Twenty Five Years: Yesterday and Forever Ago

I follow many grief groups on social media & lately they have been tugging at my heart to jump on here and write a blog post.  September 14 comes and goes every year and each year we hungrily seek Joslin stories and pictures to remember her joyful life. This year feels different to me as we cross the quarter century without my sister.  It seems like yesterday that we said goodbye and also forever ago. Time is so weird.

Over these years, I have learned to live without her while finding small ways to love the things she loved.  Green Day's "Good Riddance" comes on the radio or plays at Menards and I smile, thinking of her.  Petunias and rainbows and ladybugs all remind me of her and I chuckle to myself thinking about the time she carried a baby deer home thinking it was lost.  Annika and I chat about the many ways she reminds me of the aunt she never met.  I text my mom when something crosses my path that I think Joslin would have enjoyed.  I daydream about Heaven and picture her having tea and sweets with my Grandmas, patiently waiting for more of our family to join the party.

As many have already said, there is no end to grief.  Some people say there is a hole to remind us of the love we felt and continue to feel still.  Twenty five years on, the only think I am sure of is this: my grief is really just love for what she loved.  To remember and talk about her and say her name and eat Kraft Mac & Cheese and drink Mountain Dew(Diet now) and and to wrap gifts extra fancy are all reminders of her.  She lived.  She loved.  She died.  I live.  I love.  Someday I will see her again and in that I am comforted.

I am forever changed by my sister's death.  To quote this beautiful post, "with a few missing pieces here and there but loving brightly nonetheless. what a beautiful thing it is to give because you have known looking and longing and loneliness.  i have come to believe that the hurt ones are also the healers." 

If you have a grief story, share it with someone. If you know someone in grief, ask them about their loved one.  Sit with them & be present.  Be a healer.  Honor your person with acts of love and they live on.  

When Grief is Complicated: Guest Author Lindsay Drake

 

It has been a year since my brother’s death. I knew that the encroaching anniversary would bring up some complicated emotions, but I don’t think I was prepared for the complexity of how this day actually feels. My senses are full of the last sights and sounds of the day I told him goodbye. That very acute pain of that day lingers and finds its way into the quiet moments when I allow myself to feel what my body is begging to feel. It’s still so complicated and unresolved. I’m not sure those feelings will ever go away. 

Lynn and I were never close. He was 4 years older than me and we were 5 grades apart. My mom once told me that upon coming home from the hospital with me, Lynn asked when they were bringing me back. We had our moments, but they were few and far between. I have some memories of us playing together but we mostly lived parallel lives. He was always little and slightly nerdy. He was short, skinny and had coke bottle glasses. He was often picked on. He was bright but he didn’t put much energy into school. He did everything he could to fit in. I think that’s why he turned to drugs and alcohol at a young age. 

I was in high school when he and his girlfriend had a baby. I loved that little girl and spent every free moment I could with her…and my brother. He put up with me, which I deeply appreciated. They moved back to our hometown just as I was entering my senior year. Shortly after moving back home, my father unexpectedly died. Dad and Lynn were not getting along at the moment, so his death hit Lynn hard. I believe that was the moment of no return for him. Lynn fell deeper into drugs and alcohol to fight off his depression and grief. 

The next 20 years were filled with upheavals and several rock bottoms for my brother. He and the mother of his children separated, he spent very little time with his girls, and he was never able to hold down a job. Being his sister was exhausting. He was never healthy and brought me into his drama. I made the hard decision to not be a part of his life in order to protect myself and my children. As hard as that was for me, it was not received well by my brother. We kept loosely in touch, but we had very little to do with each other. By the time he was in his early 40s, Lynn was constantly intoxicated and was showing early signs of liver failure. His stomach was distended and his eyes were yellow. At age 41, he entered the hospital after vomiting blood for several days. Two short weeks later and we were making end of life decisions. He died in March at the young age of 41. Ultimately, I believe his unresolved grief was what kept him drinking. He was forever trying to numb the pain. 

His death is so complicated for me. More than mourning the loss of who he was the last 2 decades of his life, I mourn all of the could-have-beens. I mourn the reconciliation that could have happened between us, between him and his daughters, and mostly, between him and his grief. I’m sad. And I do miss him. But I don’t miss the frustration and worry of having an alcoholic brother. I truly believe that he is free of his grief and his pain. Death was the only thing to free him from the chains of his life. 

I pray he is resting easy…for the first time. 

Seasons of Life: Extra "griefy" with a side of take your daughter to college

 

"That's life, Betty.  You say hello, you walk alongside someone for a while, and then you say goodbye.  That's the arc of a life, isn't it? Every minute counts." -Jughead Jones

Who would have thought that a quote on the finale of a teen drama I have barely watched would take bring tears to my eyes and a need to quickly write the quote down?  This final episode of Riverdale saw two main characters revisit various points in their lives to say their goodbyes to friends and loved ones. At one point, Betty stands outside a mansion crying, saying she doesn't want to go in and say goodbye.  Jughead replies with the above quote.  This so succinctly sums up life...walk alongside, say goodbye, every minute counts.

Now, this episode may have felt extra raw because we recently dropped off my daughter at college and as the days crept closer, I found myself counting the days and then hours and then finally, the goodbye.  Every minute counted the last 18 years, but I didn't really feel it until the time with her was short.  My daughter is also the same age as my sister was when diagnosed with cancer.  Oddly, she often reminds me of my sister-in looks, her walk, and sometimes even her short tone of voice when she's tired or grumpy.  This odd combination of things has made me extra "griefy" lately, to quote my friend Amanda Held Opelt.

I don't have any amazing answers or secret words that will take care of this. Grief isn't something to just get rid of or take care of.  It morphs and changes over time through seasons of life and honestly, just writing and embracing it is better than anything else I have found.  If you feel "griefy" in this season of your life, know that you are not alone.  There are grief groups and friends who will listen and resources to help you. Reach out.  Every minute counts.

If you are interested in writing about your grief, please email me. Guest authors can remain anonymous if desired.

Growing old(er): Rambling thoughts about grief, age, & birthdays

 

Sisters-circa 1994.  I was18 and she around 16 and my shirt ironically says "Don't Look Back" but that's all I can do when I see this snapshot in time.  You see, I will turn 47 this May & have spent more time on this planet without my sister than I had with her.  I grow older but can not picture her any older.  Tomorrow would have been her 44th birthday, yet I can't imagine her as middle aged woman.  Feelings have always been hard for me to name, but I almost feel guilty for leaving her behind.  Grief makes no sense sometimes.  As I continue to age and my image in the mirror no longer matches my memory of her, how do I reconcile those things?

Faith & Grief-Strange Bedfellows: Guest post from Amanda Held Opelt

This much is true: if you are human, you will know faith, and you will know grief. We all put our trust in something along the way. And we all lose something we love along the way. 

Grief is informed by faith. And faith is informed by grief. Grief challenges faith, but can very often make it stronger. Faith can soothe grief, but sometimes muddies the narrative. If your faith is in a good God, then why would he allow bad things to happen? 

“Grief is love that has no place to go”.

I have heard that grief is love that has no place to go...so I pour that love into other things and other people to try to make my sister's death have meaning & purpose.  This blog is an example of something to make meaning from my experience.   I recently saw an Instagram post that resonated with me. I have shared the screen shots below as photos & apologize that I can't remember which account I found it on to give it proper credit.

"How random and fragile life can be."  September has always been hard for me.  My sister died on September 14th, 1999.  This was the 23rd anniversary of her death & 23 was her favorite number(23 letters in her full name).  My daughter often does and says things that remind me of my sister, as she gets closer to the age my sister was when diagnosed with cancer.  I hear Green Day's "Time of your Life" on the radio and I remember her funeral where it played.  I eat Kraft Mac & Cheese and am reminded of her favorite foods.  I pet my cat and remember Joslin's love of all pets-especially cats.  All random things somehow connected to my sister that add up and feel like a ton of grief all at once.

"You are not OK.  You might not ever be OK."  I have come to accept that OK has changed over the years.  I accept that there are OK good days and OK sad days.  I live daily the duality of living a life of joy and also longing for my sister.  There is no "getting over" or "better" from grief-it just is. It has become the fabric of my day to day life.  My "normal" is different than the "normal" prior to my sister's death.  I strive, as this post says "To live inside the love that remains."

Some changes going forward for this blog, I will not be posting on the 23rd of each month as I have run out of guest bloggers and I don't think I have enough insights or witty things to say myself.  When I encounter people willing to write, I will post in that month on the 23rd(my sister's date of birth). If you are feeling a gentle tug to tell part of your story or anything you wish to share, please email me at jessicajdagel@gmail.com for more information.  You can remain anonymous if you wish.

 

"Finding my strength after the storm" Guest post by Bethany Crouch

 

Iowa's unmatched weather patterns are eerily parallel to my last decade of life. Sure there have been anticipated season changes like winter swiftly turns to spring by late April and then steadily pacing us right into scorching hot temperatures in the middle of July. There have also been a few unmatched derechos or tornados with devastating storm damage in my life leaving me cautious to go outside and assess the damage but yet oddly capable to see the good that might come of it. In a few short weeks as another season begins to visibly change our trees around us it will be the tenth anniversary of my twin brother suddenly passing away in a motorcycle accident. 

 

A Hole in the World: Finding Hope in Rituals of Grief and Healing- Guest Post by Amanda Held Opelt

 

Editor's note:  Amanda wrote the very first blog post for this Sibling Grief Blog. She recently wrote a book about Grief and it comes out soon.  I asked her for an excerpt to share as this month's post. Her words are wise, born out of her own pain and grief. I hope this blesses you as it has blessed me!  -Jessica

In my new book A Hole in the World:  Finding Hope in Rituals of Grief and Healing, I explored ancient traditions surrounding loss and bereavement in order to better understand my own grief.  I wanted to try and make sense of all the complex emotions I was experiencing, and find some way to process them.  The passage below is from chapter 10, which is about the ritual of funeral games.  Funeral games, like practical jokes and hide and seek, were often played at Irish wakes.  But the ancient Greeks often engaged in fierce competitions, like chariot races, wrestling, and archery, after a funeral.  It was thought that this would honor the person who had died.  It was also a way for mourners to experience life, diversion, and vigor once more after loss.

 

"Wildflowers" Guest Post by Stacey Margaret Jones, Writer/Researcher

In the heart of the pandemic, July 2020, I got a call on a strange number in the Dallas-Forth Worth area; because my sister Susan lived there, I answered it when I would usually decline. The call wasn’t from Susan, but from an emergency room doctor who had found my number in her phone as a recent call to a person with the same last name. I knew where his introduction was leading, though I hoped it wouldn’t be the worst possible news, even as he was embarking on the sentence I dreaded, that Susan had died of a heart attack that morning. Her friend had brought her in after she had died in her car on the way to an appointment with her cardiologist. It had been sudden: In the short time it took her friend to put something in the trunk after getting Susan settled in the passenger seat, she had left us all. And the long days of our lives lived without her had begun.

"Chivalry in Grief" Guest post by Mitch Carmody

 

Note from Jessica:  My parents have been involved in Compassionate Friends/Bereaved Parents since my sister died in 1999.  I asked my mom, Jo, for ideas for guest writers and she suggested Mitch.  He has experienced the loss of his father at a young age,  a son & two siblings.  His wise words around his grief experience are much appreciated. 

As a national writer and speaker on grief I am for the most part  recognized for my journey following the  death of my 9-year-old son Kelly who died of a cancer in 1987. That event changed my life forever, but many do not know of the other familial losses that I have incurred. Our life is a puzzle in progress. It is our losses and gains that we piece together through our lifetime  that ultimately forms our destiny. We have cognitive choices that influence that destiny, but as children for the most part those choices are made for us. We grieve by proxy through our parents and subjugated by societal influence to marginalize our own pain. You are young, you are resilient, kids bounce right back.