Last week, while driving home from work, I was singing along to a song on the radio when my mind began to wander. The lyrics streaming out of the car speakers and the thoughts running through my mind were incompatible. Irrelevant. It didn't make any sense. And yet, I suddenly began to cry. (I've always been a crier, but pregnancy hormones have seemingly kicked in and my emotions can swing like a pendulum.) What brought on the tears? I was thinking of the anniversary coming up, the one that is today. The anniversary of my brother's death. Usually, I spend most of April hyper-aware of the date. Like a ticking clock, a countdown until the 26th. I didn't do it on purpose, but I could never escape the feeling. This year, however, with everything going on and so much on my mind, I haven't been counting the days as usual. I didn't forget, of course. But, as grief has a tendency to do, the reminder — the memories, the sadness — hit at the most unexpected of times.
Jeremy died in a car accident when I was 16. And 2017 marks 16 years since his death. He has been gone as long as I knew him. That's a hard pill to swallow: Knowing that as my life continues to go on I will get farther and farther away from him. That's what it feels like, anyway. And while time has softened the pain of losing my brother, milestone moments bring back its sharp sting. He wasn't there for my high school graduation, my college graduation, my wedding. He never met my husband. And he will never meet my baby. That's what brought on the tears on that car ride home, and that thought is what is causing my eyes to flood now. I wish Jeremy could be here with us to celebrate, to be the (fun!) uncle he should have gotten the chance to be. I know he would be so happy for us. And I know he would want me to keep on living my life and not wallow in sadness. But I give myself the permission, and grace, to do a little bit of that today. Because I miss him. No matter how many years pass, that fact never changes.
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