I don't understand grief...not that I have ever really tried to. It doesn't make sense to me. It comes and goes as it will...sometimes knocking you to the floor completely, sometimes just brushing past you. Sometimes in expected ways, and on expected days, and other times completely out of no where.
It's been that way with the residual grief from my divorce, and its been that way with loss.
Outside of the divorce, which is not the same as grieving a death, I hadn't lost anyone super close to me, that was as unexpected as the loss I just experienced. I have lost all my grandparents, but they had all lived full lives. This loss was the first that was someone close to me, my age(ish), that had been an active part of our lives...as close as family. In fact, I called him big brother, he called me his little sister, my kiddos called him uncle. He was my Cherry Coke Fairy. We talked for accumulated hours over the time we knew each other, about the big and little things in life. We encouraged each other in our walks with God. And just like siblings, we had moments where we were not communicating, too.
And it was out of the blue. Unexpected. No explanation.
What makes it even harder, is that he was the happiest and most peaceful I've ever known him to be. We had just reconnected after a break from a time where we both were fighting our own things. He had just gotten married to a woman I am privileged to call my friend. They were making plans of their own, to add to their combined family. I had literally just held his newborn son for the first time the last time I talked to him...and he had never met him.
I was a mess after my sister lost her husband, but almost more for her than for him, because I really didn't know him that well since they had lived in another state for most of their life together. But this has been so different.
And it was right before the Christmas holidays.
I've lost sleep over this...every night since the phone call.
I've cried more times than I can count.
I drove to Omaha for his remembrance ceremony and gave his wife as many hugs as I could.
We gathered here at my house Christmas night and I watched all his girls open their presents and we tried so hard to laugh...and it was precious precious memories.
Today, I've been keeping a bonfire going all afternoon/evening in his honor. Not because it makes sense to have a bonfire in December...nor is it easy to keep wood burning in December, or to feel your toes after sitting near it, or because he can even see it. But because half of my memories with him are sitting around a bonfire and commenting on how there never is enough firewood when he comes over...and by the time he was done, there was no wood left in the pile. He loved a tall fire. I couldn't get the fire to be even half as big as he liked it to be, but boy did I cry.
There isn't a single thing I can do or say to bring him back, nor would I want to because he is now stress free, carefree, pain free in Heaven, two-stepping on streets of gold. There isn't anything I can say to make the pain easier for his beautiful wife. There isn't anything I can do to make it easier for his girls, or my girls as they all grieve this out in their own ways. I cannot even take the hurt away for myself.
All I can do is remember him. Tell his stories. Remember him for who he was...a man who had real struggles but loved freely and openly all who came across his path. Who would literally give the shirt off his back if he thought you needed it. Who randomly dropped loads of Cherry Coke at my door because he knew it encouraged me. Who shared about his love for his Savior, and the fact that he was a sinner saved by grace. He didn't always make the best decisions, and his struggles were real, but he loved with abandon. And I was privileged to get to see him love his wife and be so excited about the plans they were making.
In the end, the loss is real, but so are the memories. Good and bad. That's just how life is.
I can choose to lock myself away and not allow myself to love on the people God brings across my path, in attempts to keep myself from getting hurt... OR ... I can choose to have open hands and open eyes to those that God brings in and out of my life, holding nothing back, and walking hand in hand with those who are important to me. I've already lived both ways...and either way has pain involved. But I would rather love than close myself off to it. After all, that's what God did for me...loved me even though He knew that I wouldn't always make the best choices.
I am truly thankful that Chris was my big brother...that he picked me to be his little sister...and that his life impacted me in so many ways. Making me think outside the box. Seeing what it was like to have someone want the best for me. Challenging me in my walk and beliefs. Showing me what it was like to be real and vulnerable with others, and trying to overcome addictions and bad choices. And so much more.
And maybe that's why the grief is so real and unexpected...
