We all have our own way of grieving. Some people can never stop talking about a loved one who has died. Sometimes this makes them ostracized by others.
There are mothers who will carefully pick up every item on their deceased son or daughter’s dresser, dust it off and put it right back in its place.
You never get over the death of someone close, you just get over it. Sometimes your coping skills can be an inspiration to someone else. That’s why I’m happy to hear when bereaved families go to various bereavement programs.
14 years ago next week we buried my brother. This left only me in my original family.
I miss him. I spoke to him on Saturdays and I miss hearing his voice.
Hidden in the corner of my mind is a box of memories. It contains the remnants of memories, both good and bad, that we shared together.
The last years of his life were hard. He had a glioblastoma brain tumor. It’s like a spider or an octopus with tentacles that wrap around different elements of the brain. Over time, he didn’t recognize some family members, his home, or where to go.
I went to him on Tuesdays and stayed with him. He woke up after I arrived and wanted some eggs and bacon. After preparing this and feeding it to him, I would clean him up and shave his face. After that he would sleep again for a few hours. He woke up not knowing I had been there or made eggs. Often I would make more eggs. It made him happy.
Elsewhere in the memory box are images. There’s one of us and Santa Claus – he’s grinning like a Cheshire Cat and I’m roaring. My father had someone who took professional photos of us. There’s an Easter picture where we both look frustrated. I pull a stuffed bunny by the ears.
There is a picture that was taken before I was born. It looks like a Norman Rockwell painting. My mom was in a barber chair. The neon signs with the inscription “Barber Shop” are reversed in the shop window. Dixon cries and Mom does everything to make him happy.
I love this picture.
Dixon exhibited horses for a number of years and when he won I tried to get the horse to perk up his ears and look intently. He was a good rider and I have a lot of great memories from the horse shows.
There are pictures of weddings and family celebrations. We were the youngest boys on either side of the family. I remember pictures of us with our cousins ​​who were older that I thought were pretty cool.
I remember an image I’d rather forget. It was made for Christmas. A month later he would be gone. He was a very sick man.
No one can mourn you or tell you how to do it, but if you dig long enough you will find this keepsake box of you and someone you love. It’s not a panacea, but it’s a way to bring joy over a potentially horrific experience.
Harris Blackwood is a Gainesville resident whose columns appear weekly.