Sad anniversary
Eleven years ago today was the last time I spoke with my brother. Most years, the anniversary of his death doesn't get to me much because I miss him every day. A specific date on the calendar doesn't make it any worse. This year, however, the days of the week are the same, so the memories are stronger.
It was a Wednesday afternoon eleven years ago when Steve called me to tell me that he couldn't make it to our yoga class that evening because he wasn't feeling well. He'd been to see the nurse at work and she told him he had an ear infection, so he'd made an appointment with his doctor. He felt bad about canceling on yoga class and wanted to see if I still wanted to go with Jacquelin. I told him not to worry about it because I was tired and didn't much feel like going anywhere after work, anyway. I told him to take his antibiotics, rest, and feel better. I had no idea that was the last conversation we'd ever have. I wouldn't have gotten off the phone so quickly if I'd known.
I didn't call him the next day because I knew he needed to rest and I didn't want to disturb him. The day after that, I sent him a get well e-card. He never opened it. That evening Jacquelin came home from a funeral to find him incoherent and in terrible pain. He thought he had a migraine. Jacquelin called an ambulance. It wasn't a migraine. It was meningitis. Steve slipped into a coma at the hospital and died just after noon the following day, surrounded by his loved ones.
I so wish I had called him that Thursday or Friday to let him know I was thinking about him and to tell him that I loved him. I hope he knew. I'm sure he knew, but I wish I'd called him anyway. I didn't realize I'd never have another chance to hear his voice.
I miss him so much.
It was a Wednesday afternoon eleven years ago when Steve called me to tell me that he couldn't make it to our yoga class that evening because he wasn't feeling well. He'd been to see the nurse at work and she told him he had an ear infection, so he'd made an appointment with his doctor. He felt bad about canceling on yoga class and wanted to see if I still wanted to go with Jacquelin. I told him not to worry about it because I was tired and didn't much feel like going anywhere after work, anyway. I told him to take his antibiotics, rest, and feel better. I had no idea that was the last conversation we'd ever have. I wouldn't have gotten off the phone so quickly if I'd known.
I didn't call him the next day because I knew he needed to rest and I didn't want to disturb him. The day after that, I sent him a get well e-card. He never opened it. That evening Jacquelin came home from a funeral to find him incoherent and in terrible pain. He thought he had a migraine. Jacquelin called an ambulance. It wasn't a migraine. It was meningitis. Steve slipped into a coma at the hospital and died just after noon the following day, surrounded by his loved ones.
I so wish I had called him that Thursday or Friday to let him know I was thinking about him and to tell him that I loved him. I hope he knew. I'm sure he knew, but I wish I'd called him anyway. I didn't realize I'd never have another chance to hear his voice.
I miss him so much.
Jennifer, Jacquelin, Steve, and me on Steve and Jacquelin's wedding day, October 24, 1998
posted by Catherine at 5:44 PM
2 Comments:
time smooths some of the sharp edges of loss, but never the missing ... may you feel our Heavenly Father's embrace today ...
So true. I know you're all too familiar with the feeling, as well. It reminds me of something Keanu Reeves once said in an interview: "Grief changes shape, but it never ends."
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