talknerdytome67-blog

[talknerdytome67-blog]

Loss

What did it mean that there were no handbooks for me? That people asked me to be strong in the face of the biggest loss I’d ever experienced or imagined? At times I felt like I didn’t deserve to feel so shattered, especially in the shadow of my parents’ immense loss but losing a twin is like losing half of yourself.

When I was 22, my twin brother, who was my only sibling, died. He had huffed duster while driving resulting in immediate brain death causing him to hit a tree at over 90mph. That day wasnt like any other day because a few months earlier I woke up and knew he was going to die. Just not how or when. The day the phone rang and I heard my mom say dark, foreign words like car accident, unresponsive, drugs, life support was the most impactful day of my life. In the thickness of shock, I didn’t realize that the rest of my life would be measured in before and after. Before, when my family was intact. After, when I would somehow be forced to learn to live without the person I was supposed to get a lifetime with.

“Be strong for your parents,” said blurs of people at Trevor’s memorial service. I nodded, but inside me, something twisted. I stood in a daze as people streamed by, offering their awkward words and hugs. Be strong for your parents? I thought. How can I be strong for them when half my soul just died and I dont even know how to be strong for myself.

After

I was barely breathing. I was barely standing there. I was numb and strong was the last thing I felt. One thing is for sure I felt angry at my brother for leaving me here. For abandoning me. It’s funny how I found myself consoling complete strangers over the death of my brother and yet these very people werent there for him when he was alive and struggling w addiction. Why is it that no one seems to truly care about you until tragedy strikes and then suddenly your life meant so much to them. They say things like “I didn’t see this coming” “Why didn’t they reach out”

In the early months after Trevors death at 22, I existed in a heavy fog. Nothing was as I knew it. I’d been forced to abandon the little life I’d once known. My friends were living their lives – going to college, working, falling in and out of love and lust. Meanwhile, my life had stopped and I no longer recognized the world around me.

My home was filled with the cloying scent of flowers just starting to die. It struck me just then how terrible it was that we send flowers to the grieving – here you go, another reminder that nothing is permanent, that everything lovely will be lost.

My brother’s absence was heavy in the house. Though he had died in Peoria, his room was still scattered with relics: the bed he had slept in for so many years, his skateboarding hoodies hanging like shadows in the closets, a handful of videos and books. Memories pinned to each corner. His beloved Ferret Ember waiting for her best friend who was never coming home.

Having always taken comfort in words, I scoured the internet for a book for someone like me – a barely adult whose (barely) adult twin brother had died. What I found was unimpressive: There were more books on losing a pet than losing a brother or sister, especially a twin. A few books existed for surviving children after a death in the family, but they were for small children. One memoir documented a sister’s grief following her brother’s death, but it was out of print.

What did it mean that there were no handbooks for me? That people asked me to be strong in the face of the biggest loss I’d ever experienced or imagined? At times I felt like I didn’t deserve to feel so shattered, especially in the shadow of my parents’ immense loss. I felt guilty for missing him.

A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant and my world took another 360* hit. I decided I needed to join a support group so I sat in a circle with a few widows and widowers, a woman whose daughter had died, and a woman whose mother had died. I was younger than any of them by at least 30 years, but I could relate to their shares: “I feel like I’m going crazy.” “I’m so damned angry right now.” “I can’t sleep at night.” “My anxiety is at an all time high”

Though the losses were different, the feelings were the same and we were all barely coping.

My parents, who adopted us at 2 would never be the same. Their pain was almost visible, as if a piece of their bodies had been cut out. I had lost myself, too, or at least the version of me that was unscathed by tragedy: an innocent version, who walked around in some parallel universe where her brother was still alive, ignorant to the incredible fortune of an entirely alive family.

My brother, my twin, my built in best friend. I miss Trevors big brown eyes. His loud laugh. He was the co-keeper of my childhood and my secret’s. The person who was supposed to walk with me longer than anyone else in this life. The only other person who knew what it was like to grow up with our particular parents, in our particular home and our particular situation being adopted.

The future.

I cried for the nephews and nieces I would never have. I cried for my own daughter who would never know my brother, her uncle. How would I explain him? How would I ensure that his essence wasn’t lost, that he wasn’t just a figure in old photographs, a handful of stories? Suddenly i was the only person who could make my parents the grandparents they were soon to be.

I constantly grieve for all the hard times ahead when my brother wouldn’t be by my side. When my parents begin to age. When my grandparents die. There would be no one to share these dark milestones with and no one to comfort me in the way he did with just his presence.

And so 3 weeks after his death Im now pregnant and despite feeling like I wanted to die from the pain and loneliness i had to stay alive. I suddenly was needing to stay healthy, to stay safe, to stay positive because I was bringing a beautiful baby girl into the world and theres no time to fall apart.

So I placed my grief on hold.

I felt like our family had been a four-legged table, and one leg had suddenly been torn off. The remaining three of us wobbled and teetered. We felt the missing leg like an amputee, each morning waking to the horrible fact that Trevor was gone and unable to stop the pain.

I wrote letters to my brother in those early months and years. At first, memories blazed through my head and I used the letters to capture them before they flitted away, gone forever: my brother walking towards me when he knew my heart had been broken and embracing me in a giant hug. The time I taught him to make snow angels in the front yard of our home, our bulkily clad limbs sliding in synchronicity under the cold afternoon sun.

Later, I wrote the letters when I needed to cry – when the grief sat coiled and waiting in my chest, needing to be let out, released. I couldn’t find the words of other bereaved twin sisters or brothers to bring me comfort, so I created my own.

One day, when I was lost in my sadness, my mom said, “You won’t always feel like this. You’ll have a family of your own. You’ll move on.” This seemed impossible in my 23 year-old new mom skin. I couldn’t imagine this potential future where I lived a life my brother was no longer apart of.

But very, very slowly, I began putting my life back together. I gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl and I made the difficult decision to leave an abusive relationship and return home again. As time has gone on I notice my daughter has his love of music and animals and possesses the lighthearted spirit my brother had at the same age and I cant help but smile and think a part of him is in her.

Sometimes adult siblings aren’t able to close the distance between them, all those shared experiences and time and space and relationships matter. They tether us, they twine our stories together. I pray that my children will one day remain close as they grow, and that they enjoy a long lifetime together and never take eachother for granted.

After nearly 9 years, the sharp shock and grief I felt in those early months and years are no longer constant but only come back in waves, especially around his angelversary or our birthday. It’s hard to explain to people the survivors guilt I feel and the PTSD I acquired from watching him struggle to pass away after being taken off life support. It’s hard to explain to people that the week of his death never gets easier to face and I tend to shut down and shut people out because I dont want to be a burden. I distance myself so my sadness doesnt spill into their lives.

Its taken 9 years for the pain to dull and for the words “your brother is dead” to stop pounding in my head – but they did. Trevors absence is mostly a dull hurt, the ghost of an old broken bone that aches when it rains. I feel it more on holidays and anniversaries, when someone else close to me dies. Or when something funny happens and I go to text him and realize I cant. Because Hes gone.

I’ll always wish he was still here. I’ll always wonder what he would look like and what he’d be doing if he was still alive – at almost 32, At 50. At 75. Who would he be today? Would he have gotten sober and started a family? Would his music career had taken off?

So with no other choice I continue on. Perhaps I am even strong, like those well-meaning mourners at my brother’s memorial asked me to be. But my brother’s loss will remain with me for my whole life – just like he was supposed to.

I wish I knew how to explain to the people I love that the distance I create during anniversaries is done so they are not effected by my overwhelming sadness. I create distance because even after 9 years I am still learning how to cope and handle my grief and sometimes its easier to do alone so that theres no pressure to feel like you have to be happy and in a way continue healing.

I’m incredibly blessed with an amazing boyfriend who is patient and kind and incredibly handsome and perfect in every way. He has been incredibly understanding and supportive despite the distance I have placed between us lately and that’s how I know hes who I am going to spend the rest of my life with if he’ll let me.

I will forever be thankful for the time I had with my brother and the lessons he taught me but time doesn’t heal all wounds and I am just finding ways to get by.

[talknerdytome67-blog]

Loss

What did it mean that there were no handbooks for me? That people asked me to be strong in the face of the biggest loss I'd ever experienced or imagined? At times I felt like I didn't deserve to feel so shattered, especially in the shadow of my parents' immense loss but losing a twin is like losing half of yourself.

When I was 22, my twin brother, who was my only sibling, died. He had huffed duster while driving resulting in immediate brain death causing him to hit a tree at over 90mph. That day wasnt like any other day because a few months earlier I woke up and knew he was going to die. Just not how or when. The day the phone rang and I heard my mom say dark, foreign words like car accident, unresponsive, drugs, life support was the most impactful day of my life. In the thickness of shock, I didn't realize that the rest of my life would be measured in before and after. Before, when my family was intact. After, when I would somehow be forced to learn to live without the person I was supposed to get a lifetime with.

"Be strong for your parents," said blurs of people at Trevor's memorial service. I nodded, but inside me, something twisted. I stood in a daze as people streamed by, offering their awkward words and hugs. Be strong for your parents? I thought. How can I be strong for them when half my soul just died and I dont even know how to be strong for myself.

After

I was barely breathing. I was barely standing there. I was numb and strong was the last thing I felt. One thing is for sure I felt angry at my brother for leaving me here. For abandoning me. It's funny how I found myself consoling complete strangers over the death of my brother and yet these very people werent there for him when he was alive and struggling w addiction. Why is it that no one seems to truly care about you until tragedy strikes and then suddenly your life meant so much to them. They say things like "I didn't see this coming" "Why didn't they reach out"

In the early months after Trevors death at 22, I existed in a heavy fog. Nothing was as I knew it. I'd been forced to abandon the little life I'd once known. My friends were living their lives -- going to college, working, falling in and out of love and lust. Meanwhile, my life had stopped and I no longer recognized the world around me.

My home was filled with the cloying scent of flowers just starting to die. It struck me just then how terrible it was that we send flowers to the grieving -- here you go, another reminder that nothing is permanent, that everything lovely will be lost.

My brother's absence was heavy in the house. Though he had died in Peoria, his room was still scattered with relics: the bed he had slept in for so many years, his skateboarding hoodies hanging like shadows in the closets, a handful of videos and books. Memories pinned to each corner. His beloved Ferret Ember waiting for her best friend who was never coming home.

Having always taken comfort in words, I scoured the internet for a book for someone like me -- a barely adult whose (barely) adult twin brother had died. What I found was unimpressive: There were more books on losing a pet than losing a brother or sister, especially a twin. A few books existed for surviving children after a death in the family, but they were for small children. One memoir documented a sister's grief following her brother's death, but it was out of print.

What did it mean that there were no handbooks for me? That people asked me to be strong in the face of the biggest loss I'd ever experienced or imagined? At times I felt like I didn't deserve to feel so shattered, especially in the shadow of my parents' immense loss. I felt guilty for missing him.

A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant and my world took another 360* hit. I decided I needed to join a support group so I sat in a circle with a few widows and widowers, a woman whose daughter had died, and a woman whose mother had died. I was younger than any of them by at least 30 years, but I could relate to their shares: "I feel like I'm going crazy." "I'm so damned angry right now." "I can't sleep at night." "My anxiety is at an all time high"

Though the losses were different, the feelings were the same and we were all barely coping.

My parents, who adopted us at 2 would never be the same. Their pain was almost visible, as if a piece of their bodies had been cut out. I had lost myself, too, or at least the version of me that was unscathed by tragedy: an innocent version, who walked around in some parallel universe where her brother was still alive, ignorant to the incredible fortune of an entirely alive family.

My brother, my twin, my built in best friend. I miss Trevors big brown eyes. His loud laugh. He was the co-keeper of my childhood and my secret's. The person who was supposed to walk with me longer than anyone else in this life. The only other person who knew what it was like to grow up with our particular parents, in our particular home and our particular situation being adopted.

The future.

I cried for the nephews and nieces I would never have. I cried for my own daughter who would never know my brother, her uncle. How would I explain him? How would I ensure that his essence wasn't lost, that he wasn't just a figure in old photographs, a handful of stories? Suddenly i was the only person who could make my parents the grandparents they were soon to be.

I constantly grieve for all the hard times ahead when my brother wouldn't be by my side. When my parents begin to age. When my grandparents die. There would be no one to share these dark milestones with and no one to comfort me in the way he did with just his presence.

And so 3 weeks after his death Im now pregnant and despite feeling like I wanted to die from the pain and loneliness i had to stay alive. I suddenly was needing to stay healthy, to stay safe, to stay positive because I was bringing a beautiful baby girl into the world and theres no time to fall apart.

So I placed my grief on hold.

I felt like our family had been a four-legged table, and one leg had suddenly been torn off. The remaining three of us wobbled and teetered. We felt the missing leg like an amputee, each morning waking to the horrible fact that Trevor was gone and unable to stop the pain.

I wrote letters to my brother in those early months and years. At first, memories blazed through my head and I used the letters to capture them before they flitted away, gone forever: my brother walking towards me when he knew my heart had been broken and embracing me in a giant hug. The time I taught him to make snow angels in the front yard of our home, our bulkily clad limbs sliding in synchronicity under the cold afternoon sun.

Later, I wrote the letters when I needed to cry -- when the grief sat coiled and waiting in my chest, needing to be let out, released. I couldn't find the words of other bereaved twin sisters or brothers to bring me comfort, so I created my own.

One day, when I was lost in my sadness, my mom said, "You won't always feel like this. You'll have a family of your own. You'll move on." This seemed impossible in my 23 year-old new mom skin. I couldn't imagine this potential future where I lived a life my brother was no longer apart of.

But very, very slowly, I began putting my life back together. I gave birth to a gorgeous baby girl and I made the difficult decision to leave an abusive relationship and return home again. As time has gone on I notice my daughter has his love of music and animals and possesses the lighthearted spirit my brother had at the same age and I cant help but smile and think a part of him is in her.

Sometimes adult siblings aren't able to close the distance between them, all those shared experiences and time and space and relationships matter. They tether us, they twine our stories together. I pray that my children will one day remain close as they grow, and that they enjoy a long lifetime together and never take eachother for granted.

After nearly 9 years, the sharp shock and grief I felt in those early months and years are no longer constant but only come back in waves, especially around his angelversary or our birthday. It's hard to explain to people the survivors guilt I feel and the PTSD I acquired from watching him struggle to pass away after being taken off life support. It's hard to explain to people that the week of his death never gets easier to face and I tend to shut down and shut people out because I dont want to be a burden. I distance myself so my sadness doesnt spill into their lives.

Its taken 9 years for the pain to dull and for the words "your brother is dead" to stop pounding in my head -- but they did. Trevors absence is mostly a dull hurt, the ghost of an old broken bone that aches when it rains. I feel it more on holidays and anniversaries, when someone else close to me dies. Or when something funny happens and I go to text him and realize I cant. Because Hes gone.

I'll always wish he was still here. I'll always wonder what he would look like and what he'd be doing if he was still alive -- at almost 32, At 50. At 75. Who would he be today? Would he have gotten sober and started a family? Would his music career had taken off?

So with no other choice I continue on. Perhaps I am even strong, like those well-meaning mourners at my brother's memorial asked me to be. But my brother's loss will remain with me for my whole life -- just like he was supposed to.

I wish I knew how to explain to the people I love that the distance I create during anniversaries is done so they are not effected by my overwhelming sadness. I create distance because even after 9 years I am still learning how to cope and handle my grief and sometimes its easier to do alone so that theres no pressure to feel like you have to be happy and in a way continue healing.

I'm incredibly blessed with an amazing boyfriend who is patient and kind and incredibly handsome and perfect in every way. He has been incredibly understanding and supportive despite the distance I have placed between us lately and that's how I know hes who I am going to spend the rest of my life with if he'll let me.

I will forever be thankful for the time I had with my brother and the lessons he taught me but time doesn't heal all wounds and I am just finding ways to get by.