Starting Over - One

When my brother died suddenly in 2013, he donated his kidneys and I found promoting organ donation as an outlet for my grief. I met donor families, living donors and recipients and wrote a few blog entries, talking openly about bereavement on social media. It felt like a positive way to process what had happened but I admit that, as a copywriter, it had shades of bus-man's holiday and I neglected to write as often as I would have liked. So I decided to start over.

Perhaps it had served its purpose; I had said everything that I needed to say – it was all ‘out there’. People knew my story and had fatigue about my feelings on the matter.

As I’ve often said, the world moves on and people forget. It’s a coping mechanism – we learn to adapt and survive or we’d sink under the weight of everything that has gone before. I could spout cod philosophy all day long, but the obvious truth of it all is that it bloody hurt. I don’t claim that my relationship with my ‘little’ brother was exceptional or special – but we were close. We got on each other’s nerves, undoubtedly moaned about one another in private but he was also one of my best friends. He was the person I wanted to tell when stuff happened; even if his reaction wasn’t always going to be the most positive. And we laughed – a lot. We had so many in-jokes. I’m so glad that I can still just about imagine his voice and Gromit-esque face-pulling.

It’s no secret that my relationship with his wife was rocky at best; we didn’t approve of each other. She thought I have a superiority complex and I thought she was immature. But I never would have wished the loss of my brother on her, particularly at such a young age. I wanted to help her in the wake of his death and maintain a relationship with my nephew and then unborn niece. Somehow that all got lost in translation, I was painted as the villain and she cut off contact. It was the final straw and I suffered a nervous breakdown, complete with suicidal feelings that required intervention from the mental health team. Those who knew the depths of my despair rallied and I got through it. Friends and family helped. Cruse counselling and Prozac helped. I pieced together a new normal where my nephew and niece weren’t going to figure and so life went on. I know it’s most definitely not what my brother would have wanted, but I don’t believe in life after death, so I had no delusions that he might come back and make his feelings known.  

And so there came a time when I could mention him without breaking down. I can’t remember when that point came but I found that I could talk about him in a more matter of fact way – it was now others who felt uncomfortable – what if she starts bawling on me? I think I’ll change the subject… so it goes on. We all carry our losses and tragedies. Some more than others; it’s not a competition as to who has suffered – or lost – or grieved – the most. There are no bragging rights to be earned. However, I never expected two significant losses in three years and so I came to this point where I had to write again. And this time, it’s for my girl, our Florence.