Sigh. Tomorrow is going to be a really rough day. It would have been my little brother's 21st birthday. He was 19 when we buried him just over a year ago. It's so hard to imagine that it's been that long since we put him there. I don't even want to think about all the things he could have done in the last 14 months. But I do. And I wonder what he'd want for his birthday. Jeremy and I would probably take him out for dinner and let him drink as much as he wanted. He always hated that everybody was older than he was. I know he didn't like feeling like "the baby". His 21st birthday would have let him feel like a grown up, so to speak. And it sucks that he won't be here to celebrate it. Or any other birthday. Ever.
I try to remind Abbie of her uncle and how much he loved her. But it's so hard. Tonight, she cuddled up next to the pink bear that he bought her the day she was born and smiled. I asked her if she knew where uncle Josh was. It seems so natural to say "do you know where he lives?" But he doesn't live anywhere. He's not alive.
I wish I didn't have to work the next few days. I'm realizing that I really want is a couple of days to just be by myself , to just curl up in a ball for as long as I need to and be alone with my thoughts and my memories. But instead I'll get just half a day tomorrow to get my "gift" ready and go "visit" with him. I like to take him things, even if they are funeral-inspired flowered crosses or sprays of flowers. I like to stand them up to show everybody who sees them that it's my brother's birthday. I so want him to be celebrated. To me, those flowers tell the world how amazing he was. For me, it's a kind of validation. It's like me saying "This was the most wonderful person ever. And I've made sure that every one knows this is the day he was born. And he deserves to be celebrated on his birthday." No, people don't understand all of that from a spray of flowers that they pass by or see from across the cemetary. But at least it makes me feel a little better.
I wonder what a therapist/ counselor would say about my overprotectiveness of the memory of the person who is my little brother. As weird as it is, I touched my brother so much during the days when he laid in his casket before we buried him. I wanted to make sure his hair was the way he wanted and that his pillow was comfortable. But I couldn't stand to touch his hands because they were so cold. And it reminded me that there was no life left in his body. The minute he died, every bit of personality and amazing character that I knew went with him. And I hate that so much. I hate that I can never get that back.
I'm sorry I've rambled and jumped around so much. This blog was for me more than anyone else. But I've got to stop now. I have to crawl out of my hole because if I get much deeper, I won't get out. I only let myself go to this place every couple of months. But when I get here, I fall fast and I have to know when to pick myself up again. So I'm going to take one more deep breath, cry for a few more minutes, and then pick myself back up. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. My next blog will be more upbeat, I promise.