The First Birthday After the Death of a Love One
My brother Patrick’s death reminded me that any day could be my last too. “Hurry and get a move on it,” he’d tell me. His voice. It’s always there.
Today is my brother Patrick’s birthday. He would be turning 53, but he died last fall.
Patrick was four years and four days older than me. He was a loving and protective older brother who made me feel loved, not in spite of my spunky-kid self, but because of it. Losing a sibling is losing someone who knows your family's precise flavor of crazy like no one else can. The same crazy you spent early adulthood trying to escape. But at some point realize you have to make peace with the crazy because it’s a part of you too, in some recombined way.
During our 40s, Patrick and I reconnected after years of being split on different “sides” of our parents’ divorce. He suffered far more trauma than I did, and most anyone I know. As much as I tried to help him, he ended up helping me more, pushing me to self-reflect, grow, and understand other perspectives.
Our mom turned 72 just days before Patrick died last fall. He wasn’t on socials so I texted Patrick a post I made for mom. It was the last text I sent to him.
I wanted all the wonderful things that made our mom so special to be recognized. I went through old photos and made collages. The first photo was a picture of mom holding Patrick in 1970.
I’d done that before, but always after someone died. I wondered, “Why do I wait and do this when it’s gut-wrenching and the person you’re making this for will never even see it?” Our mom was getting older. Her mom died around the same age. I never would’ve imagined less than two weeks later Patrick would be gone.
When someone dies suddenly, it is always hard. When someone dies relatively young, it’s even harder. And when a parent loses a child, there’s no greater loss.
Losing Patrick meant losing stories I’ll never remember. And losing someone to share memories with that now I only know.
Making these video montages and sharing them with everyone who loved and cared for Patrick helped during the early weeks. We wanted to see his face in every picture, and mourn each one. And we wanted other people to see him too.
Still, I wish I got to do something like that for him today on his birthday, with him still here. I wish I could let him know how much he was loved by so many people. Though I do have regrets, I didn’t fall into a could’ve and should’ve-spiral because of him. I talked to him every week and could always hear his voice, encouraging me. “You’ve got something good,” he would say. And I knew he would want me to move forward.
Patrick’s death reminded me that any day could be my last too. “Hurry and get a move on it” he’d also tell me. His voice. It’s always there. And it’s made me think more about what voice I’d leave others with if I died suddenly.
Thank you for sharing this vulnerable post. Anniversaries are hard, especially on a loss so recent. I always thought that losing a sibling was not talked about enough. Often it focuses on the parents or the spouse, but losing a sibling is unique in its grief, and not any less devastating.
Beautiful. And so true: “Losing a sibling is losing someone who knows your family's precise flavor of crazy like no one else can.”