When somebody dies, the first reaction is often that you don’t know what to do or say to help them. My entire life changed the moment that my dad said “we lost him” and I found out my twenty-four year old brother died. I had just been called into my assistant principals office during open house, and was nervous that I was in trouble (if you know me you know I’m pretty much always anxious that I’ve done something wrong). I was wearing black dress pants that were slightly too tight and our new school shirt that I didn’t really like. The counselor that I’d never met before was in the room. The second the door opened, I knew that Matt was dead. It’s not the first time in my life that I’ve been speechless, but it will always be the most memorable. The next weeks passed by in a blur.
Now, things have settled down. It’s been two and a half months. I can function. I can smile and laugh. I have hope for a future. There are moments of great, deep pain, but also moments where I remember funny things that Matt said or did. Knowing I will never see him again is confusing and painful. It’s confusing because I’m having a wonderful school year. I’m connecting with my students in ways I haven’t before (or maybe after six years I’m finally just getting the hang of it?). It’s sort of like grief cracked me open and made me start fresh.
A lot of people said, have said, or continue to say “I just don’t know what to do.” I understand this. So, I decided to write about it. As someone who spent six years of her life blogging about everyday, and now is an English teacher who spends a ridiculous amount of time reading and writing, this seems like a natural extension. And who knows, maybe this will help someone. Writing is therapeutic.
A small caveat. Also, my experience is not everyone's. I’m not going to try to act like it is.
Acknowledge the loss.
This is the hardest thing but the most important thing to me. The other day I went to a night time couples bridal shower. I had already had a hard day because I was thinking about how my brother would never go to his high school reunion (I swear to God the most random things trigger grief). I saw a friend that I hadn’t seen in a few months. She asked what was new and I froze. All I could think was… my brother died. That’s what’s new! I froze up. But my friend just looked at me and said “I know, just so you know. So we can talk about it or not talk about it.” In that moment, I appreciated her more than she’ll ever know.
Do the heavy lifting.
Please don’t ask me how he died, who found him, etc. It’s really rude, really hurtful, and the few people who have done that I’m holding a slight grudge against because I’m being petty, ha. Instead, ask me to share a fun memory, or just let me know you’re there. (Like my friend Anthony, who said, I never got to meet your brother but it was evident that he was an amazing guy so I’m here if you want to talk about the good times or bad). Or, if I do need to talk about the not so pretty parts, don’t act grossed out or be judgemental.
If you ask how I’m doing, be prepared for an honest answer.
Is this one just me? If you ask me if I’m okay, I’ll answer honestly. I’ll share about how I almost broke down at aforementioned bridal shower because my brother will never be able to be at mine. As someone who truly excels at being vulnerable, just warning ya you may get a real answer. Also, some days are honestly good. That doesn’t mean I’m not sad.
Send the sympathy card, go to the service, do the Hard Things.
As someone who has never sent a sympathy card before (A text is fine! It’s 2019!), I will now always send a sympathy card. In my opinion, a Facebook message counts, but saying absolutely nothing because you don’t know what to say is not okay. My friend John messaged me and said if he hadn’t had a prior commitment he would have driven down to attend the service from Michigan, which turned me into a puddle of tears. I will never forget that, nor the tons of people who have stepped up in my time of need. You know who you are.
2.5 months in and I’m surviving. Some days, even thriving.
