When I started blogging, I knew I wanted the title of my blog to involve grief, going, and healing. They were all things I was going through/doing, and I was going to write about what was relevant to me and my life. I had no idea that I would write as many posts as I have about grief. And I’m sure there are more to come. My hope is that people don’t see the title and think “oh great, the girl with the dead brother is writing about missing him again” and then go on about their way, but rather would read my story and see how God is healing me, turning my sorrow to joy, mourning to dancing (not really, I’m a Baptist and we don’t dance :P), and if He can do this for me, He can do it for you too.
If you’ve followed along with my blog since the beginning, you may remember I wrote a blog called “Griefy” (should you want to go back and read it). I basically made up my own word to describe how I’m feeling on the days where I miss my brother. It’s not a debilitating feeling like it was when he first passed, but, there’s always the very real possibility tears will fall once I’m done doing all the things for the day.
I’ve been feeling griefy a lot lately. Griefy about all the things, but for whatever reason, a lot of it is related to my brother and or what I thought life would look like when I “was a grown up”. Right after Thomas died, I had pretty vivid dreams (more like nightmares) surrounding the events around his death or the things in the future that he would miss in my life. I even had dreams about the things he would miss out on in his life… marriage… kids… I would dream about it all. I would say these types of dreams continued pretty regularly through that first year without him. I still have dreams, not as frequent, and usually not a graphic, but they still happen. I’ve had two or three this month, and I always wake up angry, confused and shaken.
For the first several months after he died, when I would close my eyes, there were only two images that would appear in my mind. It was either the image of the lifeless body on the hospital bed that I said goodbye to or the image of him intubated in a makeshift ICU while we tried to find him the care he needed. Both are not pleasant, and unfortunately both images still find their way into my mind ever so often. It’s usually worst around the anniversary of his passing.
Being home the past 11 months has been strange to process in terms of grief. I waited 18 months after his death, and moved across the globe. I still missed my brother while overseas, but it was different. There weren’t memories everywhere I looked. I can’t point at a street and say “that’s where Thomas tried to teach me to make a three- point turn”. Being home again, the memories are everywhere.
A few weeks ago, I was out riding in a Penske truck making deliveries for my job. For whatever reason, the route I was on, meant driving by the hospital Thomas died in a few times that week. Whenever I passed the hospital after he died, it was like my entire body froze. Anxiety took control of my body. It was hard to breathe. My chest was on fire. I felt paralyzed. I could not look the direction of the hospital. For the first time, riding in the Penske truck with a coworker, my body didn’t react in any of those ways. I was able to look at the direction of the hospital without tears filling my eyes. Three and a half years later, I can look at the hospital, acknowledge that my life forever changed at that place, but my life didn’t end there. Things have absolutely changed, but my life keeps moving forward.
On the same Penske truck day, my coworker ended up putting the radio on a country music station. For the longest time, Thomas swore I had sold my soul to the devil anytime I would listen to non-Christian music. I had essentially bought myself a “one way ticket to hell”. One time, he went so far as to contact one of his female friends that he knew I looked up to, and had her “lecture” me about my music choices. Somewhere along the way, Thomas stopped having that same belief. He started driving a truck, and I guess that made him a country music lover.
One of the songs that played on loop on a slideshow of pictures at the memorial service was Springsteen by Eric Church. I’m aware that’s not a typical memorial service song, but Thomas wasn’t a typical guy. Not to mention, it was between Springsteen or I Play Chicken with a Train by Cowboy Troy… Clearly, the more appropriate song was chosen. My reaction to Springsteen was never as extreme as my reaction to seeing the hospital, but it was still uncomfortable. I might be able to listen to it should it come on, but I absolutely could not and would not sing along to it. It was a song I should have been listening and singing to with Thomas in his old beat up truck and that isn’t an option anymore. Riding in the Penske that day, Springsteen came on, and for the first time I was able to sing it. No tears. No cracking of the voice because I was fighting back tears. I was able to sing it and remember the good times with my brother.
My dad recently sent me a text with a picture of some of Thomas’ stuff asking me if I wanted it or if they should get rid of it. Thomas loved all the different fandoms. Stranger things. Star Wars. Star Trek. Stephen King things. Thomas was kind of a nerd. For three years straight, I bought him some random pen that supported a different fandom. The picture dad sent was of the pens I had bought Thomas. Still in their respective boxes…unopened…unused. At first, I was hurt, but dad reminded me that things Thomas thought were special, valuable or meant something, he never opened. I have those three pens sitting next to me on my bookshelf as I write tonight. I think this interaction with my dad and my three new pens are what started this slow onset of feeling griefy.
Griefy feeling days are not as often as they used to be. God has been healing my grieving heart, and reminding me there is still work to be done in my life. The things that triggered me or caused a sudden onset of panic has greatly decreased. I still have an urge to tell off people who make jokes about covid and getting “the jab”, but even the urge is smaller and less extreme. I don’t know that grief will ever fully go away. I feel like it’s just a part of my life now. Sibling loss is hard. It’s not something I thought I’d never have to experience in my 20s, but here I am. We are the forgotten grievers, but we aren’t alone. But how grateful I am to know I don’t grieve like those without hope. I have hope because of Jesus and my relationship with Him. Thomas is in heaven and I’ll see him again because of that same reason- Jesus.
If you are a grieving sibling, you aren’t alone. There are more of us, and we are here to support you in navigating life without your brother or sister. If you’re reading this and have lost a sibling or grief of any kind for that matter, drop a comment below. I don’t wish this on anyone, but I want to be available to sit with others in their grief. If you’re reading this and you want to know about this Jesus I’m talking about, let’s chat. Drop questions in the comments. I would love to share with you about Jesus and how He changed my life.
Grief. Going. Healing. 
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