The two big kids came along to cheer on their little brothers at the baseball game this morning, then we had plans to go to a nearby park and meet some friends after the game. We ended up staying for three hours! Seven boys total played, ran, explored and climbed to their hearts’ content.

Anyway, No. 2 ran into a friend from school at the ballpark whose little sister was on the opposing team (the K-1 teams are co-ed). They climbed the small hill behind the bleachers to watch the game, and I overheard the following conversation between them while one of the boys was up to bat:

Friend: “So, is he really your brother or your cousin?”

No. 2: “Both.”

Friend: “How is that even possible?”

No. 2: “Well, they used to be just my cousins, but then their dad died. Now, my mom takes care of them, so they’re my brothers now.”

Friend: “Oh, ok.”

The way he explained it so matter-of-factly touched my heart. Two years ago, I wondered if this crazy life of mine would ever seem normal again. Today, we took a big step in that direction.

I don’t know why death anniversaries place such weight on our hearts, but they just do. It’s not as if the person is going to die again; it’s not as if we don’t miss them every day, regardless of the date. I think it’s that the memory of our grief from that particular, fateful day feels stronger because it has been brought to the forefront of our minds.

 

Why, then, do I feel down already, while Sunday, January 23 is still days away?

 

I find myself distracted. I stare at a spot on the screen or my desk or the dining room table while my mind drifts. (This is not a good scenario when I have an article summary due tomorrow!) I find myself pausing what I’m doing and sitting very still, trying to remember exactly how his face looked at church that one Sunday while we were singing, and he turned and smiled at me. I like to remember his hearty laugh, and if I’m still and quiet enough, it still echoes in my memory.

 

I kind of wish that the 23rd didn’t fall on a Sunday, because I want to just pull the covers over my head and stay in my bed all day (as if that would even be an option in a house with five kids!! LOL). I don’t want to go to church and be happy and greet people with a smile on my face. I said I didn’t want to … doesn’t mean that I won’t. I’m a leader and ought to be there. Besides, I need to be there. I need the fellowship of my church family.

 

I just miss him so darn much.

 

Two years it has been, yet I can still feel my heart race when I think about the phone call, the urgency to get out the door and on the road, the anxiety of what to do with the kids – one of whom was spending the night with a friend. I can still feel the sinking pressure in my chest from the long periods of time riding in the dark, weeping and praying, waiting for a call with an update and knowing that the longer it was until the call came, the worse the news would be.

 

Sometimes I wish that I could make those memories go away and only remember the pleasant ones.

I recorded a super-cute video of the kindergarteners reading a book together tonight. They swapped the book every page and helped each other with difficult words. It was so precious! Unfortunately, the whole file (approx 2 minutes long) added up to a whopping 207 MB and will only open in QuickTime, which won’t let me Save As another file type.

 

What gives? I’ve recorded entire cover songs that were smaller files than that, and I’ve always been able to open the files in other programs. I’m bummed, because I wanted to upload it and share it. They were so proud of themselves and asked if I “could put it on the tv and send it to Nana.” 🙂

 

This is one of those times when I wish that I could pick up the phone and call my tech guru brother to seek his advice. I’m sure there’s some simple remedy that he would walk me through!

 

Oh, well – I have tried all I can do tonight, so it’ll just have to wait till later. If/when I can make it work, I’ll upload it. I may have to re-stage the reading and record it with a different camera.

Why does remembering your laugh make me cry?

 

We didn’t usually have long phone conversations, but that night we did. We caught up, shared advice and laughed until we wheezed. I can still hear your laughter in my mind, and it makes me smile and tear up simultaneously. The joke was on me that night, but I don’t care. (Come to think of it, you always managed to make the joke on me!) I only wish I’d told you even more ridiculous tales about myself so that I could hear you laugh even more.

 

Your little-big sister, all grown up – you could hardly believe it. I wish I’d taken more time to get to know the man you had become. I hope you knew how very proud I am to be your sister.

 

I see you everyday, you know. I see you in their faces — their expressions when they’ve been busted for wrongdoing and the sparkle in their eyes when they are praised. I remind them about you often — how you drove me crazy! — and what a wonderful father you grew up to be.

 

Some days, I still want to pick up the phone and call you. Some days, I need my brother.

Tonight, I was a glutton – for more reasons than one. Let me start by saying that I haven’t partaken in a buffet since I started my lo-carb eating plan, because it seems wasteful when I don’t eat bread or breaded foods. Well, unbeknownst to us, Rudi Lechner’s has a German buffet on Wednesday nights!

 

We didn’t realize it till we got there, but we’re talking all-you-can-eat bratwurst, saurkraut and salad. Can I get a Jawohl!?!

 

So, I had two helpings of brats, saurkraut & a side salad with a glass of Cabernet. Yum!

 

I wanted to go there because we don’t have a German restaurant back home, but also because I haven’t been to this place since my younger brother’s 30th birthday party in 2008.

 

I was a glutton for punishment.

 

The moment we pulled into the parking lot, I felt my heart swell. When we walked in the door, the tears welled in my eyes. Despite my best effort at discretion, I cried throughout the entire meal. It didn’t help that there was another family having a party in the same area that we had Nathan’s. I was overwhelmed with the memory of him walking into the restaurant – stunned and so very happy at the surprise! The look on his face was so joyful.

 

The sweet waitress asked if I had something in my eye, so I told her about my memory of my brother. She politely ignored my sniffles & blotchy eyes until the end of our meal, when she patted me on the shoulder and said that she hoped my next visit would be more joyful. I told her that it was good to come; I just didn’t expect it to hit me like that.

 

We ate our fill of brats and side dishes, and as we left the building, I glanced over at the glass door and saw my brother’s face again in my mind’s eye. I’m glad I wasn’t driving, because I cried the whole way back to the hotel. Gosh, I miss him so much!