Lost
She heard of his passing from a friend. She hadn't talked with him in over 10 years, and that was a brief conversation, of seeming little consequence. She didn't really know him, even though he was her half brother, twenty years her senior. No, they didn't have a relationship; that was the result of someone else's efforts. It had been decided by the powers that be that he was no longer part of the family; mention of him as an older sibling was forbidden by all younger siblings. The children were told that, should anyone ask, his name or that he even existed should not be mentioned. And so she, being the youngest, thinking that that was how things were done, accepted it. She never questioned it. She grew up thinking that, as a natural course of events, children were written off, written out of the will, as the second son suffered a similar fate as the first. Not until was she married with children of her own, did she understand the sin, the horrible actions, the denials, that marred her past.
And so she sat at the window, reflecting that she should be sad, she should feel something, but all she felt was a strange emptiness. An emptiness of not knowing her brother, not knowing his favorite color or food, not knowing his children very well; not being able to recall his birthday or his middle name. They never exchanged birthday or Christmas cards; she wondered if he even knew where she lived, or that she had children of her own. As she sat pondering what it was that she really felt, she realized that she was saddened not by his passing, but that she was never a part of his life to begin with. His death elicited not much more feeling than reading a random obituary in the paper. And that was what grieved her; that there was no loss to grieve. She was robbed of that by the decision of another.
She's in the middle of raising her own children and knows the trials and hardships; the joys and frustrations. When she tried to explain to her kids that her brother and his mother had no relationship, no idea of where the other lived, they can not comprehend it- it is a totally foreign concept. And while she is grateful that they do not understand, she fears that they will begin to fear the same fate befalling themselves as they grow older. How can she reassure them that she loves them fiercely, passionately, with all that she is? And that she always will? All she knows from childhood is this rejection, this conditional love; how can she be sure she will not fall into the same sin her forebears did? She knows that life comes with no guarantees, but she has resolved in her heart that she will do all in her power to see that her own children know and love each other well. As she tucks her baby in bed for the night, and turns to chat with her oldest daughter, she resolves that these two, and all the children in between, will know each others' favorite colors and foods, each others' children and their birthdays; that when one of them passes on, the others will feel the loss keenly because they loved each other so well. She will not rest until she is sure that they will never lose touch with each other, never become strangers, that they will never let go of each other. And this is how she grieves the loss of a brother.
And so she sat at the window, reflecting that she should be sad, she should feel something, but all she felt was a strange emptiness. An emptiness of not knowing her brother, not knowing his favorite color or food, not knowing his children very well; not being able to recall his birthday or his middle name. They never exchanged birthday or Christmas cards; she wondered if he even knew where she lived, or that she had children of her own. As she sat pondering what it was that she really felt, she realized that she was saddened not by his passing, but that she was never a part of his life to begin with. His death elicited not much more feeling than reading a random obituary in the paper. And that was what grieved her; that there was no loss to grieve. She was robbed of that by the decision of another.
She's in the middle of raising her own children and knows the trials and hardships; the joys and frustrations. When she tried to explain to her kids that her brother and his mother had no relationship, no idea of where the other lived, they can not comprehend it- it is a totally foreign concept. And while she is grateful that they do not understand, she fears that they will begin to fear the same fate befalling themselves as they grow older. How can she reassure them that she loves them fiercely, passionately, with all that she is? And that she always will? All she knows from childhood is this rejection, this conditional love; how can she be sure she will not fall into the same sin her forebears did? She knows that life comes with no guarantees, but she has resolved in her heart that she will do all in her power to see that her own children know and love each other well. As she tucks her baby in bed for the night, and turns to chat with her oldest daughter, she resolves that these two, and all the children in between, will know each others' favorite colors and foods, each others' children and their birthdays; that when one of them passes on, the others will feel the loss keenly because they loved each other so well. She will not rest until she is sure that they will never lose touch with each other, never become strangers, that they will never let go of each other. And this is how she grieves the loss of a brother.
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