Sarah has a few words to say on processing difficult grief, and why there’s not one way that suits all. Over to her…
As I sit here and write this, it is my brother’s birthday. A big birthday. The big 4-0!
One problem, though… he died in 2001, so it makes celebrating a little difficult.
He was 17, when he passed, and the family all reacted in different ways. My Mum threw herself into work, one sister dealt with age regression, and the other sister turned to friends with alcohol and drugs for support, whereas I went and had a breakdown.
Over time, we all levelled out and adapted to life without him. There have been schools, colleges, and universities left behind, multiple jobs been and gone, new homes, many failed relationships, three weddings (none of them mine), and four children (again, none of them mine, unless you count the cat).
After 23 years, we have all found different ways to accept the loss. Both my sisters have fond memories of him and are happy to reminisce. My Mum likes to talk about him, too. A lot. Like “a lot”, a lot.
I, however, had a more complex relationship with my brother so the way I handle things now is to not really think about him. And I don’t mean that as in ‘if I think about it him, the emotions become too much to handle’. I mean it as in ‘I honestly just don’t think about him, much’.
Never – and I mean never – have I or would I ever be glad my brother died. It is a pain I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. But I think that my aforementioned breakdown, which was the first of at least three, forced me into dealing with a lot of issues relating to our relationship as siblings that I hadn’t wanted to ever acknowledge. I had to admit to myself that my brother scared me, hurt me, abused me, and left me with some real traumatic scars that may never fully heal.
It is a complicated thing to explain to people; he was my brother and I loved him, but I don’t miss him. And that is a response people know how to process. You will also notice that I talk about him in the past tense; he was my brother, not that he is my brother, because somehow I just can’t find it in me to feel those warm fuzzy feelings that come from remembering a loved one.
Unlike everybody else in my family I don’t spend every day missing him, and I don’t wish he was still here. Our childhood was traumatic in many ways, and ‘difficult’ at best. My experiences with him were different than those of my sisters, and my memories with him are different than those of my Mum. But they’re very real things and I can’t force myself to feel something I don’t, or put on a show to make other people comfortable. I am thinking about him today primarily because it is expected of me and because those around me are dealing with strong emotions, and I want to make it easier for them.
My brother isn’t supposed to be gone, and it’s tragic that he never got to see what life had planned down the road. And despite our differences back then, I think we would have had a lot more in common as adults. But it just wasn’t meant to be that way, and I probably grieve the possibilities more than I grieve him.
I’m not heartless, I promise. I do have some good memories of him. I’m just in a different place in my grieving process. It is still a valid way to feel.
Thanks so much to Sarah for sharing her words. This column will return next week.
