Saturday, February 26, 2011

Three years and forever counting...

Valentines Day marked three years since I've seen my brother. Tomorrow marks three years since he died. At 21 years old. Of a burst aneurysm in his heart. It's amazing how many feelings come flooding back this time of year. Anger. Desperation. Gut wrenching pain. Sadness. Depression. Bitterness. Helplessness. And the calming feeling that all these things I've been worried about lately, really don't matter at all.

I went to therapy after he died because I stopped taking care of myself and landed in the emergency room (of dehydration... nothing too serious, but it was enough to knock some sense into me). I only lasted two sessions in therapy, but one thing my theropist had me do was write Derek a letter. It wasn't for anyone else to read, I wasn't going to send it to anyone... she just told me to write. So I wrote. It's not a long letter. There's more humor than sadness. More hope than depression. I read it at least once a year. And I cry every time. But it's what gets me through some of those toughest times.

There are certain things I can't do without thinking about him... certain songs that still get me... certain people that are still hard to be around... but it's getting better.

I'm not going to share the letter I wrote to him, but one sentence from it reads:
Your boys are leaving for Iraq once again in a few short days. What I wouldn't give for you to be going with them. I know they would do anything for you to be there with them. Spending time with them, getting to know them and seeing the pain in their eyes proved what a wonderful friend, son, boyfriend and brother you were... and without even trying.
So here's to you , Derek. I know you're out there, with a shit-eating grin on your face, looking down and looking after all of us. I love you. Ooo-Rah!

1 comment:

  1. My older brother went to Iraq four times and I worried so much each time. Just the worry of losing him was hard. It can't even compare to what you must be feeling. I'm so sorry.