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.