I Might Maybe Maybe Maybe Be Mostly Okay Again One Day--Maybe

I have not felt like writing for a long time.  Don't get me wrong!  I've had some good moments.  I've even had days that had more good moments than bad moments.  I'm amazed that that has been possible.  I've wanted to write something positive.  I've wanted not to write at all.  I mean, surely by now, you guys are wondering when I'm going to "get over" this.  Well, I think the answer to that is that I will never get over this, but I think I might be able to get through this.  I'm starting to feel more like myself, but before that I have had so many bad things happen that I was very discouraged.  Then I remembered having been through a really rough time in my past, and part of what helped me then.  I felt like I had lost everything, and I wondered why God would take everything away--even my beautiful future.  Well, I heard a couple of songs on the radio, and frankly, they made me very angry at first.  The lyrics to the first one, "Naked I came from my mother's womb; naked I will return.   The Lord gave; the Lord has taken away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord."  Oh that made me so mad!  Then I realized something.  Everything I had was not mine.  It was God's.  I was lucky to have been entrusted with it for the time I was.  It wasn't mine.  Who was I to complain if God wanted it back.  That helped.  The lyrics to the second one:  "God is in control.  We will choose to remember and never be shaken." Those lyrics also made me very angry.  What mess God had made of my life!  It didn't feel like God was in control.  It didn't feel like anyone was in control at all.  Then it hit me.  God wasn't in control.  I was.  I had slapped His had away from the wheel yet again, and being the gentleman that He is, He didn't force me away from the wheel.  I gave Him back the wheel.  Now, that's not exactly how I looked at things this time.  I remembered stating back in that difficult time when it felt like it was the end of the world, and I was a phoenix rising up from the ashes of my ruined life that I would never give up.  No matter how hard the devil tried to discourage me, no matter what happened, I. . . would NOT. . . give up!  THAT is what really helped.  I don't care what happens (Okay, yes, I care what happens, but. . .), I will not give up.  I will keep on believing.  So. . . with the re-affirmation and renewing of my decision, healing began to take root.  I have begun to be positive again--which is pretty amazing if you knew what new tragedies I've had to deal with recently.

Yesterday, I think it was, my students and I were talking during break.  I think it started out with which version of The Great Gatsby we watched last year because a student had brought the Leonardo version for another teacher to borrow.  I said that it was a blessing that we watched it (the Robert Redford version, of course) at the beginning of the year and NOT after my brother died.  Then we talked about how hard it was to view the selected scenes we chose from the 1996 Romeo and Juliet and to talk about "The Fall of the House of Usher" because it was the end of the Usher family name.  Then my sweet students started telling me how they felt so bad for me while we were doing those things (this represents three different grade levels, by the way), how they wondered how I could make it through it at all.  It was beautiful to be able to hear that and be able to talk about it without falling apart.  I mean, they know that I love my family majorly, and that it still hurts every day, but little by little, I am able to be myself a little more.  I'm never going to be the same again, but I'm able to function better now.

I have been blessed immeasurably with the wonderful people God has placed in my life.  I don't deserve these blessing, but I have them anyway, and for that, I am so grateful.  I feel like many of you have held me up when I could not stand. <3 I have felt the prayers and the love--even when you thought you weren't doing anything "big."  It was big to me, and it was enough.

Note:  Please don't take this as making light of what has happened.  Part of my world died.  It will never be the same, but I've discovered that I AM strong enough to go on, to continue to try to help others, that there is enough of me left to help people.

I'm Not Okay

It's funny how different steps of a project can affect you differently.  I've been re-finishing a couple of pieces of furniture that were among the very few items left for us when my brother's girlfriend moved out of his house at the beginning of June.  (Yes, my parents paid the house payment, so her son could finish out the school year.  Yes, they had a legal piece of paper that said we got his belongings.  I don't even want to go there).

Anyway, the two pieces that I have were originally my grandmother's.  Then, they were mine.  I ended up trading them back to my grandmother when she gave me a different set.  Eventually, they ended up being my brother's, and now they're mine again.  So. . . they're pretty special, and. . . I think I'm the only person who has owned them who is still alive--unless my mom had them at one point in time.

This furniture dates back as long as I can remember!  I know that my grandmother had it when I was a little girl in Michigan, so it's probably around forty years old!  It was good, solid furniture.  Now, there's a drawer front that's missing.  There were huge cuts in one of the pieces, and the paint had bubbled up, so it had to be re-done.

I sanded for two days.  While I was sanding, I felt great.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe I felt like I was taking the ugliness of life and scraping it away and making it beautiful again.  I'm not quite sure. I guess I felt that I was repairing my brother's life or my brokenness now that he's gone.  I'm quite sure the sanding was therapeutic.

Then came removing the dust.  Well, since I wanted to make sure that there was no sawdust left on the pieces, I got a bucket of water and a rag, and I "washed" the sawdust off.  I guess I had more time to think since I wasn't using a power tool.  Cleaning the pieces was devastating.  Again, I'm not sure why.  I really think a lot of it was having more time to think.  You see, I was thinking about if those pieces could talk.  Oh, the things they could tell.  So many memories of my grandmother.  Then I realized that these pieces were in the room the night my brother shot himself.  How I wish they could tell me the missing pieces that would help us understand how this could have happened!

Painting the pieces has been kind of neutral.  I've got to clear-coat the first piece one more time (maybe two), but that piece is almost finished.  It looks good.  I've painted the body the original color, but I've painted the drawers a new color.  It is kind of a teal green.  All three of us kids have grown up to love the same favorite color: green.  I think I chose it because I like it, but I'm glad that I chose it because he would too.  I think Granny would have too.  I'm glad that I kept the original color for part of it.  I almost didn't.

The refinishing is not perfect, but I'm not sure I would want it to be.  Because life is not perfect, and I'm not okay.  I don't say that to try to make you feel sorry for me.  I say it because it's the truth, and it does no good to deny it.  My brother is dead, and I'm not okay.  I doubt I ever will be again.  But I will go on because there are other people out there who are not okay, and they need to know they're not the only ones.

No, I'm not okay, but I'm okay with that.

It's Not Okay

I know it's way past time to post something.  I'm sorry.  I haven't felt like writing.  I haven't felt like getting out of bed.  In fact, if breathing required a decision to do it first, I guess I wouldn't bother to breathe.  It's a little better now.  I guess.

I went to decoration with my parents.  I don't normally do that.  I mean, the person is not in there anymore, and I don't really care what is done with my body (within reason) after I'm dead.  I like to focus on the here and now and the memories.  I guess I don't want to remember that a person is dead. Anyway, my brother's headstone wasn't ready yet.  I think that was kind of a relief.

So now I've made it to the summer, and everything is not okay.  I'm having a hard time making myself get up in the mornings.  It's difficult to work on the five million things that I need to accomplish this summer.  So much gets put off until summer during the school year, so I always have more than I can possibly accomplish each summer.  In addition to all that, I need to help my mother get my brother's house ready to sell.  I need to move all the stuff in my classroom (again!)  And I need to prepare for this fall's classes.  The odds are not exactly in my favor here!

It's been four months, and it's not okay.  In fact, today is exactly four months since my brother's suicide shattered my world.  When do I get to wake up and find out that it's a just a terrible dream?  When does all the business that must be taken care of when someone dies end?  Why does it have to be so difficult to take care of things when someone dies?  Why does the world go on when someone dies?!

Yep.  Four months now, and it's not okay.

Aight

When we moved to Alabama, my brother was a lot younger than I was.  It was 1983.  August 1983.  That means I was 13, and he was 9.  Subsequently, he ended up sounding a lot more Southern than I have.  I say "iron"and "all right." He said "arn" and "aight."  I have always hated to hear "aight," but now I'd love just to get to hear him say it again.  I can see the expression on his face, how he would hold his shoulders. . . all of it.

My brother was one of the most honest people I have ever known.  I remember how when he was little, he would eventually always tell on himself.  (My children have that trait as well.  I think it's beautiful).  I guess part of it is because he wanted so badly not to be a hypocrite.  I think that's one reason why he didn't go to church all that much as he was older--although I treasure memories of when he went to The Fire Escape (a local church, comprised mostly of teens and twenty-somethings) with me.  He was real.  What you see is what you get--like it or not.  I think he had gotten to the point where it didn't hurt his feelings if you didn't like what you saw.  Funny. . . I think he got to that point much sooner than I did.

I'm not sure that I realized this about him until his friends mentioned it at the viewing, but he also didn't judge you.  He accepted you just as you were--all your faults and imperfections.  It just didn't matter to him.  He could listen to you recount the dumbest thing you've ever done and not judge you for it.  He made you feel like you had worth as a person.  He really listened.

I sure wish he had made some different choices in life.  I will always think that he was supposed to preach.  I've thought that since our Fire Escape days.  Unfortunately, he felt imperfect--like it would be hypocritical for him to do so.

I really miss him.  He was pretty aight for a little brother.  Matter of fact, he was pretty aight no matter what.

A Little Red Bird

I saw a little red bird today.  A cardinal.  It was beautiful.  I remembered how some people associate those sightings with their lost loved ones.  I've never really put much stock in that belief, and I still don't, but it made me feel like God was with me, and it made me think of my brother.  I wondered what he would think about it.  I could almost hear him chuckle.  I could see him shrug his shoulders and that crazy grin of his, and. . . I just about fell to pieces. . . driving down the road. . . about a minute from school.

Tomorrow's the last day of school, and there's still some crazy part of me that thinks if I can just make it, everything will be okay.  I have a feeling tomorrow night or Saturday I really am going to fall apart.  I just know that somehow it's all a bad dream.  I keep waiting to wake up--like I did when we were young.  When I was in high school, and my brother was in elementary school, we used to watch Voltron cartoons on Saturday mornings, so one Friday night, I told him to wake me up when he got up, so we could watch them together.  Well, I don't know what all I dreamed that night, and I almost never remember my dreams, but when he came to wake me up that morning, it totally freaked me out because I had dreamed he died.  It was such a real dream that it kind of scared me when he woke me up!  Oh, how I wish that this would end that way.  I just want someone somewhere to say that it's all been some terrible mix up.  I know that I saw his body in the casket, but I still want someone to say that it wasn't him.  But no one has.  No one will.

I guess the bad thing about staying busy is that you don't have time to deal with things.  I think I've kept myself so busy (like teaching doesn't already) that I haven't dealt with this properly.  What is the proper way of dealing with something like this?!  I haven't been trained in proper grieving etiquette.  I'm thankful that I haven't suffered enough losses to be a pro at this yet, and I think if someone gave me a manual on the proper "procedure," I'd like to tear it up page by page by page until nothing but confetti remains and set fire to it.  No, I'd like to make it explode. . . tiny bits of ash everywhere!  So now, as life slows down for me, I am about to be forced to deal with the unthinkable:  my brother is gone, and all I have now is a little red bird.

Past Due

I really don't have time to write this right now, but I can't focus on what I should be doing.  Technically, I try to post on Fridays, so I'm past due, but I've been working two jobs, so it's been difficult to find time to write.

I've already said that it seems less real now in some ways, and that's true.  Yet at the same time, I'm acutely feeling that it's past time to see my brother.  I don't think I've ever gone this long without seeing him.  It's been four months since I saw him.

I'm not even sure I can write this.  I have no words.  What I don't understand is how I feel. . . numb is not the right word. . . dead?  Maybe dead is.  But at the same time, I am flooded with emotions.  I am overcome with a sense of loss.  I keep reminding myself that he'll still be gone once I make it until school's out, but a part of me just won't accept that.  (It's been a very difficult school year both physically and emotionally--not all of it due to this--so I've been pushing myself to make it to the end, one day a a time.  Once I make it to the end, I will breathe, and all should be well--except that all won't be well, but when I started pushing myself, it would have all been well, so I guess that little part is deeply rooted by now).

I'm thankful for the second job.  It's just seasonal, but it keeps me busy, and if I stay busy enough, I don't have time to think.  I run into problems when I have time to think.  I've run out of tears, so that makes thinking a very bad thing.

Darn.   That's not completely true either.  I sometimes have tears.  I think I'm just too exhausted to cope.  I'm just worn out.  I'm holding on, waiting for something that is never going to happen, but I'm not ready to let go.  Maybe that's the whole thing in a nutshell:  I'm not ready to let go.  I don't want all this.  I just want to see my baby brother's crooked smile and hear him chuckle.  I want to see his hands move while he talks.  I'd even be happy to let him play with everything on the table while he talks, and I wouldn't complain at all.

But I can't.

Still Gone

From the beginning,this has been a really difficult school year for me.  We got a new superintendent, a new assistant superintendent, a new principal, a new assistant principal, and several new teachers.  I don't like change.  They added a new class for me--one that I haven't taught since I did my student teaching back in 1996!  (And you only teach a two-week unit then!)  Now, of course,  it has become extremely difficult for me.  My students have, for the most part, been very patient and understanding.  They're only kids, but they're good kids, and they try to make it easier.  (I wish some of them would try that hard when it comes to their regular class assignments!)  It's still just so hard.  I feel bad when I'm not my normal sunshiny self, and I feel guilty when I smile or laugh or cut a joke.  (My poor students are used to hearing a lot of punny jokes!)  When I share something about my brother, I feel bad for the students who have lost family members--especially the two (that I know of) who have lost brothers.  I feel like people are judging me when I have a happy moment--like they think I must not have loved him because I found a fleeting smile.

Anyway, like I said, this has been a very difficult school year for me.  I've been pushing myself to make it to the end because once I make it to the end, I can rest.  It will all be okay.  Well, I just realized that, subconsciously, I've been thinking that everything will be okay once I make it through this school year.  Ironically, I realized this the evening of my brother's birthday.  No matter how long this school year lasts or how quickly the remaining time passes, my brother won't be there at the end of the year.  He isn't coming back.  The reality of that still hasn't really soaked in.  Maybe that's because we didn't get to spend a lot of time together in more recent years.  I'm used to going a couple of months without seeing him.  Well, it's been a couple of months.  It's time to see him.  Now, I'm starting to feel that emptiness.  I would say it's not as overwhelming as it was at first, but I'm not sure that's accurate.  It's. . . different.  Just different.  It doesn't usually physically hurt my chest anymore when I breathe, but it's still very powerful.  I don't think I've had time to grieve properly.  I have a job to do.  I have kids to raise.  I have family to be strong for.  Maybe I can schedule in some time in June to grieve.  Ha!  I hope you were able to catch the sarcasm there.  I do realize that grief is not something you can schedule.  Sooner or later, it's going to pull me down under the flood again, and there's nothing I can do to change that.  I just hope that it's not at an inopportune time--though that's when it's likely to happen.  That's the way it works.

I'll tell you how it doesn't work.  It doesn't work like the formula that I've heard.  When a loved one dies by suicide, you experience anger and guilt.  All those articles about the steps of grief make it sound like there's this proven process:  You work your way from one stage to another, and then you're done.  It makes it sound like it's the same for all survivors:  one-size-fits-all grief.  Well, it's not.  It's not even the same for the same person.  This is the third family member I've lost to suicide.  I've not responded to any of the deaths in the same manner.  I thought at first that was because I was so young with the first one, because I didn't know all the details surrounding the second one until years later.  Nope.  It's just like literature.  I tell my students that what you get out of a "text" is determined in part by what you bring with you.  Everything that you have experienced in your life up to that point affects your interpretation of the text.  You can read the same text at different points in your life, and you will get something different each time.  In fact, your interpretations could be very different.  I think that how you experience loss is the same.  It is based largely on the relationship you had with the person lost, whether or not you were on good terms with the person, how he/she died, how old or young he/she was, and it is all affected by what you've experienced in your life up to that point.  I have not cycled through the "steps" in the same manner this time.  In fact, I thought that I wasn't going to experience the anger and guilt this time, but every once in a while, I feel anger rise up.  I keep having to forgive my brother.  If I think about it for too long, I get angry with him because he knew what it was like to be the survivor.  I know that he would not intentionally cause this pain to his family.  That's why I know this was not something that he spent time planning.  It was a spur-of-the-moment decision for him.   How I wish he'd have been able to wait!  I (at the moment, at least) do not feel a lot of guilt because I don't think there was anything I could have done to change things.  As the older sister, I do feel that I failed at protecting my baby brother.  That bothers me some, but I did my best.  At the moment, that is enough.

I feel like I am going back and forth through the stages.  The articles make them sound like bases.  You go from home to first to second to third and back to home.  Nope.  This is not like that at all.  This is like a kid in a candy store--all over the place.  Only, the image you just had of a kid in a candy store was positive, and this is not at all positive.

Yes, it hurts to remember my brother, but at the same time, it brings me comfort.  The things he loved are now bittersweet.  They are more dear than ever before.  I'm glad that we got to spend time together after I graduated from college.  I'm glad that we watched Ice Age in the theater together.  I think that's the only movie that we saw together--just the two of us.  I had planned to see if he wanted to watch the new Star Wars movie--just me and him--when it came out.  I'm not sure I even want to see it in the theater now.

I'm glad that there are people who listen when I want to talk about him.  I need to talk about him.  I want his memory to stay alive. I need his memory to stay alive.