The Forgotten Sibling

It’s said that sibling death is oftentimes the most neglected type of grief. Let me tell you how true that is.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been blessed with a lot of support and love. But, I have definitely felt alone. When Jonathan first passed, I can’t even tell you how many times I was told to, “Be strong for Mom. She needs you.” So I was. I cried, sure. But, for the most part, I held it in. I still am guilty of holding it in.

I kept every haunting feeling mostly to myself. I didn’t want to upset anybody by the really negative feelings that I had. I said things like, “God is giving me a lot of peace,” or, “Well God is still so good.” Those things were and are true. I can’t even adequately explain just how true those things are. But, I used them as a mask to hide how much pain I was in. Not for my benefit but out of fear of discouraging anyone around me.

And then, I broke. His autopsy was finished and I wanted to go see his body. And then, I learned about the details of what an autopsy actually is.

I kept it to myself for about an hour. I held it together pushing the images out of my mind. We talked about going to see him as a family and the details of the things that would surround that. I got up when we were finished and walked downstairs to the now guest room that was once Jonathan’s childhood bedroom.

I broke.

I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I tried. I felt so guilty for breaking. I wasn’t strong for my Mom at that moment because I just wasn't able to be.

Every feeling flooded out. I screamed so loud that my head pounded. My brother? Gone at 29? Me? 21 years old with a dead brother?

I couldn’t stop. My boyfriend held me so tightly. A godsend, he just sat there being present. He didn't try to soothe me. He didn’t try to calm me. He just rode the wave of grief. Then, my sister came in and held onto me too. My Dad came and crouched on the floor holding onto my leg.

Then, my Mom the one who I was supposed to be strong for, came in and wrapped me in a blanket. She was strong for me.

I sobbed for what felt like hours, maybe days. I screamed, my heart ached and my head pounded. Finally, I heard through my screams my sweet boyfriend whispering, “Jesus. Jesus.” I took a breath in and out and true peace that surpassed all understanding tore through my grief. My family and Jesus held me just being present in the midst of the worst feelings I’ve ever felt. That’s all it takes sometimes. Presence. Being present.

I kept apologizing to my Mom for not being strong. She told me that I didn’t need to be strong for her all the time, that we would be strong for each other.

You see, there’s a stigma about pain. We measure it. We invalidate it. Some Christians think feeling pain is the fruit of small faith. Let me tell you, you are allowed to feel pain. You are allowed to be sad, angry, and even pessimistic. God is present through every moment of every feeling. He does not run from your feelings so don’t run from him because of your feelings.

I don’t feel seen, heard, or supported all the time. A lot of times, I feel alone. It’s no one’s fault. It’s just that most people think of the parents before they think of the siblings. My friends are young. Most of them just don’t know what to do. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not completely alone. But, I definitely do feel neglected at times. Sometimes, I welcome it. I want people to care for my parents more than they care for me. They lost their son. So unnatural and backward. It’s every parent’s nightmare.

I never expected this. I never, not in a million years, expected my brother to pass away so suddenly and so young. I expected to spend every Christmas with him. I expected my kids to know their Uncle Jonny. I expected him to be at my wedding. I just didn’t anticipate this.

And I can’t express how much it hurts. I pretend like I’m okay. I’m not okay. My big brother died. Life will never be as good now. I have to go to work and classes every day. I have to live like I don’t have this huge weight on my shoulders. I can’t carry this. I want my brother back.

But, my Jesus. My loving, present, all-knowing Abba, sees me. He sees everything I hide. Everything most people overlook. He sees the forgotten sibling trying to be strong. He sees my morbid, hopeless, heart-wrenching grief. And He is present. He is here. He is here now as you’re reading this.

On one hand, the pain has shown me that this is not our home. He is preparing a place for us in eternity with Him. A place that is free of death, sin, and pain. A place where I have my brother back. I just never expected to have this anticipation for Heaven at such a young age. This is how people in their 80s feel after living a long life and having lost many loved ones. Everything is less sweet now. Marriage, kids, a big girl job. They’re all temporary things. It’s sad that those things are not as vibrant or as exciting anymore.

I won’t have my brother if and when I experience those things. But I also know that this is not all there is. There’s more than this temporary place. I have eternity to look forward to. For now, I walk in obedience to Him who called me. I acknowledge that life is not all bad nor is it all good. I take in the good and the bad as it comes. I don’t allow this loss to take the good that is to come while I’m still on Earth. I choose to acknowledge that no, life will never be as good again. But, I will still experience blessing.

And throughout every twist, every turn, ever up and every down God will be present. He was, is, and will be good. Enough. Better.