Take one look at my Facebook or Instagram and you’ll believe
I’m just another happy, basic college girl. There are literally hundreds of
pictures of me smiling with my sorority sisters, my best friends, my family, my
ex-boyfriend(s), and, probably most frequently, myself… You’d think my life is
pretty fantastic. I mean, I’d think so too, but I can’t really see how great it
is.
Sure, I know I’m lucky. I am so blessed to have a family who
loves me, friends who are always supportive, and anything I’d ever want in
life. I have an amazing job, a reliable car of my own, a closet packed full of
clothes… I have it all. And believe me, I am so thankful for everything I’ve
got.
But I’m not happy. I haven’t been 100% happy for a long
time.
I can’t pinpoint a specific time where it all changed, but
it’s probably got something to do with my 8th grade year. I lost my
brother to cancer (everybody knows that, right?) and I have never fully grieved
that loss. I don’t even think I know how to. How does somebody get over or move
past losing somebody they were supposed to die before? If all goes right in the
universe, the older sister is supposed to die before her younger brother.
That’s not a crazy concept.
However, all did not work right in my universe. I watched my
brother suffer for almost 5 years. Between chemotherapy, radiation and scary
face-shielding masks, spending nights on a hard hospital couch, too much nasty
hospital food, and watching him slowly deteriorate our life was tough. I can’t
even imagine what it was like to actually experience this tragedy – just
watching it happen was hard enough.
My brother, Kyle, fought and boy, did he fight hard. He went
through years of cancer, remission, cancer, remission, cancer before he let the
disease do its thing. He lost his hair to grow it back to lose it again. He got
strong and then got weak, weak, and weaker still. He faced the hardest battle
you could imagine, but he never stopped smiling.
Ask anybody who knew him and they’ll tell you something like
this: “He was such a heartwarming, loving little boy,” “Kyle always knew how to
make you smile, even when he was in pain,” “He’s the most selfless person I’ve
ever known,” “He gave the best hugs.” To explain him in one word would be
impossible. He was tough, courageous, hilarious, clever, sweet, selfless, and
all around awesome.
This story isn’t just about Kyle. The majority of my first
13 years of life (except the first 3.5 where it was just me) were all about
him. How could it not be? He was sick. He was suffering. He was fighting. He
got all of the attention. This story is about how he’s changed me. Well, okay,
yeah, this story is mostly about him.
As horrible as it makes me seem, I sort of resent him. My
childhood was stripped from me. I had to grow up quicker than most. I spent
half of my time with my grandparents while my mom took care of him. I took
second string because I was healthy – what a horrible thing to be, right?
There are no words to describe how much guilt I have for
feeling this way. My brother is dead and I’m mad that I didn’t get the love and
attention I thought I deserved as a kid? What kind of person feels like that?
Well, people like me. Don’t get me wrong, I love that little fuzzy headed kid
with all of my being and I miss him terribly. There hasn’t been a single day in
the last 5.5 years that’s gone by where I haven’t thought about him. I tear up
thinking of him (like right now? All the tears). I can’t say his name without
losing it. I would give anything to have him back; giving me shit and telling
me silly knock knock jokes.
He’s my inspiration and my motivation to live more
selflessly. His lack of a life pushes me to continue mine. On the nights I feel
like nothing was worth living for, I think of him. I think of the kids he’ll
never have, the wife he’ll never meet, the career he’ll never love. I think of
the family and the friends he left behind. The people, like myself, that have
struggled to survive after losing him. It seems strange, but thinking of what
he never got to have only makes me want to have them more. Part of me wants my
own things, things that don’t revolve around or involve him, but part of me
just wants to live the life he would’ve loved to have. I want to do it big and
do it right, just for him. His memory and this mentality have saved my life
more times than I can count.
Though I haven’t figured out a way to cope with such a
tremendous loss yet (I still struggle all the time and sometimes this loss
makes other, smaller ones harder), my story is still a work in progress. In my
story, there are more than a few chapters solely dedicated to Kyle (he deserves
nothing less), but there’s still more to me to be written. I may not always be happy or satisfied with
how my life is happening, but I have a life. That’s the greatest gift and it’s
one I plan to cherish. I would not cherish my life as much as I do without the
help of my little superhero.
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