…was not the phone call.
Was it having to tell my kids? Having to call my sister to break it to her? Trying to maintain an “I’m okay face” while preparing to leave town?
Was it seeing my mother when I walked in her house? Dealing with my nieces and nephews grieving their uncle?
Was it going through tons of pictures to find the ones that were right for the service? Was it having to conduct the service after refereeing the discussion about whether it should be religious or not?
It may have been watching my nieces and nephew break down at the memorial service for their father.
It may have been the preparations for joining family to scatter ashes; or dealing with the car rental counter who didn’t have a car for me, making it very possible that I would be late for the second memorial service.
Then there was the horrible road that took us two hours to drive the seven and a half miles.
But I surely was not prepared to see my niece break down and fall to the ground then knead the ashes into the ground.
I think, though, that for me, the toughest part was holding his ashes in my hand and knowing that I had to let him go.
And now the toughest part is not being able to look at his pictures any more without breaking down; and needing to avoid speaking of him so I won’t fall apart.
Then there’s the knowing…the realization…that I can’t see him any more; and the fact that I can’t pick the phone up and talk to him.
I have been through this before. This is the second brother I lose to suicide and the third brother I lose. I know I will get through this. I know that one day I will be able to think of him and smile and laugh and be happy that he is at peace, like I have done with the other two I have lost.
But I’m not there yet. Right now there is just pain. Right now there is alone-ness. Right now there is sadness. Right now I am numb.
(((Corina))). Yes, you just have to move through it…as you know, unfortunately.
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I guess one thing this has done is to show me why I can not ever follow in their footsteps, as tempting as it is, at times. Never though. Never.
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((((Corina)))) I don’t know what else to say. Everything seems like a platitude. But know I care and am thinking about you.
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It does mean a lot to me, knowing that you and others are in my corner. Thank you seems like a platitude, too! Know that I really do thank you!
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I don’t know what to say either, but I’m here, and you’re on my mind.
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Thank you, David. I’m glad you’re there for me. I really am.
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(((Corina)))
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Thank you doesn’t seem like enough but I hope it will do for now, Shawn.
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It is hard to pick a saddest moment, but they all happened because your brother was so loved. That’s what you should take from this. As for the ashes, I understand. I am not ready to scatter either and am beginning to wonder if I ever will be. I always planned to scatter half in special places over time and save half to be mixed with mine, but for now I am comforted with having them all right here with me.
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I’m actually jotting down short paragraphs of happy times or funny things that I think of when I think of each of my brothers. I think I’m going to put them in a tin or a cigar box, one for each of the boys. They’ll be put away but nearby and accessible. And I can add to them any time I want.
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That is such a good idea, Corina. The happy moments are always there and this way you won’t forget them. You are very wise.
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i haven’t been blogging or reading much lately so this is the first i have heard about the tragedy of your losing your brother… i am thinking of you and your whole family and wish nothing but brighter days ahead for all of you…..
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Everyone else has said all the right things, so just know that I am sending you hugs.
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Corina, I had never been to your blog before and today something just pulled me here. It is so sad to read this post and I guess the only thing I can say is that I send you all my love. May the numbness, aloneness, and sadness make way soon for the inner peace and acceptance that you are in need of.
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Thank you. I’m glad you found your way here today. Some things just happen like that.
Lately it’s like a roller coaster, up one day and way down the next. I know it will get better. I just have to find my way to “better”.
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You will Corina. One little step at a time, just one little step.
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Bless your heart. Your words are raw, you writing poignant. I have tears in my eyes. Keep writing it. Write it all.
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Big, big *HUGS* to you, Corina.
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You are so honest. It is sometimes hard to read.
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