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.