Four months have gone by since my youngest brother Mark passed away from a drug overdose. Every day has had its challenges. Joy has been tempered by pain, beautiful mornings sometimes ruined with memories of death, and a constant reminder that a part of me is missing. Still, life does go on…but it’s different now. I take comfort in the knowledge that Mark is no longer suffering, he is with Jesus, and that I will walk and talk with him again someday. I selfishly wish that he was still here so that our family didn’t have to go through this, while at the same time I rejoice for the end of his journey.
June 1, 2019 is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life. My wife and I along with our children all went to June fest for a morning of fun. We shopped at the local vendors, talked with friends as we passed by, and the kids played games. My youngest daughter Emma unfortunately won a goldfish…it was a pretty good morning. My wife’s family came over to visit in the afternoon and we all had a good time. In the late evening I saw my cellphone buzzing on the counter and I almost didn’t answer it because I didn’t recognize the number. It was Mark’s girlfriend and she had just returned to my Mom and Dad’s house from work where she found Mark dead. I could barely understand her as she tried to tell me that she thought Mark was dead and I told her to call 911 and that I would be right over. My father in law and brother in law went with me to my parents’ house where I met her in the front yard. She was inconsolable and hyperventilating. The ambulance and police were already there. I finally got her to go inside and sit at the kitchen table with my father in law where he spent the next hour talking with her and calming her down.
After she went inside, I confirmed with the emergency responders that Mark was dead. He had died earlier that morning. By then my Uncle Tom, and cousins Dan and Aaron were in the front yard too. I then started the agonizing process of calling my parents and siblings to let them know the news. I will always remember the sounds that they all made as I called them to let them know what had happened, clutching my own chest to remain calm, and the pained expression on the faces of many of the emergency responders as I made each call. Many of them knew my parents well and there was a lot of love being shown that night. After this came the interview with the sheriff’s office and the identification with the coroner. By this time my brothers were with me. My brother Mike brought Mark’s girlfriend home and my brother Tom helped with the interview with the Sheriff. I was thankful that I was surrounded by so much love that night. After I identified Mark for the coroner the funeral director arrived, and they carefully and professionally brought Mark out of the house and drove him away. These are the last memories that I have of Mark, but they are not the ones that I will keep close to my heart.
I remember when my parents told me they were having another baby, and I remember the day they brought Mark home when he was born. As he grew, we quickly found out that he was a bundle of energy, filled with joy, with the biggest smile I had ever seen. His smile and compassion for others are the characteristics that will always define Mark for me.
Over the last four months I have spent a lot of time in prayer, in self- reflection, and a lot of time thinking about the impact he had here on Earth. At the end of the day, when all is said and done, it is our impact on people around us both known and unknown that will define us. Mark was in pain, for many different reasons but always gave of himself to others, and at the end of his day he was my brother that loved his family and loved his God. The outpouring of emotion and gratitude for Mark from so many people at his funeral and during the months that have followed is amazing. Even though he was suffering, even though he was in pain, he was still able to have such a profound impact on others...It’s amazing… and it's powerful.
Friday, September 27, 2019
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Grief and Breathing
The grief takes my breath away, so fast, so hard, it feels like my lungs stop, like maybe there will not be another breath, ever again. It passes for a moment, and then hits again, sometimes not as hard, sometimes harder, always again and again, relentless, until grief has had its way and left me weak, helpless, unsure.
The words will not escape my lips. There is no air for them. Sometimes it feels as though there will never be any more words, or breath. how can someone talk, speak, or even breathe with this terrible pain of unrelenting grief hanging around their neck? The questions recur, for which there are no answers.
The words should come, there should be answers, right?
Finally almighty exhaustion washes over words and air, and there is no choice but to collapse, or recover.
A Siblings Grief - Michael
Reflections of a Broken Man.
On June 1, 2019 my younger brother, Mark, died tragically from a drug overdose. I remember picking him up for work that morning. He was due to be at work at 6:15AM, and so I went by to pick him up at around 5:45AM. He was not awake. None of the lights in the house were on. Mark never woke up late when he needed to work. Looking back this was a red flag. I called him several times and he finally woke up. I told him to get ready because we could still make it in time. He came out around 6:05AM and we made our way to his job. We arrived at 6:14AM and he walked inside. His shift was supposed to last until 1:00PM.
Around 10:04AM he texted me. He asked "Hey, can you scoop me up from work?" I replied sure. I thought maybe his shift ended early because there was no business. Working in a restaurant is often difficult and for a number of reasons. My wife and kids were in the car with me because we were going to the parade in town. We picked him up and he was white. The boys greeted him, "Hi Uncle Boochey!" And he responded slowly and haltingly, "hey buddies..." He stumbled as he walked. He slurred his speech. I looked at him and he did not look well. This was not the "I am sick" look but rather worse than that. I asked him if I needed to take him to the doctor. He knew that I knew. He said "Nah, man. I just need to sleep this off." This was not the first time he ever said these words to me, but it was the last time.
We dropped him off, and I said I'd see him later. Then we watched him walked into the house. He was stumbling but he was upright. He reached for his keys and unlocked the door. I thought to myself - He is good enough to open the door - He will be OK. We pulled out of the driveway and drove into town for a parade. I would never see my brother alive again.
I saw children laughing and playing. I saw adults clapping and swaying. I saw politicians "If I may" -ing. The juxtaposition of the day and the night, looking back, is palpable.
After we had walked through town a bit and checked out this and that - you know the small town fare - people selling their unwanted goods hoping you will find a good deal on a buried treasure - the church cooking chicken over an open fire grill - the dunk tank and the mayor - the police out and about ensuring the public safety. I said to Jenn, my wife, that I didn't feel well and that I wanted to go home. She is such a good woman. She drove me home.
I laid down to sleep around 3 or 4:00PM. I woke up suddenly in my sleep at 5:30 or so and had a sinking feeling in my gut as though I was missing several heartbeats. Then I thought of Mark. Was he OK? I should check up on him. Nah, he's fine. He's probably drinking a cup of coffee or something. I went back to sleep.
I woke up at 9:35 when my wife came into my bedroom and said. "Michael, Mark has died." I sat up. Silenced myself again and asked if she had told the boys. She had not, and so together we broke the news to them. My oldest brother had attempted to call me. My phone was on vibrate which meant I did not answer and out of desperation called my wife. She was at the fireworks in town with the kids. She came home immediately.
Then I called my oldest brother. He asked me to come over. I did so. He was calm and collected. Two of my cousins were there outside. My oldest brother's father in law was there outside. I went in where I found Charlie next to the kitchen sink, and Mark's girlfriend sobbing while speaking with the sheriff's deputy. I asked Charlie how I could help. He asked me to take her home. I did so.
I dropped her off in her hometown about 35 minutes away. That was an awkward drive. In that moment I gave Mark's girlfriend the best advice I could. "Do not ask why something happens in the middle of your pain. Deal with the pain first, and ask why when you are able to handle the question and whatever answer comes."
On the way home I called a former pastor of mine who lives in Australia now. I have always been able to rely on his advice and counsel. He prayed with me, mourned with me, and has been a source of inspiration to me particularly in the past few months. Thankfully 11:00pm at night on a Saturday in New York is 1 :00PM Sunday in Sydney.
These actions were of a man who was trying his best to control what he could around him. The chaos of that night, and of every night since sears my soul to it innermost. My brother, who was 17 months my junior, was my partner in crime. He was my best man when I was married. He was my confidant when I needed to speak my mind. He was my comic relief when I was taking life too seriously. I do not remember a time without Mark since I was so young when he was born. I do not remember a time when it was not "Mike and Mark" getting into trouble together. Yet for the last few months I have to remember what it is like to have Mark, and that is a reality I still long to return to someday. Lord Jesus come quickly.
I am convinced that the heart beats I felt like I was missing that night was a spiritual bond that Mark and I shared in this world breaking. No more would I have my best man, my confidant, my comic relief, or my antagonizer. No more would I hear his voice saying my name and the word "stop" afterwards. Ever more I will miss my brother.
On June 1, 2019 my younger brother, Mark, died tragically from a drug overdose. I remember picking him up for work that morning. He was due to be at work at 6:15AM, and so I went by to pick him up at around 5:45AM. He was not awake. None of the lights in the house were on. Mark never woke up late when he needed to work. Looking back this was a red flag. I called him several times and he finally woke up. I told him to get ready because we could still make it in time. He came out around 6:05AM and we made our way to his job. We arrived at 6:14AM and he walked inside. His shift was supposed to last until 1:00PM.
Around 10:04AM he texted me. He asked "Hey, can you scoop me up from work?" I replied sure. I thought maybe his shift ended early because there was no business. Working in a restaurant is often difficult and for a number of reasons. My wife and kids were in the car with me because we were going to the parade in town. We picked him up and he was white. The boys greeted him, "Hi Uncle Boochey!" And he responded slowly and haltingly, "hey buddies..." He stumbled as he walked. He slurred his speech. I looked at him and he did not look well. This was not the "I am sick" look but rather worse than that. I asked him if I needed to take him to the doctor. He knew that I knew. He said "Nah, man. I just need to sleep this off." This was not the first time he ever said these words to me, but it was the last time.
We dropped him off, and I said I'd see him later. Then we watched him walked into the house. He was stumbling but he was upright. He reached for his keys and unlocked the door. I thought to myself - He is good enough to open the door - He will be OK. We pulled out of the driveway and drove into town for a parade. I would never see my brother alive again.
I saw children laughing and playing. I saw adults clapping and swaying. I saw politicians "If I may" -ing. The juxtaposition of the day and the night, looking back, is palpable.
After we had walked through town a bit and checked out this and that - you know the small town fare - people selling their unwanted goods hoping you will find a good deal on a buried treasure - the church cooking chicken over an open fire grill - the dunk tank and the mayor - the police out and about ensuring the public safety. I said to Jenn, my wife, that I didn't feel well and that I wanted to go home. She is such a good woman. She drove me home.
I laid down to sleep around 3 or 4:00PM. I woke up suddenly in my sleep at 5:30 or so and had a sinking feeling in my gut as though I was missing several heartbeats. Then I thought of Mark. Was he OK? I should check up on him. Nah, he's fine. He's probably drinking a cup of coffee or something. I went back to sleep.
I woke up at 9:35 when my wife came into my bedroom and said. "Michael, Mark has died." I sat up. Silenced myself again and asked if she had told the boys. She had not, and so together we broke the news to them. My oldest brother had attempted to call me. My phone was on vibrate which meant I did not answer and out of desperation called my wife. She was at the fireworks in town with the kids. She came home immediately.
Then I called my oldest brother. He asked me to come over. I did so. He was calm and collected. Two of my cousins were there outside. My oldest brother's father in law was there outside. I went in where I found Charlie next to the kitchen sink, and Mark's girlfriend sobbing while speaking with the sheriff's deputy. I asked Charlie how I could help. He asked me to take her home. I did so.
I dropped her off in her hometown about 35 minutes away. That was an awkward drive. In that moment I gave Mark's girlfriend the best advice I could. "Do not ask why something happens in the middle of your pain. Deal with the pain first, and ask why when you are able to handle the question and whatever answer comes."
On the way home I called a former pastor of mine who lives in Australia now. I have always been able to rely on his advice and counsel. He prayed with me, mourned with me, and has been a source of inspiration to me particularly in the past few months. Thankfully 11:00pm at night on a Saturday in New York is 1 :00PM Sunday in Sydney.
These actions were of a man who was trying his best to control what he could around him. The chaos of that night, and of every night since sears my soul to it innermost. My brother, who was 17 months my junior, was my partner in crime. He was my best man when I was married. He was my confidant when I needed to speak my mind. He was my comic relief when I was taking life too seriously. I do not remember a time without Mark since I was so young when he was born. I do not remember a time when it was not "Mike and Mark" getting into trouble together. Yet for the last few months I have to remember what it is like to have Mark, and that is a reality I still long to return to someday. Lord Jesus come quickly.
I am convinced that the heart beats I felt like I was missing that night was a spiritual bond that Mark and I shared in this world breaking. No more would I have my best man, my confidant, my comic relief, or my antagonizer. No more would I hear his voice saying my name and the word "stop" afterwards. Ever more I will miss my brother.
Monday, September 23, 2019
A Sibling - Anna's Grief
"No, Charles, no!" Apparently those were the words I uttered on June 1, 2019, the night my brother, Charlie, called to tell us the terrible news, he later told me. "Mark is dead," he said. I do remember falling to my knees in agony. I do remember the terrible noise my father made as he came down the stairs, holding the phone. I do remember holding my mother as she sobbed and screamed, "No, not Mark." Many of the days after my youngest brother's death have been a blur, but as I look back there are certain things I can recall with clarity. Calling one of my aunt's to tell her of the sad news remains clear. Picking out and ironing Mark's burial clothes, finding pictures for the calling hours and service and picking out songs for his remembrance DVD, these moments are clear.
I also remember the pained expression on Charlie's face as he explained and showed our parents where Mark lay when he passed away. You see, they were visiting me and my family in Delmar for a belated birthday celebration for my daughter, Jessica. Can you say guilt? Maybe if I hadn't decided to a have a BBQ in the first place they would have been home. If they were home, maybe Mark wouldn't have used that day? If they were home, maybe they could have helped him? Too many maybes...
I remember my brother, Tom's, poem that he wrote for Mark and Abel, Mark's infant son who also passed. A beautiful poem written as an expression of love which Tom and Michael read at the service. I remember Tom, usually so quiet and stoic, crying as he practiced before hand. I turned to him and simply gave him a hug.
I remember my brother, Michael, who conducted Mark's service. Not one tear. How did he do that? His eulogy was titled "Solidarity." I don't remember exact words or phrases. I was simply astounded he could stand there in front of so many people and remember our loving brother who lay so close to him.
I remember Mark. His hands, his perfect nose and such small ears-which appears to be a significant family trait. I remember touching his hair. He was so beautiful and handsome.
Our father has asked us to express how Mark's death has affected us. How do you express the agony? The gut-wrenching pain that every day squeezes your heart? How do you express the images and noises that you keep seeing and hearing as your parents realize their youngest child has died? How do you express the realization that Mark will never again participate in family celebrations and events? He will never have another birthday. There aren't enough words to express the anguish and despair that I feel.
And the questions remains....why? Why did he decide on that day? Was this the first time he had used in a while? Why did he relapse? Why...of all people...why Mark? Was his work really done on Earth that God needed him that badly? Why do I feel so much pain? Guilt? Jealousy? Yes, even jealousy. I live 250 miles, 4 hours from my family. I am jealous of the time they spent with Mark when I didn't. I am jealous of the memories they have of Mark when I don't. Why was I not closer? Too many whys....
And I worry. I worry that my family will not ever be the same again. I know we will not, for there is one missing. I worry that my parents and remaining brothers are so terribly sad maybe even angry. What can I do? How can I help them? How can I fix this pain? I have realized I can't do anything and it just sucks. This grief, this despair isn't anything I can help, fix or even control. We have to bear it, live with it and somehow, eventually, find our way through it. This terrible loss of our Mark is unimaginable.
And finally I remember our beloved Mark. Not in death but as he was in life. Caring, gentle, funny, generous, thoughtful and so loving. My last interactions with him were at our aunt's funeral just 2 weeks prior to his death. I pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home and he was there outside. I smiled and said to Doug, "there's Mark." He immediately came over to my car, gave me a huge hug and we chatted. We laughed and smiled. I will always remember that smile, that amazing smile that belonged to the man that will never ever be forgotten.
I also remember the pained expression on Charlie's face as he explained and showed our parents where Mark lay when he passed away. You see, they were visiting me and my family in Delmar for a belated birthday celebration for my daughter, Jessica. Can you say guilt? Maybe if I hadn't decided to a have a BBQ in the first place they would have been home. If they were home, maybe Mark wouldn't have used that day? If they were home, maybe they could have helped him? Too many maybes...
I remember my brother, Tom's, poem that he wrote for Mark and Abel, Mark's infant son who also passed. A beautiful poem written as an expression of love which Tom and Michael read at the service. I remember Tom, usually so quiet and stoic, crying as he practiced before hand. I turned to him and simply gave him a hug.
I remember my brother, Michael, who conducted Mark's service. Not one tear. How did he do that? His eulogy was titled "Solidarity." I don't remember exact words or phrases. I was simply astounded he could stand there in front of so many people and remember our loving brother who lay so close to him.
I remember Mark. His hands, his perfect nose and such small ears-which appears to be a significant family trait. I remember touching his hair. He was so beautiful and handsome.
Our father has asked us to express how Mark's death has affected us. How do you express the agony? The gut-wrenching pain that every day squeezes your heart? How do you express the images and noises that you keep seeing and hearing as your parents realize their youngest child has died? How do you express the realization that Mark will never again participate in family celebrations and events? He will never have another birthday. There aren't enough words to express the anguish and despair that I feel.
And the questions remains....why? Why did he decide on that day? Was this the first time he had used in a while? Why did he relapse? Why...of all people...why Mark? Was his work really done on Earth that God needed him that badly? Why do I feel so much pain? Guilt? Jealousy? Yes, even jealousy. I live 250 miles, 4 hours from my family. I am jealous of the time they spent with Mark when I didn't. I am jealous of the memories they have of Mark when I don't. Why was I not closer? Too many whys....
And I worry. I worry that my family will not ever be the same again. I know we will not, for there is one missing. I worry that my parents and remaining brothers are so terribly sad maybe even angry. What can I do? How can I help them? How can I fix this pain? I have realized I can't do anything and it just sucks. This grief, this despair isn't anything I can help, fix or even control. We have to bear it, live with it and somehow, eventually, find our way through it. This terrible loss of our Mark is unimaginable.
And finally I remember our beloved Mark. Not in death but as he was in life. Caring, gentle, funny, generous, thoughtful and so loving. My last interactions with him were at our aunt's funeral just 2 weeks prior to his death. I pulled into the parking lot of the funeral home and he was there outside. I smiled and said to Doug, "there's Mark." He immediately came over to my car, gave me a huge hug and we chatted. We laughed and smiled. I will always remember that smile, that amazing smile that belonged to the man that will never ever be forgotten.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
-
June 1, 2019 I was talking with some people at my daughter, Anna's, house when I heard a gut wrenching sound from my husband, Chu...
-
Grief's Black Hole Leigh and I would like to share a different point of view this time. As parents, we have experienced grief from a dif... -
Face it. Grief sucks. Nasty. Overwhelming. Sometimes consuming. It has its way - for a day, week, month, year - or more. It ambushes you in...