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Bob would have been 42 years old today. It's amazing how fast time flies, especially these days, being in my thirties. Everyone my age–and older–comments regularly on how fast time is flying. It's true. I remember just yesterday my brother and I both being "teenagers"— for only a couple of months. I turned 13 in September and he was 19, soon to turn 20 in November 1987.

So this is the third birthday in a row I haven't been able to talk to Bob. I can't wish him a Happy Birthday and send him cds or silly things we can laugh about.

But I'm okay, I guess. I'm still surviving this...

I set aside time this evening to be with him. I toasted a drink to him, talked to him in the dark while observing the few stars I could see after the sun went down. Tonight for dinner I am going to prepare Thai chicken satay because he loved Thai food, as do I.

I talked to my dad tonight. He went fishing early this morning "with Bob" on a deserted Carolina beach and then he said he and mom golfed together in the afternoon. It's been 3 years since their baby boy passed away. Their baby boy who was born in England 42 years ago today, 5:35 p.m. to be exact. That thought hurts me the most– my lovely parents losing their son. But to hear my dad talk about how mom is improving in golf, how he had the entire beach to himself for miles, how he grilled hamburgers for dinner...was wonderful. People CAN survive after loss. It is not easy, but we're enduring the days, even as fast as they are...

September

It's September 4, 2009. I'll turn 35 in 2 days. The air feels heavy and anxious this time of year. 3 years ago, September of 2006, is when I visited my parents at their new condo in North Carolina. Bob was going to come down, too, since he lived only hours away but work overwhelmed him. As a potter, he was very busy in the fall, getting ready for an annual Thanksgiving fair where he could make some good money selling his pottery. I remember sitting at the glass table in the new condo as my dad called Bob and talked to him. We all sat there smiling and kind of laughing. Bob must have been saying something funny on the other line. I remember my dad asking if I wanted to talk to him but I said I'd call him later. I didn't know that a month later he'd be gone.

Bob used to always call me on my birthday and send a gift, usually a few weeks late. When he passed away October 2, and I was at his home solemnly looking through his things, there was a small cardboard box on a chair that had my address written on it with a black Sharpie. There it was, the birthday present he was eventually going to send me. It was the book Marley and Me. I still have it, in the box, unread.

They say birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays are the worst for the bereaved. It's true. I would always look forward to my brother calling me on my birthday, sometimes leaving funny messages on my voice mail if I didn't answer. But now, I'm somewhat afraid of September 6th. Just knowing I won't get that call from my brother still fills me with anxiety.

Crying Time

I cried every day for two years after Bob's death. Every single day. Mornings, in the shower, I cried heavily and loudly because no one could hear me and the water streaming down my face would carry the tears with it to the drain. During the afternoons, I sought out unoccupied public restrooms to shed tears. When I left work, I cried in the private sanctuary of my car. In the evenings I cried on the couch in the guest room, looking out at the moon through the narrow window that faces the Bay.

After the second anniversary, the crying episodes have become less frequent. I've noticed I rarely spend long amounts of time crying; rather, I have outbursts. I'll also experience several days, sometimes weeks at a time, when I feel very fragile, and the tears come and go, and my mood drifts from high to low.

Looking into the mirror now, possibly having cried more in the past two years than my entire lifetime before my brother's death, I see anguish. My eyes have gone through hell! They've had no rest in almost three years! They look heavy and sullen, like I've aged too quickly, or, better yet, incorrectly.

No one ever warns you of the strain your eyes will have to endure. I've realized this is the reason my eyes have become so sensitive to light. Sunglasses are a necessity to me more than ever before. I block out the light coming from the ceiling lights at work with a makeshift cardboard obstruction. I keep my brightness settings on my computer as dim as they will go.

This is just another element of grief. The physical toll it takes on our appearance is obvious, and more evidence that our lives have forever changed.

A Favorite Quote

From Healing After Loss, July 3:
"Everyone can master a grief but he that has it" -- William Shakespeare

Every grief has its own timetable, which only the griever knows. And usually the journey through grief is slow and often delayed.

Why the Good People?

Why did Bob have to die? Why was he taken from my parents and I? Why not someone who is evil, a murderer, a child molester. Not only my life, but the whole entire earth benefited from him being a part of it. He had such a good soul. He was genuine and generous.

I recently read an article about a couple who had been married for 40+ years and were inseparable, high school sweethearts. Along with their distinguished careers serving the public, they volunteered throughout their lives, helping others live better lives. They gave and they gave and they gave. Then they were killed in the Washington, DC Metro crash. Why were they taken?

The world suddenly but silently changes when good people die. And we are left empty, distraught, confused, asking questions that have no answers. At least, no answers that fill the void in our hearts.

For Those Recently Bereaved

I know every story and every life and every experience is different, but I offer this delicate advice...
Take your time after the death. Take as much time as you feel necessary to attempt to understand and realize what has happened. I made the mistake of trying to get back into my "normal" routine a couple weeks after my brother's death. Looking back, I know now I was existing solely on adrenaline. All my thoughts were superficial. I simply could not comprehend the fact my brother was gone. I thought I understood it but I really didn't. I think those who are at this beginning stage of grief may be misinterpreted. People might say, "Oh, she's doing fine... she's handling it really well...I don't know if I could go back to work that soon..." It's because we, the recently bereaved, cannot comprehend what is happening. It's death. It's scary. Life as you know it turns upsidedown.

It's nice to be around family and friends after the death but I think it's helpful to spend time alone, too. I was overwhelmed with how generous and kind people were to my parents and I. We were floating on waves of compassion. But my brother's death became real when I spent time by myself and started writing in a journal a month or two later. It was then I felt the obscure thoughts, absolute and terrifying feelings arise. From my heart, to my brain, to pen on paper.

So take your time to realize you are in a new, confusing world. It's easy—and maybe comfortable—to get caught up in the churning of the life around you, the forward progress of society. But please understand the importance of allowing your heart to speak during these extremely sensitive hours, days, months, even years. Let emotion overflow. And if your heart doesn't reveal itself right away, know that it will, and greet it willingly.

Book Recommendation

Healing After Loss: Daily Meditations for Working Through Grief by Martha Whitmore Hickman.

For every day of the year there is a quote, a paragraph describing the theme of the quote, and an affirmation to say to yourself. It's been my companion for two years, helping me cope and understand the grieving process. A friend of my mom's in her Compassionate Friends network gave it to her a while back and now my mom and I recommend it to others. Not every entry is perfect, obviously, but the majority are insightful, comforting, and encourage healing. Check it out...

Detour Ahead

I lost it today. I was driving home from hitting golf balls. I had my windows down, intermittent sun warming my car seats. The giant, marbly clouds way above my sunroof were hovering heavily, bearing the weight of the rain for another half hour or so. I was in a good mood. I hit some pretty good balls. I needed to practice my chipping, but overall I was very happy with my distance and aim. Then all these pleasing, transient thoughts were interrupted by a slight pause. Nothingness. All of a sudden the reality of my brother not being alive hit me like a full impact collision. I screamed at the top of my lungs, driving about 50mph down Route 2, “What the f**************ck!!!!!!!!” It was as if I had just found out about his death. I had trouble breathing so I pulled over to the side of the road. 

This happens often. We can be fine, going about our daily routines thinking everything is peaceful, but even within the happiest of moments, the reality of the death exists. Most of the time it lurks in the shadows, but when it appears suddenly is when it’s most forceful, knocking us off our seats. We have to hold on with all our strength and take a quick detour for a while but, eventually, we’ll get back on the road again.

Open to Communication

I'm not quite sure I believe in life after death. I believe in something after death. I definitely believe in presence after death. After all, I believe the one who dies is only going to a place where we cannot see them, another plane in the universe. They might not be in human body form, but something continues to be present. We cannot see a lot of things, but they're here. Think of radio waves, magnetic fields, gravity. Just because we cannot see these things doesn't mean they don't exist. I strongly believe in communication after death. If you are open to the idea of communicating with your loved one, it will happen. My brother communicates to me through great blue heron sightings and other birds, through rainbows, incredible sunrises and sunsets, through wind shifts and temperature changes, and being in my dreams. But he also communicates through ways only he and I would understand. Looking through his belongings from time to time, like his cd collection or clothes or his photo albums, I have discovered funny things that have made me burst out laughing. When I uncover these treasures, I can hear him saying, I knew you would find that and crack up, sistah! These are wonderful moments to cherish. These are direct links of communication with my brother. He's not physically sitting here beside me but he's making me laugh! And I know he's laughing simultaneously.

Open your mind to communicating with the one who is no longer physically on this earth. Allow the communication to move freely through the conduits of here and there. You might be surprised at what you'll discover.


Songs of Significance

Music is a huge part of my life, as it was for my brother. Soon after his death, I went searching on the Web for songs about loss and grieving, knowing music is very therapeutic for me. Unfortunately, many song lists I came upon were either religiously-oriented with lyrics that don't help me, just plain bad tunes, or were actually too depressing.

I soon realized what I was really searching for was music that was cathartic, raw, intense, emotional, and maybe even uplifting. I found some songs that had wonderful lyrics about losing a loved one. Other songs just felt right because they stirred something inside. Some were from musicians my brother loved which made them more meaningful to me. Indeed, some of these songs listed below make me cry, but an important thing I've learned throughout this grieving process is that you have to let the sadness present itself when it's obviously close-by. Don't fight it. Allow it to wash over you like an incoming tide, and then let it recede. And it will recede, perhaps when the song ends...

Enjoy. And please feel free to add your own recommendations because I love learning about new music and this is definitely an ongoing project...

NOTE: Clicking on these links will open a new tab or window in your browser, directing you to Rhapsody, which will automatically start playing the song. If you want to come back to my blog, hit the back arrow or check back to your History. Or, better yet, just check these songs out on itunes.

Series of Dreams by Bob Dylan
River of Tears by Eric Clapton
Come Back by Pearl Jam
Stove By A Whale by Ted Leo
The Trees by Rush
Your Long Journey by Robert Plant & Alison Krauss
Hold On by Tom Waits
New World by DeVotchka
A Dream That Can Last by Neil Young & Crazy Horse
The Black Arts by Stereolab
My Hero by Foo Fighters
Amazing Grace by Judy Collins
Alright by Supergrass
Stay With Me by Spiritualized
Black Mirror by Arcade Fire
All You Ever Wanted by The Black Keys
There Goes the Fear by The Doves
Fake Empire by The National
Slow by The Broken West
What Is And What Should Never Be by Led Zeppelin
This River Is Wild by The Killers
Time to Stand Still by The Wood Brothers

Grief Expectations

This is a well-known list of what you can expect from your grief. I keep a copy of this with me and read it occasionally. Not everyone will experience all of these things but I can honestly say I certainly have during my grief journey.

You can expect that:
  • Your grief will take longer than most people think.
  • Your grief will take more energy than you would have ever imagined.
  • Your grief will involve many changes and be continually developing.
  • Your grief will show itself in all spheres of your life.
  • Your grief will depend upon how you perceive the loss.
  • You will grieve for many things both symbolic and tangible, not just the death alone.
  • You will grieve for what you have lost already and for what you have lost for the future.
  • Your grief will entail mourning not only for the actual person you lost but also for all of the hopes, dreams, and unfulfilled expectations you held for and with that person, and for the needs that will go unmet because of the death.
  • Your grief will involve a wide variety of feelings and reactions, not solely those that are generally thought of as grief, such as depression and sadness.
  • You may have a combination of anger and depression, such as irritability, frustration, annoyance, or intolerance.
  • You may have a lack of self-concern.
  • You may experience grief spasms, acute upsurges of grief that occur suddenly with no warning.
  • You will have trouble thinking (memory, organization and intellectual processing) and making decisions.
  • You may feel like you are going crazy.
  • You may be obsessed by the death and preoccupied with the deceased.
  • You may begin to search for meaning and may question your religion and/or philosophy of life.
  • You may find yourself acting socially in ways that are different from before.
  • You may find yourself having a number of physical reactions.
  • You may find that there are certain dates, events, and stimuli that bring upsurges in grief.
  • Society will have unrealistic expectations about your mourning and may respond inappropriately to you.
  • Certain experiences later in life may resurrect intense grief for you temporarily.
In summary, your grief will bring with it, depending upon the combination of factors above, an intense amount of emotion that will surprise you and those around you.

A Special 30th Birthday Present


This is a glass float, about 12 inches wide. Japanese fisherman used these to keep their nets afloat in the early- to mid-1900’s. Recycled glass took the place of cork and wood. This one belonged to my brother. He had a collection of glass floats that he had found but this is by far the largest specimen.

On my brother’s 30th birthday, when he lived in Hawaii, friends took him fishing off the coast of Oahu. They spent hours out on the crystal blue Pacific Ocean. Unfortunately, he didn’t catch a thing all day. He was discouraged and exhausted—and miles from the shore. Then, in the distance, something caught his eye. It was shimmering on the surface of the water. They steered the boat toward the object. And there it was, this large glass float, with an albatross perched atop. It made his birthday.

New Roles

When you lose a loved one unexpectedly, and find yourself in a whole new world, you immediately take on new roles, perhaps even a new identity. Some changes are immediate and obvious, others are transitional, becoming exposed over time. It was one of my brother’s best friends, Dave, who called me on the evening of October 4th to tell me Bob was gone. A frightening phone call to say the least and one I will never forget. I was then the person responsible for calling my parents to tell them their son had died. It was a role no one wants to experience and a role I never thought I’d ever have to assume, obviously. Who wants to call their parents and be the bearer of the absolute worst news of their lives?

In the days following (from what I can remember— because this was a time of overwhelming confusion, absolute denial, and devoid of genuine thoughts) I found myself taking on roles I didn’t want but were absolutely necessary. Decisions had to be made and it was only my dad, my mom, and I to make them. We instantly became a different family. All of a sudden I didn’t have a brother and my parents became parents who had lost a child. My dad realized he had to handle Bob’s finances— bills, mortgages, credit cards, his company obligations (because my brother was a self-employed potter)­. While at Twiford’s Funeral Home on the Outer Banks, I took on the role of writing my brother’s obituary. How do you summarize someone’s life in a few paragraphs? You can’t. The three of us made the decision for Bob to be cremated which we knew was his wish anyway. We also decided not to see his body at the funeral home. These are decisions you have to make immediately after you find out your loved one has died. Here we were, in another reality, making decisions and talking about things so foreign and absurd. Where are we? What are we doing? Is this even real right now? I then helped my parents contact friends and family and organize memorial plans. Everything happens so quickly you have no time to even think clearly. We were on auto-pilot, on a plane bound for territory unknown, for lack of a better description.

My parents became responsible for selling Bob’s house which was eventually sold after much heartache and turmoil due to a contractor taking advantage of my family during such a fragile time—a disaster too painful to explain right now. Mom and dad also became new parents of my brother’s dog, Kona, a loving, hyper yellow lab mix puppy. I became the owner of most of Bob’s possessions, an experience I will share in another entry.

Family roles have shifted. We've become each other's psychiatrist, listening, understanding, and helping each other along the grief process. It's brought us closer if that was even possible. Another role I’ve taken on is now being the only child. I am the sole caretaker of my parents when they get to that point of not being able to care for themselves. I am the sole inheritor as well. And I instantly became the end of the line for the Hathaway name. It’s a lonely feeling. I wasn’t really thinking to have a child but should I reconsider? If I get married, should I keep my last name? These questions will be answered in due time, I suppose.

For now, just 2 1/2 years after my life was turned upside down, I’m still assuming new roles and learning how to adjust, feeling the weight of uncovered responsibility. Moreover, I realize my entire self has taken on a new identity. It may not be apparent from the outside, but deep in my core everything has drastically changed, every cell in my body has been altered.

Be Here Now

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=peXBEox8_00

A wonderful song, "Be Here Now" which is the same phrase I have tattooed on my arm (in Sanskrit) and something that my brother had written me in a birthday card when I turned 17.

Past, Present, Future — Present

Everything along my life’s timeline has taken on a new meaning. I have an entirely new, albeit somewhat depressing, perspective on my past, present, and future.

The Present
Before my life turned upside down, I was living in the present. I can honestly say I tried to live every day to its fullest potential. That doesn’t mean I was jumping out of airplanes every chance I got, or attempting daredevil stunts, or doing anything and everything I could possibly do for tomorrow may never come. No. But I did live every day. I cherished every time my parents and my brother and I got together. I appreciated my life and never took anything nor anyone for granted. I’ve realized throughout my 34 years that life is indeed fragile and our time here on earth is indeed fleeting. But now, having lost my brother and having experienced firsthand what it feels like to have someone existing in my life one day and not the next, I’ve learned to trust the present. It’s here, and it’s all I’ve got.

I trust that I may awake in a fog but throughout the day, it’ll subside. I trust some days I will take one small step at a time, other days I’ll be leaping. I trust I’ll feel lonely in my sorrow but that I’m not entirely alone. I trust time will heal but the scar will forever exist. I trust my thoughts and feelings as my own, and whatever arises, accepting them for what they are, because they’ve originated from my very being. I trust that the sun will be in the sky, warming the atmosphere and encouraging the vitality of all living things. I trust that birds will go about their day, foraging for worms and building nests. And I trust the universe, in all its magnificence and ambiguity, because no one has all the answers. We’re just here, living in the present, gambling on trust.

A Favorite Quote


"When the way comes to an end, change, and having changed, pass through." — Author Unknown

The above card can be found at the Smithsonian's Freer Sackler Gallery. http://www.asia.si.edu/

Past, Present, Future — Past

Everything along my life’s timeline has taken on a new meaning. I have an entirely new, albeit somewhat depressing, perspective on my past, present, and future.

The Past
Before my life turned upside down, my memories were of a warm, happy, innocent childhood. A childhood filled with much laughter, self-revelation, of a safe neighborhood where my friends and I could spend all summer playing outdoors, and of frequent fun family trips. Granted, my brother and I didn’t have the best relationship growing up. He was 7 years older and really wanted nothing to do with me during his high school years. That was fine though because his neglect helped strengthen my independence and imagination. Moreover, he was my brother and eventually our relationship would evolve and I would come to realize my family life was the foundation of my happiness.

So this was my past as I knew it. It was secure. It was sacred. It was the past, unable to be changed. Until now. Because my brother is not physically here with me, when I think of my childhood now, it brings tears to my eyes. My memories have become delicate snapshots in time that only I can see and cherish. No longer do I have the opportunity to reminisce with my brother about funny moments and family vacations. No longer do I have the opportunity to learn new insights into our upbringing, making our bond even stronger. No longer do I have the opportunity to ask him about his memories of his childhood. I am alone with my past, a past that he and I once shared. And the fond memories have become hallucinations, nearly unrecognizable, revealing a frightening reality of what was and what is.

Whatever "it" is, I'm doing it

People often say,"I don't know what I would do if my brother/mother/best friend/grandfather died suddenly." I know I've even said that in the past. But now I'm actually doing whatever "it" is. So I had to ask myself, What am I doing? Just existing? Am I living? Am I going to work? Yes. Am I reading through mail and paying bills on time? Yes. Am I watering my plants? Yes. Am I sleeping at night? Sort of. Do I laugh? Yes. Do I cry? Certainly. Do I maintain a loving relationship with my partner? Yes. Do I celebrate holidays? Sometimes. Do I take care of my dog? Of course. Do I miss my brother? Terribly. So throughout the two and a half years so far doing this "it" thing, I've arrived at an answer: surviving. I'm actually surviving.

Merriam-Webster's definition for "survive":

SUR•VIVE
intransitive verb
1. to remain alive or in existence: live on
2. to continue to function or prosper

transitive verb:
1. to remain alive after the death of
2. to continue to exist or live after
3. to continue to function or prosper despite: withstand

Like a mysterious illness finally diagnosed, my "it" has been explained. The symptoms and signs all point to doing this thing called surviving. And with surviving, there is adjusting and adapting. And those who are grieving know, the world is seen through different lenses after the death. The surroundings are familiar but the environment has changed.

Take a moment to cherish and appreciate your family and friends. And live on.