Facing Our Journey

I don’t even know where to begin. My heart is heavy. My thoughts are scattered.

On Tuesday night, my brother passed away. He was the oldest of five siblings. For over three decades, he lived in Trinidad, far from the rest of us, and though I knew this transition was coming, it still feels unreal. On Monday night, I prayed with a powerful group of sisters. By Tuesday, something felt a bit different. When I got the text from my sister later on that night at 10 p.m., I was not surprised, but I still was not ready.

I don’t think I have fully grasped the reality of his passing. Maybe I’m numb. Maybe I have had too much loss to process. Since 2020, grief has shaped and reshaped me in ways I never expected. Each loss changes me. It brings fear, anxiety, and a struggle to confront the reality of death.

I am a visual person. When I see something, it can stay with me. I can dream about it. It can play over and over in my mind. That is why, as my brother’s health declined, I avoided looking at pictures of him. I knew he was losing weight, and I could not bring myself to see him like that. Cancer is cruel!! It takes and takes until there is almost NOTHING left. There were days I was even afraid to call. Instead, I would record myself praying and send it to him because speaking was becoming harder for him. I did not want to hear him struggle for breath. I did not want to make it worse for him. Maybe even worse for me.

And now, he is gone and my family and I are facing another death.

I grew up as the middle child; two older brothers, two younger siblings. And if no one ever knew, now you do. I am the middle child, and that role has shaped me in ways I am still unpacking today.

Since my mother passed away in 2012, death and grief have become harder for me to process. The way I lost her still lingers, still impacts me 13 years later. Loss has made me more sensitive, sometimes overly so. And honestly, that scares me. I know I don’t always handle it the best way, but I am trying. I want to heal. I want to break free from the things that keep me stuck.

So today, I write this letter to my brother.

Dear Roger,

I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to experience this. I’m sorry cancer stepped into your life and took hold of it. I’m sorry for the times you may have felt alone, for the years and distance that separated us. I’m sorry that sometimes, we let too much time pass before we spoke. I’m sorry that you are gone.

In My Sorrow……Roger, I am also Thankful.

I’m thankful that you did not experience the pain that this disease can bring . I’m thankful that you knew love. I’m thankful that, even from a distance, you felt the prayers, the grace, and the mercy of your family. I’m thankful that in your final days, you saw and experienced the beauty in your daughter, in your children, in a way you may not have before.

I’m thankful that you faced this disease head-on, knowing the outcome, and that you found peace. I’m thankful that you knew the God of our mother, the God who saved you years ago when you survived being shot. I’m thankful that He carried you through this transition, that He made sure you were not alone.

I hope you know that we love you.

WE LOVE YOU❤️

And yet, even in that love, I hate this. I hate grief. I hate loss. I hate the silence it leaves behind.

Grief is heavy. It lingers. It changes you. And there is no right way to process it. Some days, you will feel numb. Other days, you will feel like you can’t breathe. And then there will be days where you smile, where you remember the good without the sting of pain.

Wherever you are in your grief, be gentle with yourself. Don’t rush healing. Don’t feel like you have to “get over it” on someone else’s timeline. Just take it one moment at a time.

Because Love never truly dies. It Shifts, it Transforms, but it NEVER leaves us.

And neither do the people we love.

Rest well, Roger.

You are loved.❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️