loss has changed me. It is harder to find the joy and hope that I used to find in life. There are more bad days than good, more to cry about than laugh, more trials than triumphs. The bad is magnified, the good lessened. The girl I was no longer exists. The life I took for granted will never be returned. It's unfathomable that one person can change your entire life, entire being, with their absence. The moments we shared, the memories that sustained me in the beginning of this new life, are diminishing in clarity and frequency. I'm beginning to wonder if it was even real. If you were ever really a part of my life or if it was all a wonderful dream. One I wish to God I had never woken from.

As the years continue to pass and the moments without you grow, it seems you are as out of reach as ever. How do I come back from this? How am I supposed to forge a new life without you? With this soul-deep emptiness covering everything I do? I never imagined this would be my life. That I would have to figure out who I am now. But I know I must. Somehow, someway, I must forge ahead and find my place in this world again.

For you.

For our family.

For me.

Finding Strength in Grief

*I wrote this post last year and never published it...until now. Notice the difference between this post and the next - evidence of the roller-coaster ride grief takes you on. It's clear that even I need to be reminded of these words from time to time.*

Every year around this time, I am compelled to write. This year seems no different. So here it goes...

Four years have come and gone since Nick left this life. Four years that seem a world away from the life before. In those four years, I have come to learn a few things about life, grief and the resilience of the human spirit.

It's true what they say, life does go on after the loss of a loved one. It is the natural way of things. Spring always brings new life following the dead of winter. But that doesn't mean you go on as you did before. And you certainly are not the same person. You can't live through a loss like that unchanged. But you do learn how to adapt to life as it is and who it has forced you to become.

Slowly, you start to realize that joy and light can still be found through the pain and darkness. It is not as bright as it once was, but it is there just the same. You will have moments of complete and utter desolation, so intense you can't breathe from the force of it, but those moments grow fewer and farther between, and in their place are bittersweet moments with hints of a smile and whispers of laughter. Soon you will be able to go a day, two days, a week without remembering that your world is not as complete as it once was. You find yourself making new memories of this new life you now must lead and cherish them all the more, for you know how fleeting they can be. You no longer wear the mask of grief but of survival. Because you have indeed survived. You woke up every morning to face the dawn and placed one foot in front of the other, knowing each step was one taken without the presence of the one you loved and lost. You somehow found the strength to face life in the midst of sorrow, heartbreak and a hollow emptiness. And in doing so, you found an inner strength that will carry you through all of life's challenges.

Grief changes with time. The all-consuming, heart wrenching pain that you faced for months, even years after they are gone, lessens in intensity and frequency. There are periods of time when you are able to forget that it still resides in the hollows of your soul. But though it may diminish its impact, grief never leaves you. There will always be a part of you that grieves for what you have lost. But whatever you do, do not run from this grief. Instead, embrace it. As hard as that might be to accept, and believe me, it was for me as well, it is in that grief that you keep love alive. It wasn't until I came across this quote that I finally understood what grief meant:

"Grief is the last act of love we have to give those we loved. Where there is deep grief, there was great love."

Embrace your grief because it means your love was great. Hold on to that and the memory of the one you lost. Embrace the memory of the life you had before, because it will give you strength when you think you can't take one step further. The love that was shared and the memories that were made will carry you through the challenges of this new life that you must live. By embracing your grief, you are able to diminish its intensity and find the joy and beauty in life again. Look back not on what you lost but on the time you were blessed to spend with the one you grieve for.

And, finally, let God carry your burdens, your sorrow, your weakness. For through Him, can peace and strength be found. Find the courage to give your pain over to the Almighty and He will show you the light that can still be found in this world. His blessings do not stop on your life, even through the fog of grief. He is always there, working to see you through what may be the darkest time of your life.

8/15/82 - 12/2/11

Fourteen years ago, my life changed irrevocably. Three years ago today it changed again, though in a far different and more devastating way than I ever thought possible.

My family is very unusual in that I grew up not knowing my older (half)brother and (half)sister (I placed the "half" for context but must point out that from the moment I met him, "half" was irrelevant; to me he was my brother in full and vice versa). For the first 14 years of my life, I was the oldest. I knew of my other siblings but never really thought of them as being part of the family. That is until I had the opportunity to meet them. First my sister came to live with us for a while. I was in awe of her during that time. Here I had someone I could look up to and borrow clothes from and learn beauty secrets from. But then she left and we drifted apart to the point that we hardly spoke again. A short time later, my parents told me that Nick, my half brother, wanted to come live with us for a while as well. Having just been burned by the last older sibling, I was wary of bringing in another. But it was happening whether I wanted it to or not so I went with the flow. Little did I know my life was about to change and a grand adventure was about to begin.

My parents, younger siblings and I went to meet him at the airport. We stood there bobbing back and forth between the sea of people coming off the flight, trying to get a first glimpse of him. And then, as if on cue, the crowds parted and there he was, walking down the ramp holding a worn orange blanket and teddy bear in one arm, a bag of Nacho Cheese Doritos in the other, and grinning from ear to ear in a smile that I would come to cherish. In that moment, my heart got a little fuller, my soul a little brighter, my world a little bigger. In that moment I learned how easy it is to fall in love with someone, that love at first sight was indeed real. It was like he had never been parted from us. He fit so well into our family dynamic, from the very first moment, that it felt as if I had grown up with him from the very beginning. I knew then that this was going to be different than the last time. This was going to be a beautiful friendship and siblingship.

And it was.

For 11 years.

For 11 years, he was my goofy older brother, always protecting and encouraging me, stepping into the role of big brother like he was born to it. Which he was, no doubt about it. It was easy for me to hand over the older sibling reins because he was loving and caring to me and my younger siblings. I could never stay mad at him for any length of time; that smile of his would always get him out of trouble. He always knew how to make us laugh and bring joy to our world, even as he struggled with his own demons.

On several occasions during his first few years with us, he scared us with suicide attempts. One was so severe that he was admitted to a facility for treatment. But that was the last attempt for almost ten years. He was diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder and put on medication. He had ups and downs through the years but he managed it and still found joy and laughter in life. The year he came to live with us after his divorce was the best we've ever had as a family. He was so happy and we were ecstatic to have him back with us. That Christmas was the best ever because we were all together, all happy and goofing around like we used to. The boys had a Nerf war and I got caught in the crossfire. Little bits of yellow Styrofoam were flying everywhere - suspiciously mostly at me - and too much for my pillow shield. So what did I do? While they were focused on each other, I gathered up every bullet I could find and hid them under the recliner. I was giddy with delight at besting them when, while laying on the floor face down, Nick picked me up by my belt loops and discovered my last stash under my stomach - then my belt loops break! I was too overcome with laughter and happiness to really care. For us, the gifts didn't matter as much as the fun we had together.

Best.

Christmas.

Ever.

Since then, Christmas has never been the same. The next year he was with Jamie and didn't spend much time with us. The year after that he was gone. Forever.

At this time three years ago, we were blissfully unaware of the devastation and loss that life can bring in an instant. We lost my grandmother 13 years prior and though that was a heartbreaking loss, it was an expected loss. As much as we prayed for a different outcome, we were prepared for it, as much as you can prepare for the loss of a loved one. But it was an expected loss. She was 70 - though fairly young and I would give anything to have had a little more time with her - and had been sick for a few months. You expect to eventually loose your grandparents. You don't expect to loose a brother or son so soon in life. It was a devastating, life-changing blow to our lives, to our souls, and the greatest loss of my life.

We are still unable to find the joy usually experienced this time of year. Christmas was our family's holiday. And Nick loved Thanksgiving, if for no other reason than pumpkin pie and the seemingly endless amount of food. So it has been difficult to find the joy and anticipation that we used to experience this time of year. It was such a magical time of year, filled with love and laughter, and while the love is still there, the laughter is harder to come by.

The world expects you to move on. To live as if the pain of his loss doesn't consume us day after day. That the void his absence leaves is easily replaced. It's three years later and nothing is any easier. We go through the motions but our hearts are not in it. This year, we find it hard to put any decorations up. No lights, no stockings, no tree. And I used to love putting up the tree. That was my thing. Now, there is little joy in it.

I tried to make this year different. The few weeks before Thanksgiving I was optimistic that this year would be different. This would be the year that we'd start to get the feeling back. We would find a way to start living again. But then Thanksgiving came and it was just my mom, sister and I. The depression started again and whatever spirit I had for the season slowly withered. Now, on the anniversary of his death, it is almost non-existent.

I keep going back to where we were at this time three years ago. I imagine him still alive, going through his day, and then making the decision to end everything. How ignorant we were of the pain he was in. Of what was to come. That night we went to eat at Pizza Hut with my younger brother, sitting at a table that we often sat at with Nick. How ironic that while we were sitting there, at a place that had meaning for our family, he was walking outside, sitting behind a tree and putting a gun to his head. We went home and curled in our warm beds while he was sitting alone in the cold and rain, slumped over dead, forgotten by those in the house who didn't think to look for him.

Four hours.

That's how long he was out there before someone thought to go look for him. I can tell you, if he had been living with us and was missing for 20 minutes, we would have gone looking for him. Let alone four hours.

I look back at the photos of him and me and see the proof of the bond we shared. I love my mom to the moon and back and consider her a best friend, and I love my younger siblings to pieces, but it was different with Nick. I've never felt such a bond with someone. An instant and profound connection with someone. He was my big brother. There is something special about big brothers and he was that and so much more. He filled the role beautifully for me, Jeff and Taylor. Which makes his loss even more profound and devastating. For a short time we had the best brother we could ask for and then in the blink of an eye it was taken from us. With the upcoming birth of our nephew, I wish he was here more than ever. But I am grateful for the time we had with him and wouldn't change it for anything. I would rather have one day with him than a lifetime without him. And I was lucky enough to have 11 years with him.

I don't know where I would be if he hadn't taken the chance to live with family he had never met. I will always miss him and long to have him beside me but I know he is at peace, finally, for the first time in his life. How can I be sad about that?

 

 

Dani and Lizzy - Dancing in the sky

I first heard this song on Facebook, almost two years after Nick passed away. It brought me great comfort, imagining him in Heaven, dancing in the sky and singing with Angels. This became my song to him. Whenever I need to reach out to him or express the pain of living in this life without him, I play this song and imagine him dancing to it, hearing it, alongside my beloved grandmother. It resonates with me more than any other song because it puts to music what I feel every single day, every moment that I have to live without him.

"...have your fears and your pain gone away/Cuz here on earth it feels like everything/good is missing since you left/and here on earth everything's different/there's an emptiness..."

 

 



Reaching Out for Help

 

It's been a while since I have felt the need to write anything down. There are still nights when I cry myself to sleep because the pain of missing him is so profound, but I haven't been able to find the words to adequately express this stage of learning to live without him. He is a constant presence in my life, both in my thoughts and my heart. I am trying to go on with life and live as he would have wanted me to, but I still find it so difficult to experience anything without him, to go on as if his absence doesn't mean anything. Because it means everything. Those things that I was looking forward to in life, I now look at as bittersweet. Everything is now diminished in its enjoyment.  How is it I didn't realize how fleeting life could be until it was too late?

There are times when I manage not to think about the gaping hole in my life and find the strength to discover that there is still joy and laughter to be found in the place of someone's absence. But there is one thing that hovers over my life like a dark cloud and every time I think about it, it brings the pain and grief rushing back. His grave is still without a headstone. After three years.

Unbelievable.

Unconscionable.

Unacceptable.

It is an injustice to his memory and the love for him that still exists in this life. Unfortunately, through a series of events that my immediate family and I were not part of, the burden now rests on us and financially we are unable to purchase a stone on our own. We try to save what we can each month but it is not enough and time is ticking by. We've reached out to the other branches of his extensive family tree, but no one has done anything to help. We cannot find peace in the loss of someone we love until he is given the proper burial that he deserves.

Recently, my younger brother visited the grave and found something that magnified the pain and stress that has been our constant companion for three years. Someone, we are not sure who, took up everything that we had on his grave, INCLUDING his funeral marker, the only thing that identified who he was, and threw it in a trash bin a few feet way. NO ONE should have to visit the grave of a loved one and find it desecrated and unmarked. There are not adequate words to describe how it felt knowing there was nothing there to mark who he was and how much he is loved. It is bad enough without a stone but to have nothing there but a concrete slab? It's heartbreaking.

His grave before the desecration.

Months ago I created a YouCaring fundraiser page to try to raise funds to help us get a stone as soon as possible. We haven't had much luck with donations, other than cash donations from my very caring and generous co-workers. I am disheartened that even though we've shared the link several times on our Facebook pages, with the exception of two people, no one in our friends and family has donated to help us right a wrong that was done three years ago. Nothing can bring him back, but to be able to go to his grave and see his name written in stone, while devastating in itself, is better than seeing nothing but a funeral marker.

My siblings and I: Nick, Taylor, me and Jeff

*Update: After three years, a light has shown through the darkness; we were finally able to secure a headstone for Nick. By the Grace of God, representatives from The Huie Grimes Foundation came across my YouCaring fundraiser and reached out to donate a stone. This wonderful organization provides headstones for those who cannot afford to obtain one themselves. I had never heard of the foundation until they contacted me earlier this year. My family and I are eternally grateful to the foundation and the wonderful gift they were able to give us. Now, finally, you can rest in peace, Nick.

http://thehuiegrimesfoundation.org/



Questions and Tidal Waves

May 5, 2013

I can go days, weeks, months without tearing up at the thought of him or when something reminds me of him or when I think I see him in others. But out of nowhere it will hit me like a ton of bricks. Like now. This tidal wave of emotion washes over me and I can't stop it. For months after he passed away, it felt like our lives were wrapped in a cocoon, where the outside world didn't exist, couldn't penetrate our warm and comforting existence. There are days when I long for that feeling. To wrap myself up in our bubble and shut out the pain and fear of the outside world.

The question going through my head tonight is "why?" Why did he do it? Why did he leave? My baby sister is getting married next year. My younger brother this year. And Nick will not be here. He will miss walking my sister down the aisle and being Nate's and Jeff's best man. He'll miss seeing Taylor step from childhood into womanhood. It doesn't seem right to be celebrating marriages or births or graduations without Nick. A part of us is missing and yet life goes on. Will I ever be able to move on? To form some kind of life for myself? When I lost my grandmother, the pain was intense and heart-wrenching but I don't remember it being like this. I don't remember wondering, almost two years later, if I will ever be able to lose this feeling of despair that washes over me. I think about him and the pain of his loss every day. It feels like it will never leave. I will forever feel this ache where he should be. Somehow I have to learn to live with it.