two years gone, two years lived.
Two years ago my parents held their son in their arms as he died.
It feels like it just happened, but it also just as often feels like decades ago. We were in Florida two months ago visiting his grave. I was surprised I didn’t feel more emotion while sitting there… the sun was warm, and whoever is buried next to him (Trudy McAdoo – hey hey, McAdoos), was kind enough to make her headstone a bench, so I sat there soaking in the sun thinking about the day we buried him. While I was thinking of that, three deer were grazing a bit away from us at the edge of the cemetery and the forest. There was a slight breeze, although it felt a bit too hot.
Mostly I just felt peaceful.
We don’t feel peace every day. My mom tells me when he was born she felt so complete – she simply… knew him, and was the happiest I’d ever seen her – rolling around on the floor with him singing, playing, and being an incredible mom. The day we lost him she was broken in a way I hadn’t anticipated (we were all, and still are, broken in many, many ways). She had lost that deep, self-validating, purpose-infusing connection she had with him. Something nothing else in life had quite given her. The bond a mother who truly adores her son feels.
I swear me and him could talk to each other telepathically, haha. He knew I was fun, I would bring comfort. He could be covered in tears, and 3 seconds together, would calm him down. I loved him with depth and honesty. You could hear our laughter from any place in the house when I tickled him and he screamed with happiness. I had notebooks full of research, and bunches of tabs open on my web browser at all times reading up and asking questions about the cancer and how we could all fight more.
Ezra would sleep on my chest a lot in the hospitals. Beds are in scarce supply, and couches and chairs are appreciated but not exactly comfort-filled. My mom has dozens of pictures of him and I fast asleep in some hospital chair or sofa. I always thought it was funny she took those, but they’re some of my favorite pictures of he and I now. I miss my brother.
An anniversary of a death is a weird thing. There are no “traditional” things you do. We wondered if we should feel sad, or think through his life more… really, it didn’t feel different than any other day without him.
Not a day goes by – not one hour – that I don’t picture him. To you perhaps he was a story (I used to keep a blog, updated daily, on him); maybe you met him. Maybe you spent quite a bit of time with him. I hope his small life continues to make people change for the better. I don’t care how, really – I don’t care if you smile more; if you decide to fight against things like this that take children; if you let your love be freer and more vocal; if you look for joy in every God-granted moment because you know so many miss it. Every story affects everyone different. But I hope his affects you. Somehow. For good.
I’m happy often. I really am. Sometimes I lose all my energy and get overwhelmed by the weight of the loss. There’s no “fixing” grief; it becomes a part of who you are – you take it, you learn from it, you adapt to having it as an occasional companion. Loss doesn’t define me; grief isn’t who we are. I do not think it’s anything that ever completely leaves though – and I wouldn’t want it to. How much more we understand the looks we see in broken people’s eyes now. How real the truth we have to help.
It’s October now, and the cold is coming in. We wrap up in an extra blanket at night, and put our jackets on when we leave the house. The crisp air is invigorating.
I don’t know how i’ll make it through school tomorrow, or any of the days after. Because the day he died is so vivid in my mind, and I know tomorrow it will just keep replaying. I don’t have anyone to talk to about this, so I keep everything inside and its been eating away at me lately. If you’ve ever suffered a loss, due to cancer, you know how this is. Thankfully not that many people can relate.
So as I sit here writing this post for people to see, I hope you get a few things out of it. Don’t take life for granted. It is so precious, we don’t even realize. My brother, Ezra, was two years old. We do so much in two years, its going to be hard to remember everything, but while you’re living, living in the moment, try to make the memories last. Always having good memories to reflect on can really help.. with anyones wellbeing.
Thanks for taking the time to sit and take the time to read this, it actually means a lot. I’m writing this post a day in advance because I know I most likely won’t be on any social-media websites. I want to say i hope you’re still enjoying your life as much as you were while you were spending it with us. I know you’re up there having a bunch of fun. Although i hope it isn’t soon, I am looking forward to the day we are reunited, even though I always feel you with me.
I’ll put some pictures, you can view them by clicking the read more tab. You are all so beautiful in your own ways and if you are ever feeling sad about life, remember that you have one. You all deserve to have wonderful days, and i hope you’ve had one :)
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