An open letter to my brother

Hey bro,

It’s been a while since we talked. I just wanted to let you know I’m doing okay. I wish the distance between us wasn’t so far. There’s so much that I’d like to talk to you about. I think about you a lot, every day. I hope you’re doing well.

My boy is as ornery as ever and I swear I can hear your laugh echoing at some of the things he does. You always encouraged his bad behavior. My little girl is turning into quite the princess. She still likes to get on laps and cuddle. I know if you came to visit, she’d still melt into your lap. She liked it there. Jesse’s doing good. He’s helped me keep my sanity with everything that’s been going on.

I was in a car accident a few weeks ago and totaled the car. The kids were with me. That was the hardest part. The airbags deployed and beat me up pretty good. My lip and my right hand are still healing from cuts. The seat belt tightened from impact. I couldn’t turn around. I felt trapped in my seat. The kids didn’t make a peep; no crying, no screaming, no questions. I was terrified of possibilities as I fumbled to unbuckle. I climbed out of the car and yanked open the back door as fast as I could. They looked fine. “Are you okay,” I half screamed. “We’re okay Mommy.” Those 60 seconds haunt me every day. Pure silence. At random times I think about that terror. That fear. I’ve never known it before and hope to never visit it again. 

It’s been three weeks since the accident. We are all okay by the grace of God. We got a new car last week. I'm slowly getting more comfortable driving again, and we’re back to our routine of random errands and appointments. We’ve made a few trips out lately just to check out the holiday decorations that are popping up in stores. I know you always liked that, too. I saw some Star Wars ornaments the other day and wondered if you’d like any of them.

I’m sure you’ve heard, Dad has brain cancer. We found out in March and were given a prognosis of 12-15 months. It’s been hard watching him struggle with simple processing over these last few months. He’s had to use a cane, a walker to get around, he’s had some falls. He struggles to find words a lot, but for the most part, he’s doing okay considering what he’s up against. You know Dad, he doesn’t like asking for help. I bought him a shirt after he was diagnosed that says “Ultimate Warrior.” Remember how he always liked that wrestler when we were growing up? It fits, considering the battle he’s had. Our brother has been amazing through this, taking him in and taking great care of him. I’ve told him a few times that he is a better son than I am a daughter. It’s very hard and he has a lot on his plate. He has more strength than I do, that’s for sure.

I often wonder what you’d say to me about some of this stuff and how I handle things. The last few years have been a horrendous challenge. I look back at everything that’s happened since January of this year alone and I wonder how I managed to get through it without melting down, but then I look at my kids and know how I did it. They are my greatest blessings and my strength. 

I lost my job in January, which at the time was so hard and confusing. Dad also started showing signs something wasn’t right and he was in the hospital for a few days to start the year. Losing my job ended up working out because we were able to spend more time with Dad. It took four months, but the site re-grouped and I got my job back. Me and the kids spent most of the summer in Ohio. I had plans to go back a few weeks ago, but then the accident happened.

I can’t believe it’s already October. The leaves are starting to fall but it’s still pretty hot here. Guns N’ Roses came to town last week. Can you believe they are still on tour? It’s almost been two years since we saw them in Cleveland.

Two years.

It’s been two years since I last saw you. Last hugged you. Last heard your belly laugh in person.

I was standing at my kitchen window a few days ago and was looking out at the field behind my house. I was thinking about everything that’s happened in the last two years, and, of course, you. At that moment I felt like you were standing behind me. Sort of like a tap on the shoulder. I couldn’t see you, but I thought maybe you came to let me know you haven’t forgotten about me either. Did you?

I miss you so much some days I just cry. Still. During my days at home with the kids, I see something and wonder what you’d reply back if I texted it to you. We sure had some of the most pointless, childish texts. But you always made me laugh. Sometimes it was an eye roll. Other times I would wait all day and tell Jesse, “my brother is so dumb,” and follow with our conversation. I miss how idiotic we both were together.  

I wonder what you would say about everything going on with Dad. I wonder what you’d say about small stuff, like the Indians missing the playoffs. I think about what you’d say about how I handle things and wonder if you are making a list so you can tell me all the times I messed up. I bet you are. The last thing I want to hear in sixty years is a long list of “Manders, you muffed up.” But, you always knew better. It drove me nuts. Mr. Know-It-All. You were always so very critical. Quick to call people out. You were brash. But man, you had such a great sense of humor and truth about it.

I have learned, if nothing else, to love hard. Embrace every single SECOND. Put nothing off, and allow myself to say, “I deserve it.” You tried telling me that before you left. I would roll my eyes. Priorities, bro. But I was missing it. I have learned so much about myself and my beliefs since you left. I will not say that you were right because you would brag too much for the acknowledgment, but, maybe you were on to something.

The last few years have been hard. I’ve lost, I’ve struggled, I’ve worried. I can’t control any of it. At times this journey has felt like the accident. It literally just bowls me over. Out of nowhere. Unexpected. Like the day you left.

When I look out my window into the open field, I think of how pretty and peaceful it is here. I do a lot out that window. I play with my kids in the backyard. I listen to them laugh while I do the dishes. I think about my older brother, my lost friend, and the impact he’s had. Come to think about it, I know that was you the other day. You were telling me to enjoy those little things. Be grateful. I can picture it now, you standing behind me, tapping me on the shoulder. As I turn to look, you tap the other one. Always the jokester.  

I’m not sure you’ll even read this or hear these words, but I just wanted to let my big bro know that I’m doing okay. Despite everything. It's been hard without you.

I miss you.

Love ya,

Mandy

Corinthians 13

If I give away everything I own, and if I hand my body over so that I may boast but do not have love, I gain nothing.

"You change your life by changing your heart." - St. Benedict of Nursia