I'm a writer, but I'm afraid to write. How pathetic is that? I don't know why, but I avoid it at all costs. It terrifies me sometimes. I'm really good, actually great, at telling others how therapeutic it is, how healing, especially when dealing with grief.
But I am absolutely lousy at taking my own advice.
Yes, writing scares me. But no topic puts the fear of God into me more than writing about my brother, Scott. Even now, writing this, I have to write a few sentences, then do something else. Write a few more, do something else.
Crazy as it is, it is still true. I can go days or weeks, maybe even months, without thinking about him, but then I hear a certain country song by Miranda Lambert and I go right back to that day...Or I can be watching an episode of This is Us when all of a sudden I begin to sob uncontrollably when a scene reminds me of him.
Grief is like that; it ebbs and flows and it comes in waves, just like the beautiful, perfect sea that God created. Only grief doesn't look majestic like the sea, but it is as vast and endless. And, just like a wave that comes out of nowhere, grief can knock us on our ass without a moment's notice.
Years ago I wrote about Scott for the first time; I entitled the blog "The Great Scott." In that piece, I wrote that there were plenty of negative things about Scott, but that I wanted to write about the positives (of which there were also many). It took me years after his death to write that tribute to him; it's taken me eight years to write this.
Suffice it to say, this is a difficult topic to write about and it's like unpeeling an onion: there is layer upon endless layer and a lot of shed tears.
When Scott died, we were estranged. The last 20 or so years of his life had been crazy; if I wrote about everything that happened, the average person would find it hard to believe. He had money problems so he bought into one get rich quick scheme after another. He had mental issues so he self-medicated with alcohol and pills. He had anger issues so he decided to lash out at others with knives. He even spent some time at a homeless shelter in downtown Denver until he was kicked out for drug use. The list goes on and on and truly reads like a fiction novel.
Lest you think I am bashing my sibling, I can assure you that is not the case. Writing is not true to itself unless it is honest. In my opinion, the more honest the writing, the better. And if my honesty can help someone else, that is truly the main reason I write; the other reason is to heal. Healing, like grief, is an ongoing process so here I am again, seeking the peace that only writing can bring.
The consequences of Scott's behavior left our family in ruin. He did all he could to alienate himself from my brother, Eric, and me. He used people for money, never intending to pay them back. My mom and dad invested thousands of dollars in whatever they thought would make him happy; they sacrificed Eric, me and all of their grandchildren at the altar of Scott, doing all they could to save him. He left destruction in his path and, in the end, could not be saved.
I loved my brother, but in the end I didn't like him much. I watched as he took more and more of my parents, leaving them just shells of what they had been. I was angry at him for destroying our family and robbing me of valuable time with my mom and dad. Before he died, they were stressed to the max; after, there was nothing left of them to salvage. Now they both sit idle in a nursing home, nothing like the vital couple they had been. I always tell my husband I wish he could have known them way back when. Not only did I lose Scott, I lost my mom, my dad and the perfect family that I had always longed for.
When I found out about Scott's death, I was beside myself with grief. I didn't know how I would ever get past it. In fact, I remember talking to Eric on the phone moments after finding out Scott had died and telling him I just didn't see a way to get over it. Scott died suddenly, of a drug overdose, and I never got to make peace with him, never got to say good-bye. We hadn't spoken in a very long time and I felt guilt and shame over that. There is nothing quite as bad as losing someone when there is so much left undone, left unsaid. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
All I feel now is sadness and regret; sadness for the loss and for what could have been; regret for all of those years that we had nothing to do with each other. I am broken-hearted for the parents I lost; they are the true collateral damage in this huge mess. They never got over losing Scott; their guilt propelled them both into deep, dark despair from which they would never recover. They blamed each other for his death and became increasingly hostile toward one another. I am sad for my kids because they never got to see how truly fantastic Scott could be plus they lost out on valuable years with their grandparents. And, of course, Scott's two daughters will never know how wonderful their dad was in the early years.
Sadly, there are no winners in this tragic story. We all lost out on so very much
I spent years before Scott's death being angry at him and my parents; I spent about a year after his death going back and forth among the stages of grief, clawing and scratching my way out of a very dark, deep hole. It was quite a journey...
About a year after Scott passed, I found healing on Easter Sunday while attending church. I can't even explain the hows of it all, but in a single moment, as our Pastor preached, I saw Scott (figuratively) in Heaven, all his pain gone, all the things he longed for here on Earth satisfied. He was finally at peace, not consumed at all by the things he thought were important. I saw how Scott could have been and how he now was. And in that moment, my anger simply vanished; it never returned. It took a year which is miraculous because I truly never, ever thought I would heal! Only God could do something this amazing and final. I still view it as one of the most powerful moments of my life. There is simply no earthly explanation for it.
Though the anger is gone, deep sorrow and loss remain; sorrow over not being able to reconcile and loss because my brother is gone. I wonder if we could have bridged the gap had we had more time. Alas, that is the question we all ask, from time to time: what if? I read recently that the world does not cater to our timing. Oh, the truth in that statement!
Yesterday was the eighth anniversary of Scott's death. As I sat in my hotel room in San Francisco, I thought about him and profound sadness overtook me. I didn't fight it; I've learned that never goes well. So I surrendered to all of the feelings I have mentioned here: loss, grief, sadness, sorrow, regret. I allowed myself the freedom to cry.
I smiled, too, remembering what a gentle soul Scott was, realizing just how much I adored my big brother and how very much he loved me.
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