talk to us

Jesse's older brother killed himself yesterday.  The number of directions Jesse's heart has shattered in the years I have known him should make it impossible, by now, to hurt him at all.  (It is not.)  I haven't seen Jesse's brother in more than 25 years; I cannot imagine what has transpired since then.  Unfortunately I can imagine what transpires now for Jesse and for his brother's family.  They are more religious than my family, so perhaps there will be more ceremony to it.

When my sister died, Jesse reminded me how important it would be to hold accurate memories that didn't make believe Colleen was a martyr or an angel, or anything she wasn't in order to protect anyone's feelings about what had happened to her.  He told me it would be important for us to tell true stories, true memories, good and bad, honest and ugly and beautiful and real, because no one would be missing the pretend version of her.  They would be missing the real person, and want to remember her as she was.  This advice has helped me a million times in the years that followed, as Colleen's daughter grew up and became a young woman who doesn't remember what size shoes her mother wore, and wants to know details of who she was.  It has helped me to remember that we can embrace the painful memories as well as the beautiful ones.  It has helped me to keep her closer.

I found myself reminding Jesse of all of that this morning when we spoke.  I hope he can use it too.  I felt the weight of my sister's death behind my words about his brother.  I did not want us to have this in common.


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