As I was "spring" cleaning today, I came across a letter I was given in June of last year. It is a letter that caused a waterfall of tears last year and upon stumbling across and re-reading it today the tears fall yet again. Before I explain that contents of the letter, let me give a bit of background.
For the most part, I lead a very blessed life. I grew up healthy, happy, and loved as the second of four children. I live in a country that is not oppressive. I have family and friends who I love me and who I love in return. All in all I have been dealt a good hand. However, I have not led a life completely free of pain and hurt.
For the first 21 years of my life I was shielded from death. Not intentionally. I just personally did not know, on a personal level, anyone who died. Five of my great-grandparents died before I was born and two died when I was in the baby/toddler stages. Born in 1906, Grammie, as we lovingly called her, was my mother's paternal grandmother. She was the friendliest, most talkative woman you had every met. She lived a full, long life and died peacefully in July of 2000. I remember having a difficult time at the viewing and refused to go up to the casket. This was a first for me and as a person that has a difficult time processing and expressing emotions it was a lot to take in even though I was technically an adult. Little did I know that this painful, though natural, part of life was just a hint of what laid before me just a few months later.
September 29, 2000 began as a typical fall day of my senior year. My roommates and I were packing to visit a friend in Baltimore when our college's Dean of Students and our apartment's RA came to the door. They explained that I needed to call home. Clearly something was majorly wrong if my parents were not able to call me themselves (turns out they just wanted to ensure I wasn't alone when we spoke). I don't remember much about the phone call, but I remember clearly hearing the words "Your brother died this morning.". Having two brothers, one older, one younger, but both young and healthy, this was a massive shock. After some frantic questioning on my part, I discovered my 29- year-old, former Army Captain, State Police cadet, fitness enthusiast, older brother had died of a heart attack during a 5k run early that morning. The hours and days that followed were a blur, clouded by tears (tears that still fall as I type this almost 15 years later).
As I am sure is true in many families, we kids took after our parents in many respects. What was interesting in our family though is that when it came to personality, temperament, and general outlook on life, the six of us can be easily divided into two camps. My younger brother and sister take after my mom. My older brother and I take after our dad. Our personalities lean more toward the type A side of the spectrum. Add to this strong opinions, passion for the things we believe in, and the fact there was an 8 year age difference between us, these all-to-similar personalities led to quite a bit of discourse between us once I entered kindergarten and continued until I was in my later teen years.
When I went away to college, my brother was married and living with his wife outside of Washington DC, after years of being stationed in Texas and abroad. Having them closer, plus the natural maturation of two people in their 20s, helped forge the gap that had been between us for so long. Though we never spoke of it, we began to appreciate our similarities as well as our differences. During my junior year I lived with my brother and sister-in-law for two brief time periods. One of these times was for a week while I completed observation hours in DC Metro Public Schools. The other time was for about four weeks so I could earn money and experience working as a substitute teacher in Fairfax Count Schools. In hindsight, God did not put those experiences on my heart for the experience in teaching, rather He put those experiences on my heart to give me a chance to deepen my relationship with the brother that I would not have a lifetime to develop into the friendship I am blessed to have with my younger brother.
Life is not fair. It is not fair that a 29-year-old married, father of a then 6 month old son (and at the time unknown daughter still in the womb), with no health concerns goes out for a morning run tand never comes back. It is not fair that my parents lost a son. It's not fair that my siblings and I lost a brother. It is not fair that his wife and soulmate became a widow before she was 30. And what is most unfair is that there are two wonderful, beautiful teenagers out there who never got to personally know what a wonderful man their father was. Of course, they have heard stories since before they can remember, but it's not the same. It's not even close.
The letter I found was just one example of such a story. It was written by a fellow police cadet who was with him when he died. It spoke of his talent, his humor, his leadership, and the encouragement & friendship he provided to everyone he met. It spoke of this man's struggle with not being able to save my brother and his own struggle with grief. From this man's struggle came advocacy for adding life saving measures to the police forces with whom he worked to ensure the acquisition and use of AED (automated external defibrillator) became a part of their standard practice. His efforts resulted in saving the lives of four men who would have otherwise not be alive today without this device.
To be continued...
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