If I Stand…

This is the 34 year anniversary of my brother Johnny’s death… sometimes, some years, the grief waves are small & manageable, barely tinged with a sting. Others, the waves are wild, unpredictable, & unruly, crashing into me & dashing me around like a rag doll.

This is one of those “wild, unpredictable, & unruly” wave years.

And so I write. I’ve found that the combination of remembering & rehearsing memories – & writing them down – helps mitigate (or at least spread out to a manageable level,) the grief.

Grief. It is a weight that causes shoulders to slump, & backs to bend. It can approach slowly & almost imperceptibly, or it can slam you to the ground. Sometimes carrying grief feels like carrying a 5 gallons jug of water with 3 gallons of water in it; its uneven, unbalanced, & sloshy… making any sort of movement difficult to sustain, as the sudden sloshing of the water can throw you off balance & knock you to your knees. Or face.

I’ve found grief makes people uncomfortable… especially when its been a while since the passing & loss of a loved one. “Time heals all wounds,” is a mantra I’ve had stated to me more than once. Or “…at least you got him for 17 years…” There’s a whole bunch of “at leasts,” people throw out as leaden lifelines, meaning well, but doing nothing except to emphasize their own discomfort & disconnection with the feeling. (I’d recommend checking out Brene’ Brown’s short video on Empathy  – in a few short minutes she offers several great insights on how to come alongside someone without making the pain worse. But I digress.)

I’m thankful for the people in my life who will just sit with me, without having to say something to try to make it better. Who send a text, a note, or a phone call to say, “I’m with you today.” I’ve learned that one of the greatest helps for navigating grief is to feel it, to be where you are, & to acknowledge it as the present reality I’m experiencing. Denying it, ignoring it, burying it, minimizing it, etc… none of those things “fix” the grief… because, I don’t believe, it CAN be fixed. Nor should we try to FIX it.

At this point, I think the best course of action for navigating grief, FOR ME, is to ride it out. To talk to another person who will listen without judgement or excess word-spam. To intentionally make sure to do things that make the day bearable. To get a good work out & take a “mental & emotional health regulating” sauna. To read in the Psalms. And if I feel like crying, I cry.

Yesterday, on the actual anniversary, I wrote (typed out) a long blog with all sorts of things I remember about my brother Johnny – from our childhood up through (& past) his death. And right before I posted it, I had an issue where the whole thing was deleted. Unretrievable.

Instead of trying to re-create it immediately (or breaking things & losing my biscuits,) I decided to take the rest of the day to “be” & then to tackle a new blog today, taking it where it would go. I’ve decided to touch on a couple of the memories here.

I remember…

• Folding newspapers in the wee hours of the morning. The smell of newspaper ink & rubber bands. The conversations about nothing & everything. Our beloved Giants & 49ers. Spiritual matters. Family, younger brothers, chores, & school.
• Sharing a room in Carson. We’d had our own rooms in Reno so the forced shared space was a great gift & a time I treasure… especially remembering Johnny’s rants about me talking too long on the phone with theBean.
• Johnny getting sent home from school on the 1^st day of 9^th grade for wardrobe infraction. He wore his Jetsons T with multi-colored board-shorts & vintage black-white-red Air Jordans. Carson Jr High had no clue what to do with him. Our great-uncle Bruce used to scratch his head & loudly declare, “That boy dresses like a clown.” The world wasn’t ready for Johnny’s style, & he didn’t care.
• The mixtapes. Johnny & I spent hours curating our own ancient version of today’s Spotify playlists using our dual cassette boombox… Russ Taff, Steve Taylor, Rich Mullins, DeGarmo & Key, Rez Band, Altar Boys to name a few. The title of this blog IF I STAND, is taken from our favorite Rich Mullins song… something we both declared we wanted to aspire to be. People who STAND.
• The cancer diagnosis, treatments, & battles… too many & too painful to go into detail again (did that yesterday & it helped. Don’t want to go there today.) I just know that throughout, Johnny didn’t complain or ask, “Why me?” He embraced his life-path as the one God gave to him – kind of like Hananiah, Azariah, & Mishael – aka Shadrach, Meshach, & Abed-nego in the fiery furnace. He knew God could heal him in a moment; but if He didn’t, Johnny was still going to worship Him with all of his heart.
• The last days at home, where Johnny’s body betrayed him & he weakened. We talked around his home-hospital bed. I got up to leave & he said, “I love you brother.” And I kept walking up the stairs, echoing back to him, “I love you too.”  The pain & intimacy of the moment seemed too much to bear & went & stood outside by my car in the gravel at the top of the driveway, weeping, asking God to heal my brother. And I KNEW that He was there; I could sense His tangible presence. And in a way, His sadness too. But there wouldn’t be a healing this side of heaven. So many times I wished I’d gone back downstairs & just sat with Johnny some more instead of leaving. It is one of my life’s great regrets, & was a great source of pain & sorrow for me for many years.
• The phone call from my mom in the late 4 a.m. hour of 6/16; the blur of the day(s) following. The memorial service. The songs. The eulogy. The people who came. The numbness.
• Having to move forward with “normal” life again. The weird things people would say to try to make it better, failing miserably. The religious pontifications people would spout thinking they were providing answers, all the while filled with so much crap & lack of awareness that it was physically painful. Still fires me up a little. (Ok, a lot.)
• Our family unit moving forward, albeit with a hole in it. There was a big gap where in a different world Johnny’s wife & kids would have taken their place in our hearts & my kids would have had cousins near their own ages. Birthdays & holidays & anniversaries & life. We’re still growing, & still moving forward. And still, there’s a hole.

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One more thing – remember the “life’s great regret” I mentioned a minute ago? About 10 years after Johnny’s death, I had a vivid dream where I encountered Johnny in a vividly colored, almost too bright to see place… I had to squint to see, but he didn’t. He was older than I last remembered, somewhere between 18 & 35ish, the picture of health, with fair skin & ruddy cheeks, his signature flowing mullet (he pulled it off so well,) & he radiated LIFE. I embraced him for what seemed to be an eternity & then we talked. He told me stories that were wonderful & that are just at the edge of my memory today, things that feel like a promise of what is to come. I expressed to him my great regrets at not coming back downstairs & sitting with him, & rehearsed the fact that I love  him. He hugged me again & gave me reassurance that it was more than ok. The pain & regret I’d carried for years melted that moment, & have never returned. And then he had to go; he turned to me & smiled & headed out & I woke up.

It was healing & restful for the soul. I’m not sure how to define what happened, so I won’t. I just know my burdens were lifted.

Miss you Johnny. So much. Save me spot; I’ll be seeing you eventually.