Plane Crash Dream

I often have dreams about flying on a plane and it crashing. However, the one I had last night was a new one.

I was sitting in my mini van with my youngest daughter sleeping in her car seat. Weirdly, I was sitting on the street I grew up on in front of my childhood home. When I look up into the sky and see a plane do a twist and came crashing down right in front of us. It didn’t land on our van but it was enough to give the car blow back and I heard myself say in my dream….I’m so sorry honey…

Then I woke up startled.

It was disturbing enough that I remembered all those details. Usually, I never remember my dreams. So I googled it and came up with anxiety over a situation you can’t control.

Does it have to do with my brother’s death? I was on the street that we grew up as children…I have no control over that situation…

 

Grave Site Flowers?

After dropping my kids off at golf camp this past week, I decided to take advantage of my quiet time and go for a quick walk. The city park is just a few minute walk from the golf course so I decided to go that route. Which, I forgot winds right around the cemetery.

Of course, I teared up as I walked by because it made me think of my brother, who I miss every day. However, it made me think about the flowers and other objects people put on graves. I’ve never been one to take part in this ritual, even after my grandpa, uncle, and cousin’s son died. I’ve never felt a connection to a grave site.

In the past, I thought maybe there was something wrong with me that I didn’t feel a need to do this. Or maybe I didn’t feel enough of a connection with those family members I’ve lost in the past to feel the need to do this. I’m still not feeling it even though I’ve lost one of the closest people to me.

I still do not get the action of putting flowers and other objects on a gravestone. If it makes people feel better or feel they have a connection, then so be it. I just don’t want to be judged because I don’t feel it.

I just don’t feel that connection to this place. The place where he is in my heart and my thoughts. Every single day, I still think of my brother in some way. It doesn’t make me a cold person to not feel a connection with his final “resting” spot, right?

WWBD? (What Would Billie Do?) Well, Billie used to drive by Grandpa Bill’s grave site and honk and wave.

 

So What, I Cry Everday.

At some point everyday, I cry.

Don’t ask me what’s wrong. Just assume it is from the loss of my brother.

Because when you ask me what’s wrong that makes me cry even more.

How a Cupcake Can Reduce You to Tears

Sofia helped my Aunt Beth bake and decorate cupcakes recently.

Sofia told her she wished she could share her cupcakes with Uncle Billie.

That is how cupcakes can reduce a person to tears.

I wish your sweet Sofia could share her cupcakes with you too Sugar Pants (Sofia’s affectionate nickname for Uncle Billie.)

Brave Face

I put on a brave face each day. There are times of laughter and joy but only to hide the sadness I feel each and every day.

Every single day,  I think about you.

Every single day,  I wish that you were not gone.

Every single day, I wish I had 5 more minutes.

Every single day, I think of my parents and how much sadness they feel. I see it in their eyes every time I see them.

Almost every day, Eli tells me he “wishes that Uncle Billie didn’t die because I loved him.”

Every single day,  I put my brave face on after I sob in the shower.

Every day, I hope that my brother knew how much I loved him!

 

Eli Wishes…

Almost every day, Eli (6) tells me he “wishes that Uncle Billie didn’t die because I loved him.” He also said he feels sorry for my even younger brother (11) who doesn’t have anyone to play with at home now.

I try to encourage him to talk about Billie whenever this occurs since kids have such a hard time processing death. Who am I kidding, adults have a hard time processing death too.

It did bring up a funny story Eli told me about Billie playing air soft guns with them. I’m not sure if he was really playing them or just got caught in the cross-hairs. Apparently, my little brother shot him in the back with the air soft gun, which made me giggle a bit because I’m sure Billie just laughed about it!

5 Minutes

Why does God allow some people to suffer for months, years, or decades and take others so quickly? I’m really struggling with this as I wish I just had five minutes to say goodbye. Just five minutes would have been enough to say the things I need to say.

What would I say in those five minutes? What I struggled to say those final moments when I wasn’t even sure if you would hear…the words I could barely get out over my tears…I love you brother…

You were special to me. When you were born, I was disappointed because you weren’t a sister. I was still fascinated by you. Dad was so proud to have a boy.

You would later claim I would pull on your eyelashes while I was holding you. Really, I was just curious and amazed at the little package.

You always kept us entertained. You kept us laughing. You were kind and caring. Your nieces and nephews loved you. You remembered everything. (I want to hold onto every single precious memory but I don’t have nearly as good of a memory as you.)

You were so worried about having to deal with grandpa’s death that you didn’t even consider your own.

Yes, you annoyed me. That’s what little brothers do. But I love thinking about every minute of it and wish I could have that back.

Tonight, mom sent me a text and wondered if I had the “infamous” International Harvester video. I was so happy I found it in an old photobucket account.

RIP Loving Brother Billie

I can’t promise to be happy about everything. This doesn’t feel right. It isn’t right. It’s unfair. A life cut way too short.

Last night after we got settled into our bed after a high school basketball game, my dad called. Instantly it felt weird because he had called right after we had seen them at the ball game. I didn’t want to believe what he was telling me and blacked everything out after his first two sentences. Screaming. No, no, no. You are lying. Anything but this.

My brother, who is just 28, was in full cardiac arrest. My dad said it didn’t look good and prepare myself for the worst. The paramedics were there and he was going to the hospital. Everything after that feels like it happened to someone else. I’m just a person in a shell.

We raced to the hospital which is only 10 minutes away but it felt like the longest 10 minutes ever. We arrived at the hospital before the him which didn’t feel right.

My aunt and cousin were already at the hospital. A friend had seen the paramedics at my parents house. Things do travel fast in a small town. It is good to have all the support you can.

Finally, he arrived at the hospital. There was nothing we could do but wait. Slowly, family members trickled in.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Finally, my parents were able to go back and talk to the doctor. Not good, they were having problems keeping stabilized but he was going to go via life line to Methodist. Father Kinnamon arranged for a few of the rest of us to see him off before he went on the helicopter ride.

It was painful waiting for them to wheel him out. Finally, they did. I eeked out an I love you Billie. He looked horrible. I didn’t have any hope. Except they were life lining him….there had to be hope right?

During the one hour drive that felt like two hours, I convinced myself that we would get to Indianapolis and he would be fine. Then I was going to kick his butt for freaking us out like a good big sister would.

Not a chance.

I knew as soon as they ushered us into the room that my family knows too well over the past years that it wasn’t good news. Not good news when the doctor’s come out with the chaplain and the social worker.

The doctor starts by saying tell us what you know about what happened to him. I am screaming in my head “TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW *&%#&##.” But I didn’t want to know because I knew what he was going to tell us and I wasn’t going to like it.

Crying. Wanting to scream. Wanting to punch, kick, or hurt something. Crying.

Hugs. Prayers. Crying.

Trying to be strong for my parents.

My youngest brother, who is just eleven years old, witnessed everything. My mom had to give CPR to her own son just minutes after calling 9-11. He was breathing when they got home. Then he stopped breathing after they called 9-11.

It doesn’t feel real. This isn’t happening to him. He is only 28 years old. He was a loving and kind brother, uncle, and son. He loved his nieces and nephews and especially his girl Sofia. They had become really close over the past couple of weeks. He was a big teddy bear. He came to my office everday when he got off work and sometimes I was annoyed with him and mean….but mostly we laughed and joked with each other.

I can’t be going to plan my own brother’s funeral today.

He looked so peaceful. Rest in Peace Baby Brother.

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