Today, the day after the 5 year anniversary of his death, I woke up thankful that I was not planning his funeral, again. It is a ridiculous thing to be thankful for; but who can argue with my gratitude on this specific item? It is the blessing of death-you only actually live through the death and funeral once.
Of course, you relive all of that death and death adjacent items constantly, without logic, at inconvienent and ridiculous times, for the rest of your life.
BUT, you've already been through it all, so there is a certainty that you won't need to repeat it in real life. I have to remind myself when I am doing the reliving thing that I don't actually have to live through it for real again.
Friends, his death was truly the worst thing I've lived through.
From the first horrible and maddening call from the ER doctor (who I still think about giving a little shove for her lack of directness and lack of urgency in getting my brother to Jefferson) to the days enraged at my mother for leaving the heavy lifting to me to other the days blown away by the beautiful love my mother granted me by knowing that the heavy lifting is the thing that gives me peace and comfort to the yellow eye drops they placed in his eyes to prepare for donation to saying goodbye in the ER while a team of doctor waited for his organs to telling everyone to telling my children to planning his funeral to still not being able to plan the burial of his ashes--all of this is literally the worst.
It seems impossible it was real. It messes me up constantly. I write about it here and always feel deeply embarassed and extremely pathetic. I know I should not be and that I am not, but I am.
I like heavy lifting, as I mentioned, I don't like weakness. But no matter, I have to remind myself that never again will my brother die and never again will I plan his funeral. I don't have to do that anymore; I just have to find ways to live despite it all.
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