Grief

Grief seriously sucks. 

And it never goes away.

It will be four years in July. Four years since I last saw my brother living and breathing before me.

My beloved, dear, sweet, funny, kind, most huggable, quirky brother left my life way too soon.

This was and will likely be the most tragic, traumatic event of my life. I can't imagine anything else worse happening in my life than losing my 26-year-old brother... my mentor, my best friend.

How does a 25-year-old girl cope with that?

Honestly, it was hard and still is hard EVERY SINGLE DAY. It's not easy to sleep at night. Sometimes it's not easy to wake up in the morning. For a long while, I imagined I would never be truly functional again because my mind and my heart were too distracted. And after a few weeks, even after one week, everyone around me went back to their normal lives. I walked around in a cloud, wondering how the person on the street beside me could be laughing. Wondering if the pain, loneliness, sadness, and utter HEARTBREAK would ever go away. Wondering if I could bear to say my brother's name, without breaking down in sobs.

But, I knew if I didn't get out of bed the first week I was home on my own, I would create a terrible, dark future for myself. So, I took it day by day and step by step. I chose to be proactive. I went to my church and asked if there was someone there I could talk to. This weekly meeting with a counselor-in-training was the best and worst part of my week. She asked questions about my brother. She asked how I was doing. She was okay with my roller coaster of emotions. Most people on the outside world had no idea what to do or say, so they didn't say anything at all. And on my last meeting with her, I sobbed because I wouldn't have her in my life anymore. She helped give me hope.

The gym also helped me. I went every day. It seemed a better option than going home after work. If I was home, I'd be home with my thoughts, and I did not want that. So, I turned to exercise because the endorphins lifted me up, even if temporarily.

I also volunteered. At a Hospice facility of all places. I was able to spend time with those individuals living their last days and provide comfort to them and their families. This helped give me peace. And, it reminded me that I am not alone in my grief.

Of course, I still had my sister to lean on too.

But mostly, I helped heal myself with my own positive thinking.

And thoughts that my brother would want me to be living a certain way, in a joyful way, loving everyone I came in contact with.

He and I both shared a similar instinct. We could "feel" whether a person was genuine or not at an initial greeting. We could tell when something was "off". We could sense internal turmoil a mile away.

I think it was because deep down, our weakest and strongest characteristics, is/was our hearts. We knew we were vulnerable because of our capacity to trust and to love. And yet, we still put ourselves out there to get to know others and spread as much joy and hope as we could.

We shared a great ability to see amazing qualities in those broken, hurt, or fallen. It is this quality that allows me to lead in a nonjudgmental way. I thank my brother every day for thinking this and for never turning his back on anyone, regardless of ______________ (fill in the blank...anything). He helped everyone.

It is this gift that I was given, that my brother was given, that makes me a great nurse. I can see pain in someone's eyes. I can sense loneliness. I can tell when someone wants to say something, but is afraid. I know when someone is confused about their plan of care. Frustration, fear, worry, anger, anxiety, hopelessness, stressed, self-doubt, self-consciousness ... I see all these things. I do see good things too...

I choose to help. I enjoy helping. I love to listen. I love to support. I love to encourage. I truly enjoy being someone else's inspiration.

And I have my brother to thank for that. For filling up my heart with so much love and so much goodness that it will surely never run out.