Thanksgiving

I know I wrote last year of my brother's death (on Thanksgiving Day 2004), and a bit of the memories of the hours and days preceding his death. I wrote of the surreal feelings as I watched nurses push a machine out into the hall that had only hours before been used to keep my brother alive. No longer needed, it was placed in the hallway outside the ICU to be moved along. 

I believe it was - is- therapeutic to write of those last moments, to relive them at times, to remember the emotions ripping through us. If I've learned anything, it is that holding them inside of myself gains me nothing. 

With the passing of time I can look back and see the tidal wave of grief already washing over our family. I remember sitting in the hospital thinking,  

"Everything is going to change. Everything." 

 I can recall the fear I felt engulfing me as I thought about all that was going to change, how f*cking hard it was going to be, how f*cking much it was going to hurt, and for so long.

Seven years later? It still hurts. No, not with the same burning intensity it did in the beginning (those familiar with grief know the pain that realization brings as well). 


Seven years later? The memories of those months after still ravage. However, I feel peace as well. Peace in knowing life still holds joy, love, warm memories. 

While my heart hurts that Bri will never see his nephews grow up, I've learned to smile through the tears when I see them act like he used too.

I know - even as the tears roll down my cheeks as I type-  that we are going to be okay. Thanksgiving will never be the same for us, but instead will always be more special to us. As we gather, we look through pictures, recall memories, laugh, cry, visit Bri's grave to light a candle, and embrace every moment we have together. My boys will squeeze me when I cry, my sister and I will fight over who was Brian's favorite (like there is even a question, right?), we will hold eachother up as family. Our family has created new holiday traditions since Brian's death. My mom, sister, and myself will head out for some Black Friday shopping, shiver in the cold, laughing at how Bri is probably looking down at us laughing at our "stupid shopping." We'll laugh because he would have had a list of items for us to pick up for him. 

  
As I said last year, "Sometimes, the miracle is the miracle of time." 
My wish for your this Thanksgiving? To take a minute to push all the worries of the moment aside, take stock, and enjoy the miracle of each breath you take.
 


P.S. If you stuck through this thing, thanks. I needed to cry and get it out!