Dealing With Loss As a Mother

The last conversation I had with my brother was the week before Christmas. I was driving home from work, talking about what to get our niece. “Alright, I gotta go, I’m off to the gym,” he said. “Okay, I’ll talk to you later, Love you.” “I love you, too.” It’s how we usually ended conversations. He lived at the gym and always seemed to be on his way there.

On December 17th, 2015, I woke up to a bunch of missed calls from Fort Myers, where he lived. My brother had died at 12:03 am from a motorcycle crash. He was 25 years old. He was driving alone and died on the scene. The numbness that followed was unbearable. My mother was a mess, my sister and I not knowing what to say, and my husband having to console me at 6:16 in the morning, while trying to not wake up our boys. 

My mother lost her only son. Her baby boy. Her favorite, all of our favorites since he felt my mother, sister and I all mothered him. The pain was consuming. A pain I knew to well since in 2008, when my father died in a car accident. My brother never got over our father dying and in that second, I knew I would never get over my brother dying. He was my first memory, my first love, and my only brother. I loved watching him grow up so much that I always secretly hoped for sons of my own. He was the kindest and most honest person I knew. If he had 20 dollars and you needed 30, he’s give you his 20 and find you the other ten. He was so giving in fact, he was even an organ donor. Even in death, he gave his all to who needed it.

I didn’t know how I was going to break the news to my boys. My oldest was 3 1/2 years old and my youngest was only 1 1/2. How do you explain that their cool “Tio Sebas” was gone? How could I explain why I was so sad, yet Christmas and Santa were right around the corner? I tried really hard not to cry telling the boys that my brother was gone. That they no longer would see his huge pick-up truck in the driveway when he would visit. “Tio Sebas had to go up to heaven, baby. He’s with Jesus now and he’s an angel. He’ll watch over you, okay?” “Okay, can I have a snack?” In that moment, I knew that I still had to be a mother. I still had to be a wife, I still had to go to work. While my life felt like it was crumbling down, my world still needed me. I understood that they were too little to comprehend and I left the topic at that.

 

A couple of months later, I was hanging some new magnets and pictures I had gotten made of my brother around the house and fridge. My son says, “That’s Tio Sebas. He’s an angel. He’s with Jesus. So he’s safe now, right Mommy?” It’s like God was speaking to me through my son. He knew I needed to hear these words and he had my son say them to me. “Yes baby. He’s an angel and watches over all of us and he is super safe now.” A week later, my cutie decides he didn’t want to take a nap. I didn’t feel like fighting him and his little brother was napping, so I lost the fight I didn’t want to have. It was pouring rain and he is staring out the window. “What’s that on our fence?” I walk over and see a hawk. A huge hawk, staring in the window in the rain. “That’s a hawk baby. They’re amazing animals that fly really high and have great eye sight. They can see from really far away and…” They could see from far away. I’ve heard of people saying they could feel the spirit of their loved ones in cardinals and other signs. In that instant, I felt it was my brother staring in at our house. A huge hawk, who would defend our home and could see from miles away. Just like my brother was from heaven.

 So the world has continued to turn since that day. We had another baby since then. We actually found out we were having our third son on what would have been my brother’s 26th birthday. Our little Aidan Sebastian, his middle name and nursery filled with my brother’s memory. It pained me to think he would never get a chance to meet my brother. My husband, who if you know him, can speak anyone off a cliff and always finds the right words, says to me, “He knows Sebastian. He got to meet him up in heaven. Seb sent him to us. He knows your brother.” It’s what I remind myself every day. While all my boys love my mother, Aidan is completely in love with her. At 5 months, he lights up when he sees her, wants to be in her arms, and cries when she’s leaving. It’s like my brother told him, “You make sure you’re nice and special to her, because I miss her”.

I am a mother. Before I was that I’ve been a wife, a daughter, a sister and a baby myself. Just because I feel like part of my childhood is gone forever, does not mean I get to lie in bed all day. Its taken a village to see me through this journey, a journey that has many peaks and many valleys.

Some of the things that have helped me cope:

• Talk about it. You cannot bottle this all up. You need to talk about the person and about what happened. If you don’t, one day it will blow right open!
• Get help. If it’s a support group, therapy, or medication. YOU owe it to yourself and your family to be a happy person again.
• Help your children to understand the importance of the person who is gone. Tell them stories, show pictures and help them to know how loved they are by this person.
• Let your kids ask questions and make them feel secure that while accidents happen, you will do all in your power to protect them.
• Grieve. Cry. Get angry. Be selfish and take the time to allow the pain to work through you. It’s the only way you can get past the pain. It’s important to remember that while you are now a mother, you’re still a person and have emotions.

We can never understand why the ones we love have to leave even if we aren’t ready. But like Billy Joel once said, “Only the good die young.” And when it came to my brother, no truer words could be said. To the boy who never wanted to grow up, I miss you dearly. Thank you for making me a better person and for being my best friend. Until I see you again…