Recently, our family experienced a huge loss. It rocked me to the core, as it was sudden and very unexpected. It was the Monday before we were scheduled to leave for a summer vacation with my two brothers and their families. We had rented two houses on the Oregon coast, and we were so excited to be together. My middle brother was hosting, and he had some special things planned for my kiddos. He was calling and texting often with questions, as he wanted things to be perfect. Our older brother was flying in, and it had been years since we had all been together.
A phone call on Monday morning changed everything. It was from my sister-in-law, and through tears, she proceeded to tell me that my brother had passed in his sleep that night. My brother, who had planned the trip. My brother who was full of spunk and joy. My brother who was only 55 and had so much life to live. I was devastated. I slumped to the ground and deeply grieved. My cries could be heard from the bedroom as my husband went downstairs to tell our precious kiddos. Suddenly, I heard cries from them. My heart sank. I knew that this was the most devastating loss they had ever experienced, but I just laid there curled up in a ball. I needed to pause for myself before I could even think about pausing for them.
Over the next few days, I got to see firsthand how each of my kiddos experienced grief. It was a story that unfolded in a beautiful way before my eyes, and I took time to notice. I noticed how my adopted son, who has attachment issues, would come and go with his grief. One second, he cried hard, and the next moment he was detaching from the grief by being matter of fact about death. I noticed how my 16-year-old, who has Down Syndrome and is adopted, copied the emotions of the others as they were experiencing them. She cried when I cried. She laughed when her siblings laughed. She was tender with family members and comforted them without ever speaking a word. It was beautiful. It was unique. I saw how my two typical kiddos needed a bit more time processing with me through their tears, and hugs. Finally, I noticed how my 13-year-old, who also has Down Syndrome, went to a sudden place of joy when the emotions in the room were too heavy to carry. She ended my brother’s celebration of life by jumping on the microphone and belting out jingle bells! It was the comedic moment we all needed, and laughter erupted through the tears.
Over the next few days, as our family healed at the coast, we had several chats about death. Most of the time, these conversations would come out of the blue. One child would ask a direct question, and the others would chime in. We told them all questions were welcome, and all feelings were welcome. It was an interesting week, our “re-created” vacation. Emotions were high and there were more outbursts. I expected them, but to be honest, in the midst of my own grief, the outbursts were hard. I was just so tired. Grief can do that. They were tired too. I realized quickly that I was not going to find very many moments to acknowledge my own grief, and I somehow accepted this knowing my time would come. I knew that this heartbreak would take time to process. I will miss my brother deeply. The sting of this all is still so fresh, and I know that time, and allowing myself to sit in the grief and heal, will be my goal. Seeing my family experience it though and being there for them in so many ways was, and is, a privilege. My kiddos that struggle with expressive language needed a tour guide through grief and needed so much grace to walk it out. My typical kids also needed direction, as well as moments with mom and dad. These moments were raw and emotional, but lovely all the same. There is no right or wrong way to do it. Stepping back and watching my kids walk it out was a great time of understanding them in a deeper way.
Grief is interesting. It is necessary. It comes in all shapes and sizes, and it can be a place of beauty. I feel I now know my kids a little better. I feel like I could see who they were in the middle of the hard. We are doing the best we can on this journey and through this experience, I see that we are doing fairly well.
