On July 18th my life and my family's life was irrevocably changed. My little brother, James Greg Mar died. A true artist in ever sense of the word. A self taught musician who could play anything by ear...just sit down and play. A miracle in my eyes that anyone could ever be given such a talent from G_d. A visual artist his drawings and sketches could boggle both the mind and the eyes.
I miss him. I find that as each day passes instead of pulling away from the pain of his passing I merely draw closer to the wound. A ragged edge mass of pain that clutches me at the most random times. I skirt around my life with moments of joy in my work, my children, my husband and my life and then, as if from nowhere, a sadness from deep inside wells upward causing an unfathomable sense of loss and dare I say it...anger. I miss him. I am angry for him leaving and I am angry at myself for my inability to save him. Selfish feelings of guilt wrack my being.
As the older sister was it not my responsibility to make sure my little brother always remained safe?
I don't know when the sudden attacks of grief will pass, perhaps never. I am told by those who have walked this treacherous road that a years time is some magical marking point for grief. But in a year my brother will still be dead and I will still be without him so my grief-stricken heart finds this nearly impossible to believe.
For now I don't seek joy as much as feel a sense of relief when it passes through me. I remember joy as if a friend who has moved to a new city far from me. I know, logically because I am told so, that one day I will no longer weep when I think of my brother but for now...for now...my tears continue to flow.