I AM THERE |
I was thirteen when my big brother died. I never saw my parents cry. I witnessed a few hugs but they tried hard to maintain a strong appearance in front of the kids. It was years before I heard anyone mention his name I assumed to keep from upsetting us. I was twenty the first time my mom and I had a nice conversation about my big brother. I was visiting after being away from home for awhile and I said, “I miss Mitch, I want to tell him all the neat things I am doing.” She said she missed him too and we sat and shared a few wonderful stories together. After that it got much easier to talk about him with the family.
Those years of silence, the years where mom and dad maintained a strong appearance were very painful. I know now how lonely grieving is no matter how much you talk about your loved one but just once I needed to see them cry. I needed to know that they hurt as much as I was hurting. I needed to know they missed him so much it hurt their very soul.