Things I Need

I never knew I was a lucky person.

I now have a deep understanding of how lucky I am. Lucky to have all sorts of wonderful people in my life. Incredibly kind, caring people who have stood by me and supported me through these past weeks. I feel unworthy and very grateful. Co-workers, friends, family, the BF, my cat Teagan, even strangers: you are are all amazing creatures. I feel like I will never ever be able to repay any of this.

It seems like helping someone through grief isn't the easiest task. Many of you keep asking me what I need. And even though I keep saying, "I don't know," maybe deep down I have some sense of what will bring me a little bit of peace.

It's hard for me to say these things to each of you, especially if I am already feeling raw or unglued. I hope you'll bear with me and refer back to this over the coming months. I reserve the right to make changes. I've never gone through anything like this before. Don't misunderstand me - I have grieved. I have lost people I've loved. But this time is different. This hurt runs so deep. Deeper than I could have ever possibly imagined.

A sibling is the closest most of us have to a twin, the closest most of us have to ourselves, separate yet the same, almost like a clone. Losing a sibling is like losing a part of yourself. It's as if a chunk of me is missing. There is a hole and it is raw and sore. I have been fundamentally changed, deeply wounded, by Terry's death. I worry about myself and I worry about my family. We have never weathered a storm like this. And so we as a family have also been altered. We will never be what we would have become had we not lost my brother. There is a wound there too. I run back and forth to put salve on the wounds but I am so tired.

All of us are who we are because of our experiences. As much as I have tried to pretend it is not the case, this too will shape me. And so I am grieving too for the me that I might have become had I not lost my 29-year-old brother at the age of 32.

So I when I say I don't know how you can help, say "yeah, yeah" and think of these things:

1. I need you to be kind to me. I am very fragile, like I might break at any moment. Communication might be hard. We may misunderstand one another. Please be gentle. Hugs are welcome.
2. I need you to be forgiving. I am on edge, full of frantic, spastic energy and I am prone to snap or peel my face off, revealing the monster within. Though grief is no excuse for rudeness, please don't feel that I am mad at you. If you are confused as to what's going on, or if you think I'm being unfair or mean, call me on it. (Gently.)
3. I need you warn me when I'm shutting you out. Don't let me. It's one of my many talents, though not one I am keen to hone. Call me. Visit. Send emails or text messages. Remind me that you're out there.
4. I need you to figure out how to help me grieve. Do research. Read a book. It's all I can do to manage my own grief, keep living day-to-day and worry about my family. I can't tell you how to help me. Because I don't really know.
5. I need you to keep trying. If what you're doing doesn't seem to be helping, try something new. What works at one moment is not likely to work the next.
6. I need you to motivate me to take my physical and emotional health seriously. It's very hard for me to do much more than drift right now. I am aimless, without willpower. It's hard for me to put myself first when I feel so much pressure from work and family and life in general. It's easy for me to skip yoga, eat sporadically and eat things that are not part of my regular regime. Once I start, it's very hard to stop. (Stupid bread.) Help me be nice to myself.
7. I need you to tell me it's OK to spend money on therapy and yoga and massages. Remind me it's not forever. I don't need to be encouraged to buy books and music and clothing, since I'm trying not to do that right now. But I'm feeling guilty about needing to see an RMT and going to yoga classes, even though I know my body needs it.
8. I need you to feel like you can say anything around me. Don't be afraid. You can bring up the fact that my brother is dead. We can talk about it. I think sometimes you think that we should talk about it, but you decide that I don't want to if I don't bring it up. I know it's hard to approach the subject directly and confidently with a gentle touch. I trust that you are able to do it, but I also I know that you're learning.
9. I need you to treat me like an adult, not a child. I am a grown woman, albeit a grieving one. I may need to be comforted like a child, I may act like a dumbass, but don't forget who I am. I will make mistakes, I will be forgetful, I will lose things. But I don't really need to be berated or reminded of my shortcomings. I am doing that very well on my own. (Damn squirrels.)
10. I need you to listen. I may cry and you may not be able to understand my words. But they need to be said. I need to get them out. Be patient.
11. I need you to help me be emotional around you. It's hard for me to express emotions in front of people, especially those whose opinion matters most. I've always felt emotions to be embarrassing. Don't let me keep them inside.
12. And even though it's unrealistic, and not something that you can really help with, I really need to win the lottery. Money cannot buy happiness, but it can certainly help you look better when you feel like hell. And it would be so nice to have the summer off.

Filed under diary