Well, if not, I have. This past week I found an old CD from a Christian band that I purchased when I took the youth group to Panama City Beach, FL in 2004. The band is Addison Road. They were the praise band for the week. Ironicially, this was the week that I felt the very strong and real presence of God stirring in me about working in the ministry. As desire that I've minimized over the years due to my own personal pain, disappointment and suffering.
As I listened to the songs, I started to recall the lyrics and sing along. And then, a song I've listened to several dozen times came on but took on a whole new meaning due to life events since listening to the CD...particularly the loss of my brother.
The song is called "Hold On Let Go." It's about the internal struggle of mentally choosing to hold on to the person you've lost or let them go. I stopped singing when I realized what I was singing.
I was told this past week by a mental health professional that it takes three years to really move into the "healing" phase of grief. This first year is a blur. You have to go through the painful reality of the first birthday without the loved one, the first Thanskgiving, Christmas, New Year, Easter, 4th of July, etc. Each of the events brings the very raw emotions that just last year that person was sitting with you in the dining room sharing in your life and stories.
That first year everything related to Charlie. All of sudden McAlister's in Blue Ash became a sacred spot just because I had lunch with Charlie there where we talked about alot of serious stuff. Everytime I had something chocolate (which is alot if you know me) I would think of Charlie because he also loved chocolate.
I didn't want to do any of the things he loved with other people because I felt it was wrong to do them because he wasn't here to enjoy them.
Next month will mark the completion of year two. The second year after the loss of loved one becomes the year where you are still grieving but with less intensity as the first year. You've survived that first awful year void of the loved one, but it's still so new. After all, I knew Charlie more than one year so it's not like I'm going to just "get over it" in a year. For me, this second year has been a mix of sadness and frustration. I found myself trying to force getting over the loss by saying things like, "It's not like he was a saint or anything" or telling myself that there's no way he would make this kind of fuss over me. These kinds of thoughts are natural because I'm trying to deal with it and even though there are 5 million books about grief, the reality is you just have to go through it because there's no easy way out.
I've also further reflected about the way Charlie died and made peace with the fact that 1) I'll never be able to discover "why" it happened, 2) God didn't need him more...that's silly, 3) Paradoxically, death is part of life. It's gonna happen to all of us so it's not like unfairness hit just our family and 4) Bad things to happen to good people, but not because God doesn't care or love us.
So as I approach the beginning of year three, I'm now facing the decision of how do I deal with this for the rest of my life. Right now, here's what I'm thinking:
- I'm always going to get choked up from time to time...and when I do I'm going to be thankful because it's a sign of love's mark on my soul for Charlie. If I didn't cry, what would that say about my relationship with him?
- I'm going to try to focus on his residence in Heaven and how incredibly awesome that is and how he's right where we should all be striving to be. I hope he can hear my prayers and continue to encourage me and pray for me while I'm trying to survive the remaining years I have on this earth.
- I want to do something to honor him and the personal ministry he gave to me. What we shared wasn't a traditional brother/sister relationship, but rather a GREAT excitement and love for serving God in a very real and practical way without the pretentiousness of "religion." What this means is showing Christ's love to people in ways that removes the toxicity of modern "religion."
- I want to hold on to the memories, his laugh, our conversations, his words, the smell of his cologne, his gentle sweet voice when he said, "Love ya sis" and his dreams that he shared with me. I'm not letting go of any of that, but rather releasing (or letting go) of some of the sadness and alot of the anger.
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