Two months since I got the phone call that shattered my world and made me question what was left in the shards that had fallen at my feet. Two months of trying to learn how to exist in this new reality, one I did not want and am still not ready to accept. There's this hole in my heart that will never fully mend... it's got some stitches, glue, probably some paint to try and hold it together, but it's a permanent piece of me now. And I have to learn how to live with it, with the new me.
I have been going through a constant changing process for the last 13 years, trying to find the person I was underneath the people pleaser I had grown up as. When I was almost forced into a major change when I went to the wheelchairs I never imagined I would encounter something harder, something even more out of my control. Something I had such a hard time accepting at first, I woke up every day hoping it had all been a bad dream... I still have that lingering hope, but it feels less and less like I'm grasping onto that alternate reality and more like I'm trying to live in this new one each day. However, the death of my brother forever changed who I am.. I'll never entirely go back to the person I was before I knew a hurt like this existed..
He was my voice until I found mine. He was my protection when I needed it.... sometimes when I didn't. And even when we didn't get along, we could always count on each other.
He had been one of the few people that just let me be myself.. and, for a long time, probably the only person that made me comfortable enough to try to figure out who that was. He had that effect on people, just put you at ease in his presence. He got a bad rap for being a big, scary looking man.. until he smiled or started talking to you, revealing himself as the big teddy bear that he was. The man that loved me and would do anything for me just because I was his baby sister. The man that would fight with me, call me names, tease me to no end, but would not stand for that behavior from some one else. The man that was serious when he needed to be, but could find humor in just about any situation....
His favorite story to tell was when he threw a dart at my head when I was about four. I'll never be able to tell it like he did, but he was throwing darts at the dartboard hanging on the side of the camper... he says I crawled out from under the camper and caught the dart just to the side of my eye. As he shushed me and tried to calm me to avoid getting "us" in trouble with mom, I was jumping just enough to make the dart bounce.... he liked to act this part out, take a moment to imagine my very large brother imitating a crying little girl and don't forget the finger bouncing on the side of his head to represent the dart.
I miss him. Especially when lost in a memory like that.... but with everyone's help, I'm slowly glueing those shards back together. It still looks distorted and it probably always will, just something I need to get used to. Something I need to learn to live with because I've got a lot more to do here.
A quote I heard again recently and it's been helping to have that hope for when I get that far; "How do you get over it? You don't. But one day you'll wake up and you'll find that you don't mind carrying it around with you. At least that's as far as I've come."
