Losing a brother and a shared history

The call came late last Saturday. Through sobs of grief, my nephew told me his dad, my brother, was gone. My husband rushed to their home while I had the unthinkable job of telling my mom and dad that one of their children had died.

My sweet momma in her night gown sitting next to her beloved of over 60 years, knew someone had gone and she could barely stand the thought of hearing who. They held tight to one another and with the blow of their youngest son, now gone from the earth, they held even tighter to their hope in Christ.

The past week has been a foggy blur. Tasks and chores still need to be done, the flowers sent by loved ones are fading, the meals have stopped, the constant calls have quieted down...we are left with life to live.

I am the youngest of five children, my brother Dan, was the next oldest sibling. He is the one who shared my childhood. He is the one who has the longest and deepest history with me. Almost every one of my etched memories include him in the picture. We both loved outdoors and making the most of our glorious life on a farm. Even as we grew up, we remained close, having an understanding of each other that can only be explained by our rich history. It was a true sibling relationship...we could still get on each other's nerves, say what was on our mind without it affecting our love for one another.

I've been going through my memory file with my brother. I can hear him holler as he swings on a vine over the steep hill in the woods, I can see his tanned legs dangling over the tractor inter tube as he floats around on the pond on a hot summer day, I can hear him boss me around in the sand box and in the barn as we take care of livestock. I can visualize the dreams he had for himself and his family and I can feel his pain as he struggled with some hard issues in life. I catch glimpses of him in his children and grandchildren. I will never be able to see a fishing pole without being transported to his side as he cast his fishing line over still waters.

I will always have my memory file. What has changed is that I can only enjoy them myself. The other person that I could always count on to go traipsing through parts of those good 'ole days is now gone. I'm grateful for our childhood. I'm thankful for that rich history with my brother.

Grief is a funny thing. You feel so many different emotions all at once. I know that time will heal. My heart breaks for my dear sister-in-law. I do not know a more resilient woman. I am confident that God covers her with his tender mercies. I also know her days ahead will be hard.

My confidence, my hope, my sister-in-laws comfort, ultimately isn't in our memory files - though they bring much comfort during the grieving process. Our hope is in the cross - death has been defeated. My brother is more alive today than ever before. It is just for a little while that we will be separated from him. There will come a day when we will be worshiping at the feet of our King - for all eternity and that is why I know that despite the sorrow of today, there will come a day when complete joy will be all that we know.