Did you know that it is estimated that 73,000 children die every year in the United States and of those children, 83 percent have surviving siblings? This is a very depressing way to start an article, but if you couldn't tell by the title, this could be considered a depressing article.
The phrase 'dead parent club' is real, but have you ever heard of the 'dead sibling club'? I don't even know if this is a real thing or if I am just copying the prior. I rarely talk about how I have a dead sibling, and I rarely know how to answer the question "how many siblings do you have?" I usually say three, because I have had three siblings, but if I were to be honest I should be saying, "I have three, but two are living". It is also something I choose to admit until later on in any kind of relationship.
I don't hide the fact that my brother has past away either. If one were to look at my Twitter, Instagram or even Facebook, they could find evidence of him: pictures that I post on the anniversary of his passing, or on his birthday, or just when it hits extra hard. Because some days are extra hard. For me, it has been almost six years since a brain tumor claimed my little brother's life but some days it feels like yesterday. Losing him was like losing a limb, just as I am sure losing anyone that close to you would be.
I also don't like telling people. I don't like that face they make and rarely like what they say. It's like they are trying to comfort me, and unless I am balling my eyes out about it, I don't need to be comforted. I don't know if this is just me or not, I know people are just trying to help, but sometimes I can't help but think that they just want to make themselves feel better. It's honestly probably just because it makes me feel vulnerable and that isn't something I particularly enjoy.
Even my sister and I handle his lose differently. We were both there throughout his whole life, diagnoses, and his death but I remember it more vividly since she was so young and couldn't wrap her head around it all. In fact, some days I still can't wrap my head around it all. I mean, I watched my brother die. Not just the actual moment when his heart stopped beating, but the 18 months when chemo, radiation, and steroids were trying their best but weren't good enough. Watching someone go through that, and not being able to do anything, takes a toll on you as anyone who has lost a loved one to cancer will tell you.
I had lost other family members before this, and knew what cancer was, but I wasn't prepared to actually lose him, not that I could have ever been. In the back of my mind I was always thinking and hoping for a miracle, because miracles do happen, and maybe a few did happen, but not the one I wanted. At his diagnoses Brendan was only given six months to live and he was able to triple that which was unfathomable at the time and incredible to look back on. It gave him time, us time, for more experiences.
Brendan only lived to be eight, and every birthday I have I think it is so unfair that I, and the world, can just keep on going without him. His birthday is this week. He'd be fourteen which is so crazy to even imagine. What would he be like? Would he be like my other brother (who we adopted a few years after Brendan's death) since they would be the same age? My guess is no. I also wonder if we would get along yet. When Brendan was healthy we wouldn't really get along since I was seven years older. As I round in on twenty-one and he would be rounding in on fourteen I can't help but wonder if we would have been really good friends just as I am with my other siblings now.
