Today is my brother’s birthday. However, he isn’t around to enjoy it, and I don’t think earthly birthdays are celebrated in Heaven.
I wrote this about 1.5 years after he died, and still feel exactly the same way –
“Not a Day Goes By” by Lonestar isn’t a love song to me. Part of the first verse applies… “Got a picture of you I carry in my heart” and “Got a memory of you I carry in my soul”… and none of the second verse — but I can’t hear this song without thinking of my brother.
“Not a day goes by, that I don’t think of you
After all this time you’re still with me, it’s true
Somehow you remain, locked so deep inside
… not a day goes by.”
A recurring regret is that I didn’t wrap my arms around him several times a day the last time I saw him, and tell him how much I loved him.
The last time I saw him was May 20, 2004. He had visited us for five days. The neighbor boy came over to play, and Aislynn pointed and said, “That’s Matthew. He’s my mom’s sister.” 
We had a great visit, with jokes and board games and good food and the kids enjoying their uncle. But I felt badly and took a lot of naps that week, and I’ll forever bemoan that wasted time.
Kevin knew he was there to say goodbye. He knew it was probably the last time I’d see my brother — he didn’t tell me. But it doesn’t seem that knowing it would’ve helped prepare me to hear that Matt committed suicide on Father’s Day weekend, just under a month later.
I wrote a letter to my family during the worst week of my life-to-date, as we waited for the body to be found (it seems he left reverse instructions as to the place he was going, up in Texas hill country). I haven’t been ready to share it publicly, though I thought about it for several years. Posting this now both comforts me, and will serve to permanently store the letter here. You’re welcome to ask questions by comment or email, it won’t bother me.
Dad and Mom,
I can’t fathom the pain of losing a living child (vs. one expected for a short while), under any circumstances, so I can’t be understanding enough — but you’ll have whatever empathy I can muster, while I try.
Ben,
It both grieved me and relieved me that you’ve had such a heavy load on your heart and mind this week. Thank you for the determination and fortitude you’ve shown throughout; Matt couldn’t have been blessed with a better brother, while living or at the end. And I couldn’t be more pleased and grateful that you’re mine.
Martha,
I’m glad you and Ben were together yesterday morning; perhaps that made it more endurable for you both. I regret that you had to be searching at all, but thank you for your persistent endeavors. You can’t know the comfort it was to me that you were out there, while I couldn’t do anything to assist but pray you’d find him quickly. This isn’t adequately expressing my feelings, but perhaps I’ll come up with something better later on.
Rachael and Nathan,
I don’t know what path your thoughts and feelings are taking right now, but know that you’re in my thoughts and tears and prayers.
Everybody,
About 3 am Sunday morning, I was dozing and turning and trying to get my back to cooperate with my need for sleep. I had a sense of foreboding, but my thoughts along that line ran towards Jim and Grandad. Obviously, I wouldn’t succeed as a psychic…
You cannot know the depth of my love for the little brother who could be so exasperating as a child, but was usually amusing, creative, loving and generous. Thirty years ago, Daddy and Nanny took me to the hospital, where I climbed up on a little footstool so I could see through the nursery window. The green and white gingham bundle with dark hair that I viewed that day, was the only sibling who was ever just mine — the rest of you were “ours” and we were corporately “yours.” (Although I do take some credit for helping to pray Martha into existence. I guess you should be glad that when I prayed for a horse, we got just one at the time. I asked for a sister and got two. I asked for a son and got two.)
Then over the past three or four years, he became more a part of my life than he had been for a very long time. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that Matt grew up to be my friend; so I sort of feel like I’ve lost two people instead of one.
You should know, and Ben can verify, that Matt didn’t die in a fit of despair, though he certainly had very despairing days. He isn’t gone because he felt completely useless, but because he wanted to go before he was dependent on others and useless/worrisome for his children. He didn’t plan his final days because of sheer hopelessness, but because he realistically weighed his growing physical problems and life options, and decided it wasn’t going to get better before it got even worse. Though planned through depression, this was a carefully considered event, not just “a suicide.”
I don’t think I would’ve made the same choice, but I can’t say that with certainty, having never experienced his depth of physical, emotional and spiritual pain. What I can say is that God created Matt with a free will, knowing full well that Matt was going to make choices contrary to His will — even to deciding to exit this life on his own terms, rather than waiting for a Sovereign summons. I find it comforting that part of the plan was going into some country he loved, and watching the sunrise (which he didn’t willingly view often), and breathing in some crisp, cool air during his final thoughts.
Once in a great while, Celeste has a vision. Thus, we were told Aislynn was coming several months before she was actually on the way, just as one example. This morning while Celeste was crying and praying, she saw Matt with Jesus (she’d both met him and seen pictures), and Jesus was saying something to the effect of “you’ll have no more pain, you can rest now.” (I have told her that if she starts seeing things in tortillas, I’ll have to stop believing.)
This was comforting to me, as well as quick specific answers to prayers this week, and messages from God through loving people and other channels. But that stuff can wait, for interested parties, and perhaps now I can sleep some more.
I love you,
:~)
