In someone's overall existence, one year can seem insignificant. One year is just a fraction of time. A small part of a lifetime. In one year, someone can celebrate birthdays, holidays, births, deaths, accomplishments, failure, joy, anger, and countless other moments and emotions that mark the passage of time. One year in a lifetime that spans 31 years is so small.
But one year can mark so much if you look at it in a different light...
Look at one year from the point of view of a one year old (and by default, the parents of a one year old). One year is so much for that little baby. In one year there are first breaths, first smiles, first tears, first words, first doctor's appointments, first time meeting loved ones, first celebrations; it's momentous and joyous and there is so much to celebrate that one year is truly a lifetime. One year for someone who is just one is infinitely more significant than those who have multiple years of life.
But one year can be marked in just as much significance if you look at it from a point of loss...
Look at one year from the point of view of someone who has lost anyone who was a significant part of their life. One year is so much for that one person. In one year, there are tears, celebrations and holidays with one more empty chair, losing touch with people who represent a time that is simply no more, heartaches that seize a seemingly insignificant moment, reaches for the phone that won't find anyone at the other end, joys that were once special but are now overshadowed with a heaviness that cannot be explain, and memories that are either so sweet they refuse to let go or so painful that they cannot even be graced with the lightest of touches. One year of loss is infinitely more significant than one can imagine.
And here we are, approaching the one year of living after experiencing the loss of someone I knew my entire life.
I look back on this year and remember so much. The first nephew's birthday without his uncle there cheering him on while he blows out his candles. The first holiday (Christmas) without a complete family picture. The first new year crippled by undeniable and overwhelming grief and depression that made me push away loved ones, quit school, and reevaluate my life. The first birthday where we didn't celebrate with your lavish choices in food and with desserts that I didn't get a chance to bake. The first summer where I wasn't able to splash you with water from the pool or hang out with you in the air conditioning. The first Halloween where I couldn't show you my kids costumes. The first Thanksgiving where I wasn't able to say I am grateful for one more year with you (when we weren't promised too many to begin with). The first year where there were missed opportunities to joke about you being Fat Head, to share all the ridiculous things that John said, to laugh over stupid YouTube videos where people make huge versions of normal food, and to discuss all the awesome things that happened in the Marvel Universe (there were so many good movies you missed and I really want to talk about them all with you).
Yeah, so much happens in the first year of loss and subsequent grief...
And yet, it did pass. One whole year passed right by. We all made it through with lots of tears and lots of laughs. I was promoted to a Lead Teacher and even though it's amazingly hard, I feel really accomplished. Amelia's soccer team kicked ass on the field and she made it through fourth grade beautifully even though she faced a lot of academic and emotional challenges. John is now a kindergartner, and while he doesn't know most of his alphabet by sight, he is the class clown and provides endless laughter through stories that are too good to be true. I went to New Hampshire this summer and breathed in fresh mountain air and was surrounded by the most amazing people. There were so many babies born, including two by my best friends and one by my cousin; new life always brings new love and a renewed sense of growth. I discovered self-care and while sometimes, I forget to practice, I feel much stronger and healthier than I did in January. I faced enormous health issues and amaze myself daily on making it through endless amounts of pain; I get that strength from my brother. He was strong for such a long time and that kind of strength leaves an impression on everyone you know. It was a difficult year, but also a really good launching point for some beautiful moments.
But some days, I find it so hard to move on when someone I knew my whole life isn't there to share it with me.
With grief and loss comes an endless amount of guilt. Guilt over living when someone else cannot. Guilt over feeling sad when there is so much to be happy about. Guilt about sharing and expressing your sadness when others already are burdened by so much in their own lives. Guilt over playing the "girl who lost her brother" card when it used to be the "girl with a sick brother" card, even though it's not a game. Guilt over pushing away some people in my life because I know life is too short to be burdened by others shortcomings. Guilt for living a longer life and reminding whoever might be in "charge" that "life isn't fair". Guilt over not visiting with people because they hold memories that are too sad to be around sometimes. Guilt over moving on.
Yeah, a year is insignificant. Just a small amount of time. But it sure makes you think about what has happened and how one year can pass by so slowly, and yet so quickly all at once...
With almost one year since the passing of my brother, I want to share that it's okay to not be okay. It's okay to harbor guilt and to wonder about all the "what ifs". It's okay to change directions and slow down. It's okay to take time for yourself. It's okay to be that person who wants to share stories of their lost loved one. It's okay to want to talk about death and grief and loss. It's okay to hate the passage of time and love it all at once. It's okay to stop talking to someone for a while and to set boundaries. It's okay to not be okay.
It's okay because your feelings are valid. Loss is loss whether it is one minute, one day, one month, one year, or ten years. Loss is significant and felt every single day. Loss doesn't change you. It simply makes you approach the days of the year in a very different manner.
So here's to you F.H. Here's to the moments from the past, the moments from the future lost, and the moments when your strength and the memories of your character helped me get where I am today. I love you and miss you more than words can say.
One year is a lot to endure and in a lifetime of moments, it can mean so much. There is no such thing as an insignificant year.
