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Monday, July 28, 2003
Now and Then
This time of year is always a bit hard for me. At least is has been for the last six years. Friday is, or would have been, however you look at it, my brother's birthday. Zachary died almost six years ago, at the age of seventeen. That is way too young. I find myself dividing my life into segments, before Zach died(bzd), and after Zach died(azd).
In the BZD era, life was good. Birthdays were something to be celebrated, not mourned. Now every August 1st I can not help but ponder what life would be like, how things might be different, if only things were different. Alas, they are different, just not in the way that I long for. Each birthday that has passed, I watch my mom and dad quietly observe the day doing activities that they correlate with the BZD era. It is sad. Not in a pathetic, oh those poor people, sort of way, more in a no matter how hard we try to keep things the same, they have definitely changed, sort of way.
As a mother, I can not help but put myself in their shoes. I can not, will not, imagine the devastation of my child dying. It was horrid when my brother died, and that is so much different. I felt as if I would suffocate in my own grief, and mercilessly, I did not. I was forced to endure it. I don't know how any parent survives that. And they live to laugh again. That in itself is a miracle to me.
Sometimes, at night, I sit on the porch, alone, close my eyes, and try to remember. I try to remember what he smelled like, what, exactly, his voice sounded like, and how tall he was. I think really hard, and try to remember, the last time that I told him that I loved him....months...years before? There are times when my mind spins and grasps trying to remember details that are slipping away from me. I don't know, for certain, when the last time that I saw him was....was it 8 days BZD or just 2, like I think? Sometimes, I can't remember. Then, I sit there, alone, sobbing because I am losing my brother again. What if I forget? What if my memories of him, of us, of my family BZD, slowly slip away, unnoticed, bit by bit, until one day they are gone? I am terrified that one day the sound of his voice will never again echo in my ears. The scent of his cologne will be overcome by the scent of the funeral home, where I last saw him. That scent is vivid and fresh in my mind. That scent I will never forget.
I have a lot of memories of him as a child, between the ages of four and twelve, give or take a couple. Each year on his birthday, I think of the one where all of our cousins were there, he was about five, and we played outside for hours. I remember his chocolate cake, his gifted skateboard, and the fun that we had. Those were the good ole days.
Note to Self: Memories are what you make of them.
This time of year is always a bit hard for me. At least is has been for the last six years. Friday is, or would have been, however you look at it, my brother's birthday. Zachary died almost six years ago, at the age of seventeen. That is way too young. I find myself dividing my life into segments, before Zach died(bzd), and after Zach died(azd).
In the BZD era, life was good. Birthdays were something to be celebrated, not mourned. Now every August 1st I can not help but ponder what life would be like, how things might be different, if only things were different. Alas, they are different, just not in the way that I long for. Each birthday that has passed, I watch my mom and dad quietly observe the day doing activities that they correlate with the BZD era. It is sad. Not in a pathetic, oh those poor people, sort of way, more in a no matter how hard we try to keep things the same, they have definitely changed, sort of way.
As a mother, I can not help but put myself in their shoes. I can not, will not, imagine the devastation of my child dying. It was horrid when my brother died, and that is so much different. I felt as if I would suffocate in my own grief, and mercilessly, I did not. I was forced to endure it. I don't know how any parent survives that. And they live to laugh again. That in itself is a miracle to me.
Sometimes, at night, I sit on the porch, alone, close my eyes, and try to remember. I try to remember what he smelled like, what, exactly, his voice sounded like, and how tall he was. I think really hard, and try to remember, the last time that I told him that I loved him....months...years before? There are times when my mind spins and grasps trying to remember details that are slipping away from me. I don't know, for certain, when the last time that I saw him was....was it 8 days BZD or just 2, like I think? Sometimes, I can't remember. Then, I sit there, alone, sobbing because I am losing my brother again. What if I forget? What if my memories of him, of us, of my family BZD, slowly slip away, unnoticed, bit by bit, until one day they are gone? I am terrified that one day the sound of his voice will never again echo in my ears. The scent of his cologne will be overcome by the scent of the funeral home, where I last saw him. That scent is vivid and fresh in my mind. That scent I will never forget.
I have a lot of memories of him as a child, between the ages of four and twelve, give or take a couple. Each year on his birthday, I think of the one where all of our cousins were there, he was about five, and we played outside for hours. I remember his chocolate cake, his gifted skateboard, and the fun that we had. Those were the good ole days.
Note to Self: Memories are what you make of them.