Celebrating a birthday while grieving

Today is my birthday. I am now 37-years-old. Today is different than all of my other birthdays I have had. My oldest brother Kenny went Home in April. This is my first birthday without him. Up until now, I had 36 years worth of hugs from him, and as we got older and lived states apart, calls and texts. Today, while I got many beautiful and touching messages, I lacked one.

I would hear my phone and basically expect a miracle. It did not come. Instead, I replayed a voicemail he left me last year. I had to work that day. He mentioned that, but added, “The good thing is, we are on the right side of the dirt.” That was his humor. And truth. He often got disgusted with societal complaints and wished people could just be happy being upright. I am, bro, but it is taking me a while to adjust without you. That is where I am: a state of adjusting. 

I miss his questionable humor. I miss his in-your-face honesty. I try to verbally kick myself in the ass like he would. Some days it works, some days it does not, and I cry. 

But please hear me: I am not depressed. I am not stuck in the past. I am grieving. 

My beautiful nieces, Kenny’s daughters, sent me a magnet for my birthday that reads, “Grief never ends but it changes. It’s a passage, not a place to stay. Grief is not a sign of weakness nor a lack of faith. It’s the price of love.” That message is so true and raw. 

Grief is not something to be ashamed of. It is not something that needs pity. It is not something that needs rushed. 

While time does seem to fly by, consider this: I spent 13,360 days having Kenny as my older brother. He has been gone 155. Because of that, it may take me a while to stop doing something as simple as grabbing my phone to text him to share news, ask what he thinks, or vent. 

I am not writing this seeking sympathy. I am writing this in hopes that at least one other person can relate and know that IT IS OKAY TO GRIEVE. Do not feel rushed. Do not suppress your feelings. Do not accept someone telling you to move on. While yes, death is the only thing in life that is certain, it is still very hard and painful. Do what YOU need to do to make sure your heart remains full of love and not hurt or anger. 

I have embraced the saying “Grief is love with no place to go.” It fills the empty time you would have spent talking and laughing with the person who is gone. It sits in on your life like a spectator every time you think of what the lost person is missing out on. Even simple things. 

Kenny and I texted after many Cleveland Indians games. I couldn’t watch as many games this year. They felt empty and trivial. I am just now at a place that I can think, “Kenny would be so mad,” after a bad play, and laugh in my head instead of wanting to cry. Our boys clinched their division title over the weekend. We would have blown our phones up taking turns sending emojis and graphics. Though I am sure he would also have been plotting what “we” need to do from now until the playoffs. 

I am in therapy, and not ashamed to say it. It feels good to talk about Kenny; how much I miss him, my frustrations of all of the amazing things he has already missed. But more importantly, divulging all of my should-have, could-have, would-haves - but didn’t follow through with. I have a long way to go in forgiving myself for not being a better sister. He is not here to ask if I did okay. Other people’s reassurances cannot validate the one opinion that I cannot go back in time to get. 

My grief counselor said that guilt is normal. This doesn’t feel normal to me. It feels heavy and makes me question myself at the core. 

We always said “I love you,” when we talked, but I never told him what a good friend he was. That bothers me.

I do believe in Heaven and I am certain he is at peace. I hope I can lead the rest of my life well enough to land there myself and see him again, though I hope that is not for at least another five decades. 

I have a husband, beautiful kids, my parents, an older brother, and a team’s worth of nieces and other relatives who literally give me air. I love playing with my kids and hearing their belly giggles, the Cleveland Indians, waiting to see if the Browns can have a winning season, made-for-TV Christmas movies that I do watch any day through the year, chocolate, and coffee. I divulge in these very simple things and take away great joy. As I write this, I also grieve. The missing person does not see or feel your pain or love. It is a temporary, selfish place to be and I have no intentions of staying here. But just know, I am doing okay. So is your neighbor. Your co-worker. Your friend. Yourself. 

Tell the stories you may want to tell about the person you may be missing. Talk about them, keep them alive and with you. They helped mold you to be the person you are. Don’t forget, they liked that person. 

All of the firsts - birthdays, holidays, even simple things like team wins - that you experience after losing someone are hard. They are never far from your thoughts. Grief is love. Even on happy days. So today I celebrate turning another year older and am so blessed to do so. But it is also okay to sit back and say, “Wow, this is different.”