Birthdays

Wayne would have been 36 this year. I spent the day with mom and dad. We were renovating their newest project. Of course they would never forget the day and I new it was coming. I guess as a sibling our trigger points revolve around those with the great loss. We remember; we wade carefully; we prepare; we try our best to not interfere with the process without covering or attempting to divert the pain. As I watch them deal with the forever struggle I lash out at him for leaving me behind. He left me all alone to watch them grow old and to deal with his loss. I have a friend who lost his only sibling leaving him to cope with bereaved parents too. We recount to each other the hurt of standing by parents who are growing old too quickly; not handling the day-to-day simple things with any degree of certainty or fulfillment. We pled with ourselves to come with something to make the pain less without lossing the memories or taking away from the life. We joke about the "now perfect" angelic person who we can remember was a pain-in-the-ass more times than not. I'm sure even if our siblings did grow old with us they'd still be a pain-in-the-ass or maybe that was just what my brother was destine to be to me. Ha!
Siblings compete; at least we did or perhaps it was just me. Now, I'll never win an arguement or worse the "better kid" award 'cause 'he' will always be perfect now. And, I'm just, well, me. Ouch!
I have been very blessed. I try to remember to thank God several times a day for everything He has provided me, protected me from and graceously and mercifully not given me. Wonderful parents, husband, home, job, church, health, intelligent and a need for perfection streak that only the close ones can adore :-)
An close to the heart message reminded me that God protects those He loves and protects them from themselves oft times. Perhaps Wayne was headed for trouble with coming decisions in his life and God rescued him. It was God's time and it was perfectly done. We have to live with it however, and it sucks.
I'm 39 now; married to wonderful person who adores me and makes up for all my terrible flaws. I bitterly think about how Wayne never experienced this type of bliss and then remember, he knows bliss beyond everything I have ever felt combined. He is happier than I am and how can I be bitter about that. It still hurts terribly to watch those you love tear themselves apart over his loss but, it reminds me to make peace with my Maker; be prepared to leave at any moment and look forward to what lies ahead. Wayne is lucky. Sometimes it just sucks to be left behind remembering a memory.

A Pagan Easter

Happy Belated Easter!

Once married we all find the need, for marital harmony, to share or split special holidays between the various parents. In our marriage it is easier. Both sets of biological parents are still married to each other and mine live several thousands of kilometers away. This past Easter was spent in the company of my husband's family. The Ure are wonderful and in a large way. With four siblings, of which three (and soon a fourth) are married, and many, many cousins the family home is always full on these occasions. It is interesting to watch as the Ure family grows older and brings other to the unit how special occasions add and subtract the core group.

All the good food brought back a childhood memory I shared with my brother. Wayne and I being brought up in a Christain home celebrated the Easter festival without chocolate. That is until one year when my parents left us in the care of a family friend, Karen, for the Easter weekend. Never before, nor since (to my knowledge) have my brother and I awoke Easter Sunday morning to a real Easter egg hunt that ended with a giant chocolate bunny prize. I do not remember the hunt or enjoying the chocolate but, the memory of a quite different Easter celebration has stuck for years. For those who know me, I mean really know me, you can well imagine the "effect" the chocolate must surely have had on me and I can't say that we have had much contact with Karen in the years since. Mom and dad returned safely and the Easters that have followed have been well, traditional. Perfect in harmony with all our beliefs and now is shared just as much with my extended in-law family.

Someone who can relate.

The following was an email my mom past along to me recently. Wow, things like this really do hit ya in the gut. There is someone out there who can relate to me. The name thing is only a coincidence.

~A SIBLINGS JOURNEY THROUGH GRIEF~ Sibling Grief. Until October 26, 1990, I never knew such a thing existed. At the time that my brothers, Wayne and Leon, were killed in a car accident, they were 28 and 29 years old and I was 24. Growing up, I must admit that I was not particularly close to them. They were good friends as well as brothers and had similar interests that were mostly different than mine. Like a lot of brothers and sisters, we teased and taunted each other more than we showed our love. Even as young adults, I don't recall having many intimate conversations with either of them about our goals or dreams. They did their "thing" and I did mine. Then came Friday, October 26, 1990. That evening , I was at my parents' house studying for my master's degree. Both of them came by the house before going out for the evening. Wayne had just gotten off work and Leon had been with an uncle drinking at a bar all afternoon. My parents drove my uncle home and warned my brothers that Wayne should drive if they go out. Unfortunately, Wayne didn't stay sober for very long either. I can't recall my conversation with my brothers that night, but I do remember having the feeling that I was irritated with them. I did not get an opportunity to say "Bye" when they left. Later that evening, my parents saw a report on the 11:00 news that showed a car in an accident on I-77 that looked just like my brother Leon's red '69 Ford. After midnight, a police officer came over and told us about the accident. During the weekend and until the funeral on Monday, I experienced a sadness so overwhelming as to be at times unbearable. One minute I would be calm, and then the next a huge surge of emotion would pour over me. I watched my parents cry, which is hard for a child to see. I thought, "Why this? Why my family? How can this be happening?" After the funeral, my family received dozens and dozens of cards, but only a few were addressed to me or included a message for me. Was I forgotten. Are siblings not suppose to feel grief? Oddly enough, a few days after the funeral, I remember thinking, "Well, I'm back to normal now. All of that crying is over and I can get on with my life. After all, it's not like I was all that close with my brothers." I couldn't have been more wrong. A few weeks later, the grief came crashing back down on me like a tidal wave. I guess you could say that the shock stage was over and reality was setting in. Death is permanent. They weren't coming back. Over the following year or so, I would go into crying spells when I would see or think about something that reminded me of them. I felt sad a lot. My mother even made arrangements for me to talk to a pastor she knew in the city that I had moved to because I was in such emotional pain. Fortunately, it helped to talk to him. Perhaps there was more to my relationship with my brothers than I had realized. I miss them deeply. I watched a lunar eclipse one night with Leon and we shared an interest in astronomy. Wayne could always make me laugh. They would fix my car. I want to hug them and tell them how much I love them. Why didn't I do that when they were alive? While bereaved parents wonder how to answer the question, "So, how many children do you have?", we siblings have to contend with, "So how many brothers and sisters do you have?" Don't people judge you as to whether you are the oldest child, youngest child, or middle child? What are we now? I grew up the youngest of three, the only daughter, and a little sister. I don't have that identity any more. I am now an only child. I miss the little girl in me who could look up to her big brothers. The loss of my relationship with my brothers has left and empty hole in my life that can never be filled. I've heard my mother say that losing a child is like someone cutting off a part of your body. Losing a sibling (or two) feels the same way. It's been over 6 years since my brothers died. Much of the roughness of the emotional pain is gone, but not gone completely. I'm still learning to life with this empty part of me. My only comfort is that life on earth is temporary, but it lasts for an eternity in Heaven. My family will one day be reunited. I had always wondered how strong my faith was, and now I know. It carried me through this nightmare. Like it says in the poem "Footprints," it is during the darkest and saddest times of our lives that God carries us. I hope you notice the He is carrying you, too.

Big Sisters

Ever had a younger sibling? I did; and I did what an older sibling does; keep the younger one in line. Ha. Mom started a rehab program of money oweing or paid depending on the number of times I knocked sense into my baby brother. Five ticks or more I owen $.10 per mark. Less than five mom owed me $.10 for every mark below. I don't remember where I was getting my penance monies from but lets just say I usually owed. One day dad came home and questioned how I received that day's tick. When I told him he asked if the tick could be removed as I was honest and remorseful. Ah, father's and their daughters; what can I say (other than Wayne had more sense that day). The program ended and the threat started. "When your brother gets bigger he is going to pay you back for all you did to him" mother threatened. Poor Wayne. I waited and waited. Finally while home after first year University Wayne was finally bigger. Took long enough. Well, by then it wasn't right for boys to hit girls. Besides, he lost interest and the battle wouldn't have been a battle for he truely had grown bigger than me. Perhaps Wayne has finally paid me back. I am left bruised, permanently.
The point to the memory? Dad always said girls should not hit. Don't ask my husband for his opinion; please.

Halloween

I have a memory. October 31st brought the memory back, fresh. I had to share it with Jeff on the way to work this morning. Wayne must have been 15 or 16 years old. He was too old to be out trick-or-treating but wanted to "man the door". Sort of a screening to weed out the "too old" kids routine. Big man Wayne. Mom and I were down the hallway in the kitchen or family room and we heard Wayne stating "Hey, you're too old to trick-or-treating". His voice raised as he repeated the commented and then shortly added "you can't come in here! You're too big to be getting any treats!" As the sounds of a scuffle came to our ears mom and I made for the front door. Wayne was shoving back a rather large kid. Actually, someone taller than he. The kid was dressed in blue coveralls and had a paper bag over their head; The kind we use to get at the grocery store. The bag had two eye holes and other than that no identifying marks. As the 'kid' pushed their way in the door snatching up candy from "Wayne's bowl" Wayne shoved back. Just as mom and I got to the door Grandma Heppner threw back her grocery bag mask and shouted out "Trick-or-treat, now give your Grandma a hug". Wayne was mad; really cross I mean. He told Grandma off. She laughed and laughed like only Grandma Heppner could. I still remember it now; Wayne was cross and telling Grandma that she shouldn't be doing stuff like that. She was a mean Grandma and should act her age. It is more than 20 years later and like the memory. Grandma was a character (I see that in mom and Auntie Phyllis from time to time) but, getting Wayne's goose well, I like that the best.

A Sister's Perspective.

This is Wayne. From baby to grown up. Well, sort of. From a sister's perspective a baby brother is never quite grown up and always, always a royal pain in the butt. Hence his name is Dipstick. He tried to name me that but, it backfired and I became his name. Truth be told dad, Wayne and I all called each other Dipstick. Funny to an outsider when a family calls each other 'Dipstick' and it is meant as a term of endearment.

Wayne

Wayne lived a very full life in his short time on earth. He was born in Toronto, Canada to Christian parents, Ted and Alice, and an older sister, Charlene.
His love of sports started very yound. By the age of five Wayne played hockey, baseball, and soccer. These sports continued as he grew older adding basketball and rugby - the night before he was killed, he had played hockey. Wayne was both gifted and a team player - the team always came first.
By the time Wayne left this earth he had earned a B.A., has a career in both Policing and Aviation. Wayne had a great sense of humour. He just had a way of making people laugh.
Wayne did everything from travelling to both Africa and Asia doing short term mission's project, to driving a school bus, to living in Nunavut, and still found time to regularly attend church, play on several sports teams, and keep in contact with numerous groups of friends from the past and present. He didn't hestitate trying new things. Although his life was too short, Wayne probably experienced more things than most people will in their entire lives.
Taking care of body, soul and spirit were uppermost for Wayne. His family and friends will attest to his love of life and his faith. His faith made him who he was. He would challenge others to be a better person without judging the person you were. He had a way of getting to the heart of matters and encouraging you to be the best person you could be. Whether you knew him for 20 years or 20 minutes, you were blessed to know him.
His Bible was well marked with verses that were important to him; he was very quick to shre his faith with others. Shortly before he died, Wayne said to friend Trent, "Why aren't Christians more excited about their faith? We will be in Heaven for eternity with Jesus." Wayne was often known to say, "It is a good day to be alive". He loved the life God gave him - he loved God above all.