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Tag Archives: death of sibling

saturday

wall of tattoo designs

today was about a lot of things, but mostly about family. about the family we are, the family we celebrate. it was about being here and now – having two small children leaves little choice but to allow life to flow over and around me, even when i feel like a stone, sunken to the bottom of a swiftly-moving river. it was moments of pause. moments of remembering.

two of three

touching down for a second with my sister, and feeling the cellular changes happening to us without our brother. tears, and pain, and honor, and love.

thinking about my children, and how very tiny and fragile they were, and how amazing, and shining, and wonderful they are now. and how lucky i am to be their mama. every day. every breath.

today

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Posted by on November 5, 2011 in family, loss, relationship, spirit, twins

 

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ennui

how i really feel

It was a pretty crappy day. I was alone, which I’d been anticipating, but then quickly became lost in this sea of sadness. When I feel low even normally, my thoughts turn on me, and those horrid inner voices paralyse. I have a list that would take me a year to complete circulating in my brain – thank you’s and heart communications to friends and strangers alike who wrote to us during the time Simon was in the hospital, things to do to support his girlfriend, ideas about what my parents and grandparents must need from me… not to mention all the multitude of things around the house that need attention and the ways I’d like to be better meeting the needs of my kids. When I am alone, every one of these things calls to me, insistently and unrelentingly. I ended up spending most of the day staring at photos on the computer, trying to sew a gift for my parents’ anniversary (then abandoning sewing and putting all the fabric away), then lying in bed. My dad used the word today to describe his own state, and it feels pretty on par.

It was a beautiful afternoon outside – the sun, my boys, my Ted – when I was finally pulled out of these surrounding walls and away from the merciless voices within, it actually felt good. We had dinner with friends, had a funny ride home with the kids, and a nice bedtime with my sister… but inside, that well is still there… cold, dark, and still.

 
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Posted by on November 3, 2011 in loss

 

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unravelled

last day

It’s still a shock that my brother isn’t alive anymore. I speak about him with the present verb tense even as I talk about his death. We had made a reservation for him and his girlfriend to stay here at the co-housing community guest room this past weekend… when one of our neighbors asked if our guests had arrived, I had to really think about who we’d saved the room for… and then of course there it was…. it was for my brother, who is gone.

Two nights ago, his girlfriend posted this photo, taken on their last day out in the big world together. It came up in my news feed on facebook, and the natural color, his uncensored smile, the beauty of it was just so there, so alive, that it took my breath away. I had a moment of simple reaction, of thinking it was him, alive, real. Then the tears, the heavy reality.

Since coming home from Seattle where he died, I have consumed myself with knitting. The simple repetition, the feel of the yarn and needles, the attention to tension in my hands as they pass the yarn, these all combine to numb my thoughts. I’ve finished three hats in two weeks, and last night started a sweet little button-down vest for Shoghi.

The last time I knit so much was in 2007, during the end of my marriage to D. The day after we separated, I went with my best friend and bought some beautiful yarn — consolation yarn, I think we called it — and casted on for a sweater for myself, which actually I never finished. It’s kind of a double-edged sword, making things when you’re processing such sadness. But now that I’m in it again, I can see it for what it is for me: a buffer, a means for containing my emotions while they sort themselves out from within.

Maybe when I’m done this vest, I’ll actually finish up that sweater I started in ’07. It doesn’t really matter, I guess. I’m just keeping my hands busy while my mind reforms itself around this new and very sad part of my own life – without my little brother.

 
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Posted by on November 1, 2011 in family, loss

 

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Passed

Simon died 9 days ago. My little brother, whom I admire(d) and adore(d), is somehow no longer here. I was there – with him for the long days of expectation and determined hope for healing, for the meetings with surgeons and neurologists, for the pronouncement that he would not survive. Along with many others, and as far as I was permitted, I accompanied him on the journey of last breaths, and watched as his body was left behind – as we were all left behind.

Here I am, though, ten days later, and I am lost. I get up, manage the morning with my boys and get them to school (thank god for school), come home and return to pajamas and bed. I knit, watch Netflix, and keep this ocean of sadness at bay with the repetitive motion of yarn around needle, up, down. Rote doing and mechanical being.

I didn’t take a picture of it, but in the hotel room we lived in for nearly three weeks as we kept vigil with simon, there was a lousy corporate “art” thing framed in the bedroom. I noticed it the first night: an enso, open at the top, its inner contents pouring out into the sloppily-rendered sky. I hated that painting, for it’s spirit-less, mass-produced essence, and for it’s symbolism of death, seemingly unseen by the slouch in whatever cubicle who decided it was appropriate for thousands of rooms around the world. I hated ending my days by looking death in the face.

Somehow this blog about certitude got wrapped up in my (so far failed) attempt at developing a daily practice, but really, I migrated here from my last blog because my orientation had shifted and I wanted a new place. So here I am, showing up as-is.

20111025-092641.jpg

 
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Posted by on October 25, 2011 in daily enso, family, loss, relationship

 

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