Lost
When I started this blog, my goal was not to go more than a couple of days without a post. Last week I had planned to post about opening day for firearm deer season, and the first snow. I had planned to tell you about new recipes, TV shows and my favorite books. I never expected to tell you about this.
Last Sunday night, at 11:25 pm, my phone rang. I could see that the caller was my little brother Ryan, but I was at work, and I couldn't answer. I finished handling the shift change for the unit as quickly as I could, and then I excused myself to call him back. I knew something was wrong.
I will never forget the sound of my little brother's voice when he told me our brother, who was only 36 had had a heart attack. A week later, I still can't wrap my head around the words, "They've been working on him for 30 minutes and I think they are going to call it." Writing this now, I am crying and finding it hard to breathe. Somethings just don't make sense.
We had a viewing and a celebration of my brother's life last Thursday. I spent the entire day at the funeral home, hugging people, hearing apologies and watching it snow. By the end of the night, I was a numb zombie. Unfortunately, that means I never found the words to tell people who my brother was to me, or what I had lost. I found those words later, and I will share them with you now.
Danny was the person I grew up with. He’s the person I had backyard Olympics with when we were sort of grounded. (My mom stunk at grounding us. After about 2 hours having us confined to the house, I think it became more punishment for her than us, so we’d be grounded to the backyard.) He’s the person I laughed with, like when we gave mom super sour gum and her mouth puckered so much she couldn’t spit it out. We played too many video games together, argued and fought, and covered for each other in an attempt not to get into trouble. (That only worked once. Sorry Mom and Dad. I didn’t get cut off and slam on the brakes my first solo drive to McDonald’s. Danny pulled the e-brake in the Tempo while I was accelerating to turn left and I punched him in the eye. We figured since the car wasn’t damaged and no one was really hurt, we’d avoid getting grounded. We’ve laughed about it for years.)
There is one story that sums up our relationship and it may not seem appropriate, but at this point I don’t really care. I was probably 8 or 9 and arguing with a neighbor in the front yard. Danny was on the porch, with his big yellow Tonka trucks, seemingly ignoring us. I don’t remember what the argument was about, but it was probably something to do with me being a brat. What I do remember is that the argument peaked with this kid calling me a bitch. I remember that because suddenly Danny launched off the porch, tackled the kid and punched him in the face, and said, “Nobody calls my sister a bitch but me.” LMAO
That was us, even as adults. We laughed just as much as we argued but we always had each other’s back. We shared the unbreakable bond of sibling love.
Rest in heaven, little brother.
Last Sunday night, at 11:25 pm, my phone rang. I could see that the caller was my little brother Ryan, but I was at work, and I couldn't answer. I finished handling the shift change for the unit as quickly as I could, and then I excused myself to call him back. I knew something was wrong.
I will never forget the sound of my little brother's voice when he told me our brother, who was only 36 had had a heart attack. A week later, I still can't wrap my head around the words, "They've been working on him for 30 minutes and I think they are going to call it." Writing this now, I am crying and finding it hard to breathe. Somethings just don't make sense.
We had a viewing and a celebration of my brother's life last Thursday. I spent the entire day at the funeral home, hugging people, hearing apologies and watching it snow. By the end of the night, I was a numb zombie. Unfortunately, that means I never found the words to tell people who my brother was to me, or what I had lost. I found those words later, and I will share them with you now.
2 years, 9 months and 1 day, that’s our age difference and we were always ridiculously specific about it. Mom always said it was a good thing Danny was a boy, because from the time I understood she was pregnant, I would point to her stomach and tell anyone who would listen, “That’s little Danny in there.” And from the time he was born, I adored my baby brother. That’s who he was for 16 years.
Danny was the person I grew up with. He’s the person I had backyard Olympics with when we were sort of grounded. (My mom stunk at grounding us. After about 2 hours having us confined to the house, I think it became more punishment for her than us, so we’d be grounded to the backyard.) He’s the person I laughed with, like when we gave mom super sour gum and her mouth puckered so much she couldn’t spit it out. We played too many video games together, argued and fought, and covered for each other in an attempt not to get into trouble. (That only worked once. Sorry Mom and Dad. I didn’t get cut off and slam on the brakes my first solo drive to McDonald’s. Danny pulled the e-brake in the Tempo while I was accelerating to turn left and I punched him in the eye. We figured since the car wasn’t damaged and no one was really hurt, we’d avoid getting grounded. We’ve laughed about it for years.)
There is one story that sums up our relationship and it may not seem appropriate, but at this point I don’t really care. I was probably 8 or 9 and arguing with a neighbor in the front yard. Danny was on the porch, with his big yellow Tonka trucks, seemingly ignoring us. I don’t remember what the argument was about, but it was probably something to do with me being a brat. What I do remember is that the argument peaked with this kid calling me a bitch. I remember that because suddenly Danny launched off the porch, tackled the kid and punched him in the face, and said, “Nobody calls my sister a bitch but me.” LMAO
That was us, even as adults. We laughed just as much as we argued but we always had each other’s back. We shared the unbreakable bond of sibling love.
Rest in heaven, little brother.
I miss my little brother. I hear his voice when I read the poem above. Like I crazy person, I can hear him telling me, "Breathe in, breathe out, love our kids, repeat." Or I hear, "Stop crying, Kris. Your eyeballs are going to fall out, and then you won't be able to see all the amazing things around you." My brother may be gone, but his soul still speaks to my heart.
For everyone who has lost someone, I know the holidays are hard. My advice is reach out to people, even if you can't find the words to say. And if you have no one to reach out to, reach out to me. We cry, and yell and mourn together, and then we can find the light at the end of the tunnel, even if it only faintly shines.
Bless you all,
Kristie
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