Ripped off

I'm reading a book right now called The Story of Edgar Sawtelle. I picked it up before we left L.A. so I would have something to read on the plane to Sydney. I actually didn't start reading it until we arrived. It's an interesting story, but it took a turn I didn't expect and now it's dealing a little with the subject of loss. The following excerpt really struck me:

Fragmentary emotions possessed and released him, drawn like garments from a wardrobe and discarded, one after another.

This line, and other imagery I won't regurgitate here, took hold of me and the grief once again flowed freely. It was like a bandage being ripped off, but part of it was stuck to the wound and when it was pulled away, it took some flesh with it. It's amazing to me how quickly I can be taken back to that place...instantly transported back to that hospital room, standing over him, holding his hand, watching the life leave him. It's still as real and vivid as the day it happened, but yet...not...real...at all. It can't be, can it?

Visions of Tyler

Today was my first Christmas in Australia. Martine and I got up at 6am with the kids and have been going ever since. We had a beautiful picnic at the park with good food and good company. This picture is me with Ethan, Anthony and Vanessa's youngest child. He's a cutie! The day this picture was taken he had decided he wanted to play with me and we bonded. He smiles at me all the time now. I love it. I look forward to watching him grow up.

It was a great day, but I kept imagining Tyler there with us. I could see him clearly, playing with the little kids in the park, chatting with Gary and Spencer, giving mum a hug, and toasting Christmas with Anthony, Vanessa and Ali. I could see him helping Gary and Spence with the bbq at Ali's house tonight. There were a couple of moments when I actually forgot he wasn't really there. I know how much he would have loved my new extended family, how much he would have loved the woman I'm about to marry, how well he would have fit in with all of them. On the way home, I lost my emotional control and I cried. I'm still crying. This is our second Christmas without him and I still DON'T BELIEVE HE'S GONE. It makes me so angry and sad. I want him back every minute of every day.

Merry Christmas, little brother. I miss you and I love you, and this sucks...

Remembering

This is me reflected in a Christmas ball hanging on the tree outside my dad's house. I helped him finish the last of the outdoor decorating on Monday. As we worked I thought back to Christmas of 2007. Tyler was here with us and the three of us installed a basketball hoop on the garage. I stared at that hoop as I worked silently with Dad. The tears came...as usual, but I stifled them. The memory struck me hard. Dad and I had lunch later that day and talked a little about the grief. It's still so hard to believe Tyler was taken from us. I heard from my mom the same day. She was having a memory about Tyler and she was crying. She wanted to hear my voice. It's often still so hard to talk about the loss we're all feeling.

I'm going to take some of Ty's ashes to Australia with me and spread them somewhere on the West coast. I know he would have wanted to go there. I wish he was coming over to hang out with us while we're there. I wish...a lot of things. I know life isn't fair, but THIS IS SOOOOOO UNFAIR AND UNJUST. I don't wish death on anyone but the following statement may give that impression. Why couldn't the universe have taken someone less worthy of life?!? There are many options, I'm sure. Again, I don't wish death on anyone; I just miss my brother. If there's anyone who didn't deserve to die, it's him.

Tonight

I'm not really sure why I picked this photo, other than the fact that it is reflective of Ty's sense of humor. Those of you who knew him probably can see that.

Tonight is really, really, really, really (I could go on....) difficult. A year ago tonight we all gathered at Tyler's bedside to say goodbye. He actually passed away on November 6th, as it was after 1:00am when it happened. It has been a year and I still can't believe he's gone. I can still see him so clearly. I can still hear his deep voice. I can still hear his laughter and it makes me smile.

We're leaving for New Orleans tomorrow and we've been working on our new house all day. The distractions are huge and they are welcome, but they are fleeting. Tonight when I lay down my head and all is quiet, I will think of where I was one year ago tonight...and my heart will break all over again.

If you live in Indy, take a look at the November 6th Indy Star. There will be an ad in the 'In Memory/Obituary' section. If you don't get a paper, you can probably find it online. I miss him so much.

I love you, Tyler.

It's amazing...

The closer I get to the anniversary of his death, the faster the waves of grief are coming. It has been almost a year since I stood by his bedside and watched the life leave his body...and I still can't believe he's gone. I keep expecting to plan the next time we meet for lunch or schedule the next dinner with the folks and it's never going to happen. The finality of that reality is staggering. I had one of those moments last night when I forgot for just a second that I couldn't call him and chat. I had some exciting news to share and I wanted to tell him. It felt like a punch in the stomach when I realized, again...not going to happen.

I'm so angry again, angry about the senseless way he died. It wasn't supposed to happen. He was supposed to be ok. We all believed that...especially Tyler.

Tomorrow is my birthday. It's my 40th. Last year Tyler gave me a birthday card the morning he went into the hospital for surgery. He was even able to mouth "happy birthday" to me on my birthday, four days after the surgery. It's amazing to me (in the worst sense of the word) that I won't get that card this year. Both of my parents expressed the same grief on their birthdays this year. Of course I understood it at the time, but I really get it now.

I miss you so very much, Ty...I can't even put it into words. There are no words. I love you.

Weighing heavily on my mind

It was a year ago yesterday that I got the call from my mother telling me that Tyler was in the hospital. She said he had collapsed at work and had some sort of seizure. The MRI taken after that episode showed that he had a brain tumor at the base of his brain. Anyone reading this blog knows the rest of the story. I still can't believe how it ended. I went out with a co-worker/friend after work that night and we drank...we toasted to Tyler. On my way home I broke down like I never had before in my entire life. It was a primal wailing I had never experienced. I remember calling Martine at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning (she was in Chicago at the time) and crying to her over a crackling cell phone connection. In some ways I think I knew that night that it was going to end badly. I don't know how I knew; it was just a feeling I had deep in my soul. I spoke with Tyler the next day and he tried to reassure me that it would all be ok. It helped a little at the time.

The chill in the air, the leaves changing color and falling to the ground, the signs of Fall, they all remind me of that time we spent here last year. We came into Indy the first time to spend a week with Tyler before his surgery. I am very grateful for that week. I only wish I had spent more of it with him. I'm glad he got to meet the woman I'm going to marry. I only wish he could be there to witness it...to stand up with me.

The photo on this post is from March of this year. We took a trip to Sedona, Arizona to spread Tyler's ashes. That's exactly what I'm doing in this picture. It took close to an hour for me to actually open the container and release him into the wind. For a long time I just stood there, holding the container close to me. I think we all expected to feel a sense of closure after that experience, but I didn't. It was another part of the elusive grieving process, but I'm not sure I will ever find closure in this loss.

Losing Tyler will be weighing heavily on my mind over the next couple of week, as the first anniversary of his death approaches. I still can't believe he's gone...

I miss you, baby brother.

I wish he were here...

He's always with me in my heart and never far from my thoughts. Martine and I were walking around the outside of a beautiful old house today. It's near downtown Indianapolis and it's priced right, but it needs a lot of work. Tyler would have been able to help us determine if it's too much work. He would have been able to help us do the work. He would have loved it!! He actually might have beat us to it if he were still...here.

We peered into the windows and immediately saw the potential of this 4,200 square foot gem, built in 1901. It has beautiful woodwork that is just begging for a little TLC. There's a fantastic screened-in porch off the back of the house and I could see us sitting out there with a group of friends on a warm summer evening. I could see us out there with our coffee and newspaper on a lazy Sunday morning. I could see us creating the home we both crave and building a life there. I could also see us making it beautiful and selling it for a massive profit. Either way, I can see it clearly. Unfortunately, part of my vision included Tyler working on it with us. He was there showing us how to do the things we don't know how to do, he was there leveling out the back deck and making it sturdy and beautiful again, he was there sharing the dream with us...laughing with us. I'm always going to miss that laugh, that smile, that warm voice, that hug. It's really hard to think about taking on a project like this without him, one that would have been so right up his alley. I can only hope that he will watch over us and guide our hands as we transform the run-down and neglected into the beauty we both envision. Listen to me; you'd think we'd already bought the place...