Red bird run

I have been writing this in my head for months.

In January, I started running again. I did not like the person I had become physically and mentally after Christopher died. Losing my brother changed me. Changed the way I see the world and the way I see other people. It’s also taught me about my ability to endure things. Living through his death and all that followed made me stronger.

While running I think of him a lot…if I am being honest I think of him even when I am not running. I am thinking of him now, and will think of him when I drive to work, cook dinner, or put my children to bed. But back to my point here…when I am running and want to give up I think to myself, “Don’t stop you’ve come so far, you can go a bit further,” and then my thoughts lead back to Christopher. IF I can endure his death and living without him…I can finish this run.

One evening I was running up an incredibly steep hill, and talking to myself … “C’mon you can do it. Just imagine at the top of the hill is your brother and you will see him.” I lowered my head, pumped my arms, and leaned into the hill pushing my legs to run faster. I wasn’t letting up until I reached the top. Of course, I knew Christopher would not be there, but I let my mind wander to our heavenly reunion and how I will run to him. Oh, how happy I will be. I can hear his laugh now and see his smile.

As I got closer to the top of this hill I noticed a bird…but not just any bird. It was a bright red bird sitting on top of a white picket fence. Surely, it could not be a red bird…all of this running has made me delirious. I got closer to the top and see in fact it was a red bird waiting for me at the top of the hill. All I could do was smile and let out a giggle...and say out loud "I see you, Christopher." You may be wondering why I was so happy to see a red bird.

They say a red bird appears when an angel is near. I know in my heart God sent that bird to me at that very moment, to comfort me and encourage me. To keep going…“fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer, and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him, he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God,” Hebrews 12:2

*Look in the bottom left-hand corner and you will see a red bird in flight. This wasn't the red bird from my run, but red birds visit me all the time since my brother, Christopher, entered Heaven. 

Good Grief

Dear Christopher,

Good grief. No way there is such a thing. I have lived with grief for the last 10 months, and I can honestly tell you there is nothing good about grief. 

It hurts but at the same time its powers are numbing. My grief comes in waves. I never know when I’ll reach my crest or float to the bottom of my trough. 

For me, time has stopped. It’s the fall of 2014. You are trying to piece your life back together. God has sent you to the Salvation Army for help. Looking back I believe God sent you  there to prepare you to die. In your last days he wanted to prepare you to walk thru the valley of the shadow of death so you would fear no evil and know he was with you

.

Sept. 30, 2014 was one of the very last times I spoke to you, saw your face, heard your voice, and gave him you a hug. We sat on a bench inches from one another. 

This is the bench we shared, Sept. 30, 2014.

I asked you about your daily routine and you shared stories about some of the friends you made there. You proudly showed me the bike you got from the thrift store where you worked and a pair of shoes you got there, too.  

I have those shoes in my closet. I pulled them from the mangled mess of the car you died in. I see them every morning I open my closet. 

In every life there is defining moments…your death is mine. The simplest of things makes me miss you. I hear a song on the radio, and I think to myself, “Christopher never heard this song,” and I cry. 

I cry for you brother. A brother I can no longer call, and ask “what would you do?” I cry for a brother no longer here to see his children grow up, I cry for a brother no longer here to help care for our parents, I cry for a brother who is now brotherless. 

People say it gets easier, and life goes on. I’m not sure I believe them. Good grief, it’s been 324 days! 232 weekdays and 92 weekend days have passed since you left us…and not one day goes by I don’t think of you. 

Each time, "I thank my God upon every remembrance of you." (Phil 1:3)

Love your sister, 

April

Picture of Jesus



My brother, Christopher, took this picture wile working offshore.

I have been struggling with what to write. I have always loved having two brothers, Christopher and Jared. My grief has taken me through so many valleys. I feel okay one minute and the next I fall to pieces. I torture myself with questions…what if I’d done this, what if I’d said this…what if I didn’t say this. I try to be strong for my parents. I know they are struggling with their own grief, which is so different from mine. Grief isn’t something laid out in perfect precision. For me, grief feels like I have an open wound and I need to explain it to people when their eyes catch sight of it... “Oh, that? You mean that blaring, oozing, deep red wound…that’s my brother, he died 16 days ago.” 

I remember seeing a picture of Christopher for the first time after learning he died. My heart dropped, I ached to see him…to tell him how it will all end. For days I couldn’t look at my bedroom window because it was there Jared knocked to wake me up just past midnight and deliver the news, (I know that must have been hard for him).

For days each time I walked into the living room, I saw Jared standing there in the dark, his hands in his pockets, the words, “Christopher and Adrianne were killed in a wreck” escaping from his mouth, yet his lips never seemed to move. 

Days later, I couldn’t look at my driveway…it was the last place I hugged my brother and told him I loved him, I was proud of him and how good he looked. Had I had known a week later he would never pull into my driveway again, I would have hugged him tighter, invited him in, or simply looked at his face – held his hand. It was the last time I saw Adrianne.

Looking back the week of his death felt hard to believe, it couldn’t be true, NO it was a mistake. The days seemed to last for years, I had no concept of time. Picking a plot, choosing a casket, making musical selections for the service…it was all a blur.  I’m not sure I will ever be able to describe my feelings during this time, there truly are no words.

I stood at the head of his casket…rubbed his head methodically. Surely, it can’t be true…he is here, his hair feels the same, he looks so peaceful…he looks like he is sleeping.

The days to come I would piece together the events leading up to his death, I needed to know. I would drive to the scene…just to stare at the tree I had driven past for five straight years never giving it a second thought. I would look for its branches stretched high in the sky as I passed by on nearby streets.

Now I know, I was looking to the wrong things, focusing on the wrong things, looking at the wrong pictures.It would take a broken washer and pile of laundry to open my eyes.

You see, my washer died five days after Christopher. The laundry had been piling up. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I gathered up a pile and headed to the laundromat.

Brent asked me why did I need to go right then and wash clothes and I told him, I just need to go. While the clothes were washing, Noah and I walked to the Christian book store. I thought about buying a book on grief. I left without purchasing one. Here’s why: On the wall of the store were dozens and dozens of pictures of Jesus. A feeling came over me, again one I cannot describe. As soon as I saw the picture of Christ, I saw Christopher, I felt Christopher, I heard his laugh. I saw him basking in the Lord’s glory.  I knew Christopher had seen Jesus and was with Jesus, while I stood there in the bookstore and looked at a picture.

I feel peace, knowing he and Adrianne were with our Lord, Jesus Christ. Enjoying the love they shared in life, yet this time a love without pain, without struggle…a love created by Christ.

It was meant for my washer to break…it was meant for me to go to the laundromat...it was meant for me to walk into that store. I can still hear my brother's laughter, and see his smile completely take over his entire face when he’s making fun of my cooking or my Christmas tree still out back. I miss him, terribly.

People say they’ve felt the presence of their loved ones, or their loved ones had sent them little signs…and I kept waiting for mine. I believe it arrived.

I love you, Christopher.

This is how I picture Christopher meeting Jesus.