As you begin this tumultuous journey through grief, I’d like to extend my sincere sympathies to you.

I was untouched by death until I turned 37 and five days later my brother Phil died. He was only 40 at the time and died of a heart attack during his sleep.

Losing one of my brothers was a jarring experience, and one that still to this day – 20 years later – seems surreal. I completely understand that my brother is gone.  But if I close my eyes, I still remember the visit we had just the night before he died. He was doting on my children – which is something he did well – and as I asked if he wanted to go to the doctor he pish pawed me away saying that he’d be okay.  I think he knew better, but was at a loss.

His wife was out of town, he didn’t want to worry his own daughter or stepson and because he wasn’t one to ask for help – he didn’t. No one will ever know how much I regret not pushing more to get him to a doctor that evening.

I was the one who found my brother dead. His stepson had gone to school that morning and didn’t wake Phil because he didn’t want to bother him. My mom had been calling him and couldn’t wake him.  Because he lived one mile away, Mom asked me to go check on him.  I did and I can still see the newspaper in the driveway, which was my first knowledge that something was wrong!

The newspaper was Phil’s lifeline and if that paper was on the driveway at noon – there were problems.

I called 911, and while it seemed like an eternity, they were there in minutes.  But…I didn’t have a key and they didn’t want to break in. I told them to break the damn window and I’d pay for it later.  Eventually, they were able to remove the arcadia door and go in that way and I found out Phil was gone when an uncaring fireman said, “Well, he’s been dead too long for us to do anything”.

The rest of the day was a blur, but I do remember I couldn’t gather up the courage to call my mother.  Of the six of us, she and Phil had a special bond and how could I tell her that her child was gone.

Of course the calls got made, the day went by, the funeral came and went – but our lives were never the same, especially my parents.

I think Phil’s death wore on their souls and within a short time, I saw my parent’s age.

In just a few short years, Dad was faced with ill health and placed in the hospital.  Heart failure had hit our family once again.

Dad was there for two weeks and during this time, I think every doctor from the state of Arizona went in and out of his room – and looking back, I realize how wrong we were to let them do that.  I now know that if a person in ill health develops kidney problems, well….the end is near.

Losing Dad was hard, but I do remember that when he went, he left us surrounded by love.  He was in the ICU and all six kids and Mom were at his bedside.  He held on…it was February 28 (leap year) and we all waited.  Then, our old friend Lee Bunton came in.  Lee was like a child to my parents and as we gathered Lee to join us, Dad took his last breath and was gone.  I think in an odd sort of way, he waited for Lee to arrive knowing that he’d probably be the only sensible one for the next few hours.

Dad was 72 when he died and now that I’m 57, I realize how young that is.  However, he was an old soul and it didn’t seem as out of place to let him go as it did Phil, who died at the prime of life.

Mom was as stoic as she could be when Dad died and stayed in the house for a while.  But, common sense came into play and after the obligatory year, she moved into my sister’s house.  My sister had an apartment built on and it was a perfect set up for Mom.  It was built for handicap accessibility and I think the four years she spent there were the most comfortable of her life.  She liked to call her apartment Shady Lane – and God’s waiting room – and when she died in her own bed in 1996, she too was surrounded by love.

Losing ones you love is a horrible experience.  There really are no words to describe how you feel.

I want to implore you to know that each feeling you feel is okay and that it’s normal to laugh, cry, be depressed and find joy at this time.

With each passing, I’ve grown myself – both in age, spirit and unfortunately, weight!  With each passing, I’ve lost someone I not only loved, but respected as well.  I’ve also lost a little bit of myself with each one.

In the end, however, years later, I can talk about each one without bursting into tears – but, 12 years later, I still go to pick up the phone to call my mother!

I can’t tell you when your grief will end, but I will tell you this – it will abate with time (obviously a lot of time for me!!).

Take this time to be good to yourself.  Don’t worry about the “would of’s”, “could of’s” or “should of’s” of life.  Do take time to smile and remember, because after all…we’d all rather be remembered with joy than with sorrow.

May peace be with you and again, I am sorry for your loss.