My brother died.
I feel like I have said that 137 times since Friday and it still doesn’t sound or feel right.
I don’t know if people are sick of hearing it, but I am sure sick of saying it.
No matter how many times I have said it, and know it to be true, I don’t believe it and it still takes me by surprise.
The day after he died, my mom asked me to take her to the store. First of all, she was a little out of it… obviously. You could tell she was still in shock.When we went to the check out, the cashier said “Hello, how are you?”. Very rote. How in the heck do you answer that? Saying “um, my son just died. How are you?” tends to depress people.
I’ve noticed that even the normal things aren’t normal anymore. Going to the store feels like a chore, because I am going with something missing in my life and I can feel it. The other day I went to Walgreen’s to get a newspaper. I made the mistake of checking my FB messages in the parking lot. I sat, sobbing, unable to go in. I almost said “forget it” and turned around to go home, but I didn’t. Thankfully I didn’t know anyone working that day.
What it comes down to is this. My brother’s too short life has been reduced to paperwork, photographs and memories. I’ll be honest, it sucks.
In my mind, I always thought I would be able to handle something like this. I am finding out that you don’t know how you will handle ANYTHING until you have to handle it.
37 years of my life with a brother. The rest of my life with only photographs and memories.
Wilbur (Willie) Wright December 15, 1969 – September 21, 2012
Brother in law