November 1st

Today is the 46^th anniversary of my youngest brother’s death. He was 12 years old. I remember it like it was yesterday, yet it feels like a lifetime ago.

This day also begs the question, “Do I call my mom to let her know I remembered, or do I not mention it for fear of making her sad.” I asked her that question many years ago. Her reply was bittersweet. She said, “Oh honey, I will always know what day it is whether you call or not. You do whatever feels best for you.”

There is a common theme in griefwork voiced by grieving parents, “Say their name. Tell me a story about them that I may not know. Show me a picture. Laugh with me. Cry with me. Don’t be afraid to make me sad – I’m already there.”

It’s a club no one wants to be a part of, and there’s so little we can do to make it better. Don’t ask, “How are you?” unless you add, “This very minute.” Because how someone “is” changes by the second. Hold hands. Share a snotty Kleenex. Bear witness to their sorrow. Be silent. Be present.

So, I’ll call my mom today and talk about our sweet John Jay. I’ll also call my friend, Karen, and mention Garrett’s name. It’s the best I can do.