John Michael

Grief has this way of sneaking up on you. There is nothing linear about it. In the weeks after I started taking baby steps out in to the world again, I would find myself confused by the world around me. How did it go on? Didn't anyone know I just lost my Mom? I was viewing all things through glass. Nothing was clear. I wasn't an active participant. In the days following her funeral, my body was depleted. She gave out on me and I finally let myself succumb to the sickness and all I wanted was for her white Prius to pull up with a home made soup delivery. It didn't matter what kind, all of her soups were winners, and I never took the time to learn how. I always assumed we had more time. . .and then we didn't.

My birthday was six days after she passed away. I woke up to the smell of smoke which I automatically assumed was her barbecue. It flickered comfort for a second. I also hadn't listened to my voice mails, hoping I had one of her singing Happy Birthday to me. I always tried to answer those calls. If she wasn't the first call of the day, I was disappointed. I had come to expect the woman who brought me into the world, would also sing and welcome me to the gift of another year first and foremost. I cried my eyes out when the very first message I played was her singing. While family and friends showed up that night to celebrate, it is a blur. 

Twenty-four days later, I would venture out to a friend's house to celebrate with an intimate dinner with five of my friends from church. I had Ernie drop me off that night. Driving took energy I didn't want to waste. I remember I walked through her door, and the candles were lit, the food smelled delicious, the environment was warm and calming. I had an instant feeling of relief instead of anxiety. This felt almost normal. I felt so loved. My friends were arriving. There were hugs and check ins with each other, and then my phone rang. It had barely been a few minutes since I was dropped off, but my husband was calling, so I answered it.

He told me that he didn't want me to worry, and immediately my heart dropped. My voice raised. My friend's voices got quiet as everyone watched me. I remember that clearly. I think someone put their hands on my back. All I know is my hands were on my mouth, as my husband told me my 44-year-old brother who had taken his boys on a hunting trip had been in an accident. I was trying to remember to breathe. I wanted to go home, but he told me I was in the best place and to stay and pray. We did. I remember clearly thinking, "There is no way God would do this to my family." I then called my sister in law who was crying, but who also told me my brother was moving and talking, and I know I felt some peace. He was going to be okay. I just knew it. We sat around the table, I tried to eat. We talked a bit...about what I can not even remember. But then the hosts face changed as she noticed someone coming up to the door. She asked if we were expecting anyone.

It was my husband, and I knew in my heart before he even said, "We had to go." I don't remember if I crumpled under the weight of his words, but even today it still feels like it, so I expect I did. I could not cry. My friends cried for me. I could not breathe. I fell apart. I could not comprehend that this could even happen. How in only twenty-four days did my life as I knew it, cease to exist?  My brother, my first friend.  Polar opposites, but the only one who shared our growing up experience with me. Simply gone.