That Which Makes Me Stronger

Today is my brother's birthday. His 40th to be exact. Well, it would have been. I have dreaded the arrival of this day for each of the past three years. I can't believe it's been almost three years.

Lukie Pukie, Lucile or, if you want to be boring, Luke. That is his name. January 9th will mark three years since his death, and I can't believe it has gone so fast. Especially when at the time it felt like the world had stopped and wouldn't go on. But it did. And in that time I learned that, while time does heal wounds, sometimes the lingering scars are even more difficult to deal with.

At first I had a hard time with the crying. Weeks after his death I would sob uncontrollably. At work I would just shut my office door. Then at church it seemed like the hymns we sang would always be those we sung at the funeral. I couldn't sing some of my favorite songs for over a year. Sometimes I would get up and leave the room so I didn't have to hear it.

I've come to realize there is an unspoken "grief timeline". It seems to be generally assumed that within the first 3 months or so the crying should stop; after 6 you won't be sad; and after a year you're fine. Anyone who has dealt with a loss of this magnitude knows how inaccurate that really is. The death of someone close fundamentally changes a piece of you. And that piece is always grieving.

All week I've been a little sad without even realizing why. October 28th must be highlighted in my subconscious. I was never close with my brother. He was, after all, 10 years older than me which is huge when you're growing up. Very long spans of time would often pass between conversations, yet now hardy a day goes by when I'm not thinking of him.

I often wonder how things might have been between the two of us. We butted heads for years, and it wasn't until we were both adults that we could finally have a real conversation. I miss what might have been. I miss what was. And it hurts to think about it all.

The thing about pain is that you learn from it. Our bodies are biologically designed that way. Sometimes it's hard to admit that emotionally and spiritually we're designed the same way. Especially when it hurts so bad.

My beliefs are the only thing that get me through those dark times in tact. Stronger, in fact. Luke's death forced me to examine the fundamental tenets of my faith; why we are here, where did we come from, and where are we going. We Mormons call it the Plan of Salvation.

This experience has strengthened those beliefs. I know that our time on earth is designed for our eternal progression and that without struggle we don't grow.  I know families are eternal through our Savior, Jesus Christ, and the ordinances of the temple. And I know that I will see him again.

After Luke's death I couldn't imagine how I would ever be able to speak, or even think, of my brother without bursting into tears. A friend who had lost her father several years ago told me that eventually I'll be able to think of him and smile.

And she was right. It still hurts at times, but now the smiles are there too.