Embracing Grief

As we approach the anniversary of that terrible day in the hospital last year, I wanted to talk about grief, happiness, and the ups and downs of loss. Many of you have lost loved ones and know that the grief really never goes away. It will always linger, sometimes prominently, sometimes in the background. And although grief is present in my life, it does not mean that I can't be happy sometimes. I smile. I joke. I enjoy myself, my family, and my friends. I make people laugh and they make me laugh. I do things that I like to do and try to engineer my life in such a way that I set myself up for success in both work and play. I also feel sad, sometimes overwhelmingly so. But I like to try to put on a happy face. That's the way I was raised. My parents both always smiled, nodded politely to strangers, and gave off a positive vibe whenever possible. 

However, it was not always easy and there were times of worry, pain, and sadness. By now, those of you who have followed my blog and seen my pictures on Facebook know that I like to be as positive as possible. I don't see why anyone wouldn't be. To me, social media is not the place for constant doom and gloom. But sometimes the happy pictures mask some of the darker times. The picture above is one of the few that I have showing discomfort and pain in both John and my Mom. You can imagine John's discomfort while stuck in his body cast after major invasive surgery. One of many surgeries. 

Discomfort, pain, and unhappiness are part of life. We can accept it, let it wash over us, and know that happiness will return or we can dwell on it and let it erode us. It can be a roller coaster. Smiles one minute, uncontrollable tears the next. But I think the key is knowing that it is OK to be sad and to embrace it fully and talk about it, don't hide it. 

That's what I want to do today. Talk about it. Lately, I have felt especially sad as I miss my brother John. I can't help thinking about those last days in the hospital. In hindsight, I feel like I could have done more. I could have demanded better care from the doctors. I could have known more about my brother's birth defect and how it affects adults. I feel like I could have done so much more to fight for John. Could we have prevented his death? Maybe. I truly think he would have had a much better chance with better care and if I had been more assertive. 

Whether that is true or not we will never know but that is how I feel about it. I accept that John is gone although sometimes it is hard to believe. But I will always remember that night in the hospital and the morning after. And I will always wish I had acted differently. And that is OK. I don't think it is unhealthy to think that way. In time, the sadness will not be as deep, the regret not as strong. I know that. In the meantime, I will cry, I will fear the night. I will grieve and I will remember John's pleas to go home, his requests for water, his fear, his struggle to breathe. I will remember him crashing and spewing dark liquid and the shock in his eyes. John knew things were bad, real bad. He knew more than anyone in the hospital I think. 

I miss you John.