In the Fire

Since I lost my brother a few months ago, I've had a hard time finding the strength to encourage others. I felt so cheated and abandoned that it was difficult for me to even acknowledge my own blessings, let alone share with others. I was fixated on all of the difficult parts of my life, having gotten sick, failed relationships, financial hardships, funding for school, raising my kids alone, losing my brother...that I forgot about all the good I had. 

Yesterday, I bought this journal, and decided that everyday I'd log the things I'm thankful for. From the small miracles we take for granted everyday to the blessings HE sends us to remind us who we are and more importantly who HE is. 

I have ignored the fact that our trials are intended to strengthen us, because I was sulking in my own grief. But as a Phoenix always does, today I've risen, with life and strength, with passion and vigor. 

Today, I am thankful for this fire that burns inside me, that propels and guides me. Today, I am thankful for my present path, the life ahead of me, and the lessons the past has taught me. I'm reminded that we don't have to wait until  we come out on the other side to recognize the strength that is always there within us.  In the midst of the fire is when we are the strongest. 

Get on Fire!!! 🔥 

Saying Goodbye

My family funeralized my brother, Jaafar, yesterday: a ritual that is meant to mark closure and allow us to return to our lives as best we can, without the loved ones we have lost. On this day, we say goodbye to the  physical being but the spiritual being lives on in our hearts forever. We celebrate the life of those we lost with prayers, flowers, stories and words of encouragement.  It marks new beginnings. And yet, it was by far the most difficult thing I have ever done.

So many thoughts raced through my head, like the fact that this was the first time all 13 of us siblings had been in a room together in as long as I can remember, and that it could never happen again. I realized that as the baby of the family, there lies the potential that I would have to go through this heartache another 11 times. I thought of how much I wanted to be home with my family, in Pittsburgh, and realized how insignificant all the reasons I live so far away from my family truly are. So many thoughts that made me cry. But then there were the memories, the comedic moments people shared about him, the way he touched so many lives, that gave us hope, strength and joy, as we listened and thought about Jaafar.

The ceremony was lovely and encapsulated exactly who my brother was, with people giving testimony after testimony of how he touched their lives. His daughter read a letter for her father saying all the things we never think to say at her age, because we expect to have our parents forever. My sister wrote a poem which perfectly captured how we all saw Jaafar. I read my last blog entry aloud, with my eldest son, who Jaafar helped raise, by my side. Then we had "open mic" and allowed loved ones to share their thoughts and feelings with us. There must have been a few hundred people who came to pay their respects and it was evident that we all had a special relationship with him. It was so interesting to hear some of the things that I never knew: stories from before I was born or was too young to remember, and even some things he probably intended for us not to know. Everyone talked about the impact he made on their lives and spoke about his special gifts and talents. It was amazing to see such an outpouring of love.

Yet, as beautiful and heartfult (and humorous) as every story was, nothing was more touching and meaningful than what happened at the cemetery. It was beautiful to see my cousin walk around the casket seven times (symbolizing completion) in family tradition, it was beautiful that my 81 year old father lead us in prayer. It was touching that each of the remaining siblings placed a rose for my brother and that doves were released to symbolize finding peace. But nothing I have ever seen could have prepared me for what would happen next.

As I tearfully watched my big brother lowered into the ground, and the vault sealed our 12 roses inside, a groundskeeper began to back the loader towards the gravesite in preparation to fill the grave with earth. One of my brothers motioned to him to stop, and picked up a shovel that was lying nearby. He began to fill the grave himself. Before long another brother grabbed a shovel, followed by another. The three of them began passing the shovels to each of my seven remaining brothers, then to my eldest son. With such love and such pride on his face, tears streaming, he covered his uncle's grave with dirt before passing the shovel to the other men in the family. Each of my brothers, my father, cousins, uncles, nephews, neighbors, friends, each of my sons and even my great nephew: Jaafar's  4 year old grandson completely filled the grave. The men who loved my brother most buried him. The groundskeeper himself became overcome with emotion and said he had never seen anything like it before. These strong men, both young and old, in suits and loafers, with sweat on their brows and tears in their eyes honored my brother like a king, and it was  a beautiful sight to behold.  This act was a true act of both strength and love. An act- unparalleled by any other I have ever witnessed before.  It was a true testament  to the man that my brother was: a man that earned respect by the way that he  loved.

My great-nephew, burying his grandfather, with help from my brother and cousin.

Sometimes, we are fortunate enough to say our loved ones lived a long life, or at least find peace that their suffering has come to an end. But when someone is taken so suddenly, those peaceful thoughts are more difficult to come by. My brother wasn't suffering, nor did he live a long life. But in the time he had here, my God did he live, and even more so did he love! May we all love and be as loved as he.

I love you, Jaafar. You were the best of all of us.

Grief

It is said that we grieve in stages: denial, bargaining, anger, depression, and acceptance. The Kübler-Ross model doesn't suggest that there's a specific order or that they are equal in length, but rather that we cycle through these five stages as a way to cope when we experience great loss.

I experienced a horrible unexpected loss yesterday. There's no greater pain than that phone call telling you that someone you love is gone. My big brother, always so happy- so full of knowledge and stories and laughter...was run over by a taxi driver while he waited for the bus. He was taken from us, in an instant, without time for a "goodbye" or an "I love you."

As I made my kids a lunch of vegetarian Sloppy Joe that he had taught me, I got that earth shattering call. I stopped, and was knocked from my feet, as if I had been clubbed down. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think. I felt a gaping hole in my chest: emptiness- a void in the space reserved for him in my heart.

Surely there's some mistake? Not my brother- I argued. Denial.
I asked God to undo it, offering a lifetime of devout servitude. Bargaining.
I cried uncontrollably, my hands shook, I couldn't stand, and I screamed out how unfair it is, as if I was reprimanding God. Anger.
Then I was immobilized. I did't want to eat, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't stop crying. Depression.

I am transitioning over and over again through the stages of grief desperately longing for the "acceptance" stage, so that I can find some peace and comfort in this seemingly senseless tragedy.

As I tearfully replaced the summer clothes we just packed in our suitcases for our upcoming Disney trip with winter clothes for our trip to Pittsburgh for the funeral, I thought about the last time I hung out with my brother. Last summer he went with me to the tattoo parlor and I teased him that everyone thought he was my dad. He fussed at the staff for being slow and charging too much. We looked through the tattoo books and laughed and had so much fun just sitting in the waiting area. That was him. Everything was more fun just because he was there. I'm so glad to have had him for the time that I did, but so hurt that I won't make more memories like those.

Sometimes life just throws a curveball and it changes everything. A friend that experienced a similar loss said that these moments forever define your life into halves "before and after". You'll never be the same, but the "after" must still have some meaning in order for us to continue.  We mustn't take the time we have here for granted.

I know my brother loved me and he was proud of me. I want to continue to make him proud and to live life to the fullest, making sure that everyone I love knows how much I do.

Just as soon as I come to "acceptance."

No accidents in life.

Self Fulfilling Prophecy

Self Affirmation

I don't look like what I've been through.

After my initial video post, several people messaged me and said that they would have had no idea what I had gone through by looking at my FaceBook page. This was a conscious decision, and was how I wanted it.

I've always been mindful of what I present to the world, and this is especially true in social media because sometimes that is the only version of you that people get to see. I was careful when I was sick, making a very personal choice, not to post pictures or posts relating to my illness for two reasons:

1.) I knew that my circumstances were temporary and did not want to accept or display that which was not a true version of who I was.

2.) I didn't want people to pity me while I was going through the storm, but rather to celebrate me, when I came out on the other side.

With this in mind, I lived my life the fullest that I could, despite my circumstances and presented myself as I knew I should be. Dressing the part, so to speak, I posted photos of birthdays and outings, dinners and family visits.

I posted this picture, in February 2016, at the state championship Lego League tournament. I was heavily medicated, experiencing significant back pain, and had brought both a wheelchair and a walker for the trip. I was unable to drive, needed help with stairs and could not sit or stand for long periods. But to the rest of the world, I looked like a mom on an outing, being silly with her kids. That's who I was. That's how I saw myself. That's how my children saw me. So, that's what Facebook saw. But, what people couldn't see was what it took for me to get there. The determination it took to walk to the top of the bleachers, the strength it took to stand from sitting, the courage it took to leave the wheelchair in the trunk, the sacrifice I made to sit in pain all day so that my child felt supported. I refused to let my circumstances define me. Instead, I redefined them.

We choose what we show to the world, and we have our reasons for doing so. It's important that we focus on the positive and find small triumphs in even the most difficult of situations. This is not to say that others shouldn't post prayer requests or write posts related to your circumstances; I'm saying not to allow those things to define you. Even in our darkest times we must find a little light and hold onto it.

I don't look like what I've been through. Neither do you.

Get on Fire! 🔥🔥🔥