birthday twins

I think this is the last photo of just the two of us from our birthday, I think, 3 years ago.  That fact makes me really sad. And makes me want to be better about photographing my loved ones. But dang are you hard to get on camera. I think you always reluctantly took a picture with me and that's usually where the silly grin came from; giving you a hard time about shutting up and pretending to like me!

*click the photo for a link to my Instagram birthday post.

A letter..

Jerrod,

I was talking with mom this morning just trying to understand what happened, what we missed.  It's hard not to question and wonder if there's anything we could have done to have saved your life.  On the other hand I sat there thinking we knew dad was suicidal because he made multiple attempts and none of us could save him.  So, yes, maybe something we could have said or done could have made some kind of difference, but ultimately none of us could have saved you if you didn't want to save yourself; if you didn't believe it was possible or that you were worth saving.

Brother, I love you and I am so angry with you. We can wrack our brains trying to recall every detail of every conversation looking for the clues that you weren't well... and obviously we missed something. We can sit here and feel guilty and take blame for not knowing you were suicidal; for not asking harder, more direct questions... but you had a responsibility, too - to us. to yourself.  You hid this from us. Or you made cryptic comments that were interpreted one way when you meant another and we didn't clarify. You said you would never kill yourself and we believed you.  We failed each other.

I know there have been many times in my life when I have felt low and I just wanted someone to see me, to call it out for me, to show me that I am worthy and loved; ultimately that's no one's job but my own to discover and believe.  I wish you would have told us, that you could have found the words to let us help you carry your pain. Instead you took your life and gave it to us entirely. It's not fair.  I'm so angry and I'm so sorry.

God, how I wish you would have known and believed that there is no shame in struggling and/or failing.  You fought addiction on your own and we thought you did really well... just imagine how much your life could have changed had you let people fight alongside you instead of holding up this facade that you were strong enough to do it on your own or to deny that you were really struggling at all.  Did you think you'd be a burden? Did you think we'd be disappointed? Did you think you were weak? Did you think you were destined to end up like dad or too afraid to admit that you struggled like dad?  I have so many questions, so many answers I'll never receive.

At the end of the day I worry most that you didn't really think you were worthy or loved just because you were Jerrod.  I worry that you somehow misinterpreted our actions or words in a way that led you to believe that you were not wanted, that you would not be missed.  I know our dad believed some version of this; that he'd be serving us better with his life insurance policy than his actual life. I know you know that wasn't true, so how could you believe it about yourself? Brother, I just don't understand.

I don't know what it means to be in heaven and if you have any understanding of what is happening on earth after you have died. I trust that, like Jesus said to the criminal crucified next to him, that you are with him "in paradise"; that you are not continuing to suffer as a result of the pain of your death. I hope you know you are forgiven and deeply loved. I hope you are with our Father and our dad. I hope you are at peace and full of joy. I hope you know that I love you so much, that I miss you so much and that there will never be a day I don't wish you were here.

Love always,
   your twin sis

how to help a grieving friend

I think previously I would have said I knew how to support someone in grief.  I went to school for psychology and social work, but there are some skills that only life can teach you, not a text book. I think in order to really sit well in someone else's grief, you need to have experienced your own.  I also previously would have said I've experienced grief. This is predominantly true given that my dad died when I was ten, but since then the bulk of my grief has been related to "heartbreak" resulting from a couple short-lived dating relationships..not really earth shattering.  I've experienced other pain related to family and friendships, but not permanent loss.

Sitting in the grief of losing my brother has felt a world of difference from losing my dad. In some ways, I don't even feel like that loss happened to me or I feel like a completely different person than than to whom that happened. This may simply be due to the fact that it's been over 2 decades and so much of the pain has been redeemed. Losing Jerrod feels completely different. In some ways I feel like I've lost a part of myself. That sounds really cliche, but maybe that's what a close death feels like or it's wrapped up in the fact that we're twins and the person I've walked every day on this earth with is no longer here.  Maybe this grief feels different because I'm an adult and my emotional intelligence is greater than my 10-year-old self who just tried to survive and cling to what I had left.  Perhaps it's also the combination of joy and pain losing Jerrod just four days after the birth of my daughter.  Not to mention all the hormones and ups and downs of caring for a newborn, but this roller coaster feels like a whole new beast to me.  In every moment of joy, it is also tinged with sadness, especially when it's a joyful moment I would have previously experienced or could picture myself experiencing with Jerrod. This most often happens when I watch anyone playing with my son because Jerrod was so playful and attentive with Jackson. One minute I'm smiling or laughing and the next I'm crying. The journey of healing from this pain feels long and daunting, so as best I can I try to cope in the present.

It's been only just over a month, but still so often I cannot fathom that he is gone; this cannot be real and often it doesn't feel real.  I keep waiting for the next time I'm going to see him because we didn't interact or see each other daily and sometimes not even weekly so the absence can feel normal.  Then something happens that I want to share with him or picture him giving Bret shit and I'm reminded that he's gone. For instance, Bret bought a new hammer and measuring tape last week and my initial reaction was to want to take a picture and send to Jerrod saying that he'd be proud of Bret's upgrade.  On so many occasions he has given us a hard time about the quality of our tools, questioning if we're even real adults or something along those lines. He had just done this the Saturday before he died when I had him hang up my "badger crossing" sign in the garage commenting that he wanted a real hammer not a toy hammer. That was quintessential Jerrod though; he'd help you with anything, but he'd have something to harass you about in the process.  My heart breaks that we'll never banter again. I know that while currently painful, these are the memories that will also make me smile and laugh as I remember him in years to come.

I initially just posted the resources below with no context, but decided to circle back to share a bit more of my own grief process and reflection of sitting in someone else's grief. I fully relate to not knowing what to do or say when someone is hurting and can fall prey to the temptation to fix. For me this doesn't stem from a lack of caring or unwillingness to sit in the pain with someone else. I've sat in plenty of pain with people, but I also know many times I have ignorantly or pridefully thought I could make it better with something I could do or say.  What is most illuminating to me as I'm mourning Jerrod is that no one can fix this or make this better for me, as much as I wish they could.  Sure there are probably things people can say that are unhelpful, but I'm not sure I could even pinpoint what those things are right now.  In the instances where that might occur, I can have grace for people not knowing what to say because I often don't know what to say to describe what I'm feeling or know what to ask for when people offer help and support.  However, I feel loved in the asking and it's a gentle reminder that the world hasn't entirely moved on without me. 

Someone shared a website with me that has some resources for those who are grieving and those who are supporting someone in their grief. These are compiled by Megan Devine, author of It's Ok That You're Not Ok. I don't agree with everything she has shared (and am a little turned off by some of the over priced products), but I appreciate some of the suggestions she gives to support a grieving friend.  I've shared the links below.  She also has a blog and a podcast that I have yet to really dive into, but have heard they are helpful.  

Refuge In Grief: How To Help A Grieving Friend

Ask Don't Tell: How To Help Someone In Grief

i need somewhere to put my grief

Today marks a month of my twin brother's tragic passing.  In so many moments it still does not feel real to me. I'm re-entering the blog world to have a space to unleash the pain in my heart and the thoughts in my head.  There are so many conversations I will never have with Jerrod, so I may have them here instead.

The last communication we had with you was a month ago yesterday.  We sent you this video of Jackson riding his birthday gift from you.

You spent so much time and thought into choosing what vehicle to get Jackson, texting different options to both Bret and Cody....finally deciding on the Mickey speedster. You missed Jackson's birthday and had no way of knowing that this was what we had put on Jackson's birthday cake.  It feels like an intuitive gift.  We joked that you should have charged it before giving it to Jackson because it required charging for 24 hours, so you never actually got to see him ride it.  Once we figured out how to charge it, Jackson was a bit afraid of it.  The last message Bret sent you was the video of Jackson actually riding around on it and telling you "thanks Uncle Jerrod."  I don't know if Jackson has said "Uncle Jerrod" since you died and it breaks my heart that this will continue to decrease in frequency as you slowly fade from his world.  I don't know how to keep you alive in his memory when he cannot comprehend death. So when he asks who got him the Mickey car, I simply say "Uncle Jerrod" and I hope he doesn't ask any follow up questions; at least not yet.

Brother, we miss you daily.  There are so many questions and things we'll never understand. I just keep recalling the joy you had with Jackson and I struggle to reconcile it with the pain that must've been brewing underneath. I know you don't feel it anymore and I pray ours lessens by the day so we can simply remember you with a smile on our face; that same infamous smile everyone loved of yours.