Monday, September 29, 2014

Grieving 101: The "Other" Eulogy

Note:  This is the "other" eulogy.  Because my mum would haunt me for the rest of my days if I spoke like this on the alter of our beautiful church.

I like a ton of people.  I love a lot of people.  I admire only a few.

My little brother, John, was at the top of that very selective list.

"How so?", you might ask.  Well, he embodied characteristics that I, personally, have to work hard to achieve.

Like, forgiveness.

John didn't care what happened yesterday.  He didn't weigh himself down with grudges over the moments you tripped and fell into being a shitty friend, sibling or person.  

If he loved you, he always loved you.  That day you sucked as a human didn't change that in his eyes.

Then there's his loyalty.

This is a biggie.  I'm not sure I've ever met someone more loyal than my John.  

I think I used to test his loyalty at times, because, as his/their big sister I am always the one asking questions.  And not just any questions, I ask the right questions. Over the years I've become something of a Question Asking Expert.  Pointing my words to the core, discarding any gray area and simply making it hard to avoid giving me a direct answer.  In short, when it comes to my brothers, I don't waste time on the bullshit.  

Each of my brothers handles my technique a little bit differently.  John has always been the most unwavering.  If it came down to a question that might shine a light on someone else's story, he'd grit his teeth, let out a deep breath and say "Come on, Tara (long exhale).  I don't know anything, ok?".

That "ok" was always a question, not a statement.  Because of that, I never pushed him.  Partly because that usually meant I was pretty close to the truth of the matter and mostly because I always admired this code of loyalty in him and never wanted to be the one to break it.

One of my favorite qualities was his honesty.

He didn't cherry coat things, hide many things or lie.  He was a pretty straight shooter in a world where being a straight shooter isn't easy.  

It's especially not easy when your sister is a royal pain in the ass and you know you are going to get an ear full about whatever it is you've been up to.  But thanks to his ability to forgive, he just let me be me - while he continued to be him.

Which brings us to his ability to love, unconditionally.

This is where John's a purist. 

He didn't give a rat's ass what you did last year, let alone what happened two hours ago.  He loved you for being you, always.

Now don't get me wrong here.  John was a grumpy son of a b*tch at times.  Working with him wasn't a picnic and if you caught him in a bad mood, well good luck.  On top of that he was smart as a whip and had no patience for anyone who wasn't (which was pretty much everyone).

However, underneath all that, he loved purely.

If you were in his circle, so to speak, you were in forever.  Mistakes, bad days, bad years, foolish acts, moments of weakness, he loved you anyway.

That's how big his heart was.  It had space to love the best you and the worst you all at once.

Now there's the characteristic that makes my heart ache and my eyes fill with tears.  His generosity.

He was, hands down, the most generous person I have ever known in all my days combined.

Shirt off his back, no problem.  Last dollar in his pocket, never a question.  Need something fixed, he would do it before you asked.   

He would give his time, his laughter, his humor and his love to anyone he cared for.  

In fact, he was so generous that he even bargained his soul so that Mum and Dad could pass seamlessly through Heaven's gates.

I know this because he told me.  He said so one day when we were all consumed with the grief of yet another loss  He looked at me with tears in his eyes and more love in his heart than any person I know.

I believed him when he told me this.  But I also believe that any person this generous doesn't have to bargain their soul for the safe passing of their loved ones.  That generosity is celebrated and cared for tenderly, as it should be.

In the end, John will remain one of the people I admire most in my life because of everything mentioned above and every other thing I either can't find the words for or choose not to share.

He was a better person than I am on my best days because he did kind things purely. He didn't rationalize generosity.  It was his natural state where others, me included, ponder and think and debate and then choose it.

John, at his core, was a giver.  

It is because of this I will always beam with pride for getting the chance to be John's big sister.



Saturday, September 27, 2014

Grieving 101: Turbo Technology + Yoga

Yesterday, I heard John's voice.  No, not just in my dreams or in my broken mind.  I actually heard his voice.  I listened to a voicemail that was tucked in a sea of other voicemails that my iPhone won't let me delete.  For once, I'm eternally grateful for this technical hiccup.

Today, I opened Facebook to see a video of John doing the ALS Challenge back in August and nominating me.  I had never seen this video before, partly because I wasn't tagged in it, partly because I wasn't connected to the person who posted it and partly because I was out of country when it went live.

But today, I saw it.  I heard his raspy smoker's voice nominating me, his sister, to dump another bucket of ice cubes and frozen water over my head.

(I love being his sister.)

After Dad and Mum passed I couldn't look at photos of them, let alone listen to a voicemail or watch a video of them.  However, this time around I'm going to embrace our turbo technology and hope it helps me heal.   

My strategy is to go head to head with this grief.  I'm going to face it, head on.  I am not going to let it bully me into months of being a sloth, like I was after losing our parents.  

My little brother wouldn't want that.  And it's because of that I am going to will myself to do it differently.

I began this strategy yesterday by doing two things:  1) Listening to his voicemail message, twice and 2) By going to hot yoga class.  

In all honesty, I didn't have the energy to peel off my cozy clothes and step into yoga clothes (also known as cozy clothes), let alone leave my house.  But I told myself that even if I just sat in child's pose through class, I still had to do this.  I had to do something to banish the anxiety that has been sitting on my chest and wrapping it's long, wiry fingers around my throat since the 6am phone call informing me we lost John.

(Anxiety, if you don't already know, is a mean motherf*cker.)

So I went.  I was the quiet, sad looking girl in the back of the room willing herself through the 90 minute practice.  Yes, my eyes welled up in tears many times.  Yes, I almost passed out twice (insert child's pose here please).  Yes, I found myself in Savasana staring at the ceiling (not what you are supposed to do) wondering how it's possible I won't see John again.

Yes, that was me, the broken one in class.

When the instructor bid us farewell with "namaste" I crawled into standing position and post-class-hustled to my cubbie to collect my belongings.   The first thing I did was hit the button on my phone to see a photo of John and I (now my lock screen).   

As soon as I saw the image of his smiling face, I took my next step forward.

I'm going to use all these tech opportunities like other people use turbo shots of caffeine.  I'm going to let them boost me.  

I know it's what he expects of me (not some miserable version of his sister just scraping by).  

Bottom line: I am not in the business of letting my little brothers down.

So here I go…