Death and Undying Love

Winter is always colder than I remember. This is the season where I can't avoid thinking about my dead brother Tyler. Four years ago, on December 9th, he hung himself with a dog collar. Whenever I reflect on those days, it always seems like someone else's life, like a movie I watched a long time ago. But there's never much resolution when a movie ends with tragedy. Last night, I was tired but couldn't sleep. I just laid awake thinking about Tyler. And then I wondered why I was thinking about him, but I didn't know. Maybe, it's because Thanksgiving always points out the empty chair.

When my brother died, it was the first time that death became a reality for me. Early on, I had dreams that my brother was still alive. Other times, I'd wake up thinking that his death was only a dream. Some days, I thought I saw him around town. I knew he was gone, but my heart wouldn't let go so easily. Once, a friend told me that I had been crying in my sleep the night before. I had no idea, and it was kind of embarrassing. I recall the black hole that I awoke to every morning. In a world of billions of people, I was painfully aware of the one missing person. It felt as though God's plans had derailed. I felt so lost.

In those days, I would often close the door and lie on the floor for hours. Gravity seemed stronger. I could feel the world turning and everyone scurrying about, but it all seemed so pointless. I found a companion in C.S. Lewis's book "A Grief Observed." He talked about how when his wife died he couldn't even find the motivation to do things like shaving. I often forgot to eat.

The reminder that God is everywhere is not a happy thought when you want to get away from him for a while. I remember saying to my pastor "If God is good, then I question the nature of goodness." I don't remember what he said. I knew I should pray, but I was afraid of the ugly things I would say. I thought I was losing my faith but now I realize that it was being proven. After all, faith is only an idea until it is threatened. My prayers became more honest, like the ones in the Psalms. Some people would call that complaining, but someday they'll find out that in the thick of tragedy you either pray honestly or you don't pray at all.

In those days, love came out of the woodwork. Love carried me through it all. Friends and family stepped into our demolished world and helped us through the wreckage. I choke up even as I write about it. They stopped by and sat with us, hugged us, wept with us. They cooked meals, ran errands, wrote cards, listened, and relayed stories about Tyler. God loved us through people. I champion God's love more than anything else, because yet again it saved me. Nothing else made sense, but that simple truth became my North Star. I found peace in the reality that God loved my brother more than I did. I felt that God was weeping with me. His mighty love outgrew mere sentimental ideals. He told me He loved me over and over until I actually believed it. I can't trust someone who doesn't love me. I learned to trust God in a way that defied common sense. Death is cruel, but love is stronger.

Honestly, I just wish Tyler and I could've grown up together and developed more of a friendship. I think I would be a better brother now. I wouldn't care about being right or being better or stupid things like that. I should probably let go of all that, but when I try to let go it just follows me around. You learn to embrace things that you can't let go of. Maybe, it will make me a better person.

I recall the last time I said goodbye to Tyler, it was so casual. Had I known it was our last time together I would've acted differently. I would've told him that the world would be much a sadder place without him. I still miss you bro.