The day my world shattered...

My defender. My playmate. My taunter. My hilarious dancer. My teacher of all 'boy' things. My emergency oil changer. My competition for parent's attention. My 'standing in the corner' buddy. My strength. My favorite one to torment. My fellow schemer. My closest friend. My greatest adversary. My money-lender during college. My always reliable taxi driver to the airport. My constant troublemaker. My first roommate. My partner in crime. My comic relief. My little brother...

2001. I was living my dream... studying a semester in Granada, Spain. I had been living there for almost 5 months... learning so much about the culture, the language, and myself. My life was virtually perfect. Which seems to be the time that life comes crashing down on you. My little sister tore her ACL. Again. I was crushed to hear this... I knew how devastated she was after the first time she tore it and how invasive the surgery was and how painful the recovery. It hurt that I was thousands of miles away during this oh so difficult time for her. To say that I was anxious on the day of her surgery would be an understatement. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat... much to the dismay of my señora. I waited and waited for the phone call to say that everything was ok. It never came...

Shortly before noon the next day my phone rang and I answered it with apprehension. It was my Dad. Immediately, I knew something was wrong. My Dad never calls me when I'm away... it's always my Mom. What's going on? Is Christine ok? I can still hear his voice in my head as clearly as if he were calling me at this very moment. Donny was in an accident last night, and he didn't make it. The words echoed in my mind a few times before I was able to grasp them. I screamed. I was in shock. I tried to make myself believe that it was all a dream and I'd wake up like it never happened. I was confused and distraught and scared and disoriented. And this was just the beginning of the onslaught of emotions to come.

The next few days are a complete blur. I remember bits and pieces, kind of like I was drunk through them all though I was not, but by some miracle I was able to make it home. On my flight home I sat next to a friendly elderly woman who tried to make pleasant conversation despite the fact that I was clearly not up for small talk. Do you have any brothers or sisters, she asked. I was stumped. A few days ago, I had a brother and a sister. What do I say now? In an effort to avoid awkwardness, I said, "I have a little sister." But you have a brother too... my subconscious protested. Even if he's not with you now... you have a brother too.

It's been six years since my brother's life was taken far too soon. He was 19. This loss has changed my life in a way that I could never explain. It still feels very surreal. Very fresh. Very painful. I wish I could say that the pain lessens with time but it truly doesn't. I think you just get used to the feeling. Shortly after we lost my brother, I remember talking to someone who stated, "When you experience this type of loss in your life, normal will never be normal again." So true. Every day I wish that my family could go back to the way it was before. Every holiday is marked with a twinge of sadness that comes from knowing that there is and always will be one piece missing. Every day I wonder how different my life would be. Every day I pray that my family never has to face this type of suffering again. Every day I think about what I would give to have my brother meet and get to know my husband. Every day I smile when I recall the past. Every day I encounter something that reminds me of him. Every day I'm enraged about the future memories that were robbed from my family. Every day I miss him. God, I miss him.

“Life is not the way it is supposed to be. It’s the way it is. The way you cope with it is what makes the difference.” Virginia Satir