
Every holiday.
Every April.
Every July.
Honestly...
every day.
I crumble in some way or another.
I feel a little piece of my heart fall apart.
Some days I quickly gather up the pieces and try to keep it all together.
Other days I feel like I can't breathe and if I move it might all shatter and crash to the floor.
8 years ago I fell to my knees outside your hospital room and begged for a miracle. I continued to hope for one as I traveled back home and waited for word.
8 years ago the phone rang and as I stood next to the washer folding Kev's jeans I crumbled to the floor.
That miracle wasn't going to happen.
We were told to come quick.
The time had come to remove life support, but they were going to wait for me. I was the last to get there I think.
It's mostly a blur as I tossed clothes, food and kids into the car and we headed out.
On the way, I made the hardest decision of my life.
I told Kev to call and tell them not to wait for me, you had been through enough. It was time to let you go.
The phone rang back. Hurry they said. The doctors said it could be minutes,hours or a couple of days, there was no way to really know.
I cried as Kev drove and kids slept.
The drive from Delaware to Boston seemed a million miles long.
We dropped the kids at the hotel. I don't even remember who stayed with them. I do remember how hard it was to get a room, turns out it was the days surrounding the Boston Marathon. Apparently empty hotel rooms are hard to come by during that time.
We rushed down the road only to get lost as we searched for the hospital. I was frantic, Kev was frustrated and I needed to be at your side like NOW.
Putting aside all of his manliness, Kev pulled over to ask for directions only to find out we were in the right spot. Of course, we didn't see the hospital name lighting up the night sky until after asking for directions.
The next several hours remain a mostly jumbled mess in my mind.
I remember holding your hand and staring at the nurse's whiteboard. Under "Allergies" someone had written "Red Sox" and while I never cared about baseball, I've been a Yankees fan ever since that moment.
I remember odd things like the smell of the room, the noise from the tv though I can't recall anything specific when I close my eyes I can hear it. I remember seeing you so still, not moving except the movement of your chest as it rose and fell with each labored breath. Then I said goodbye.
In the morning, you were still hanging in there so we came again to the hospital. This time I knew it was the final goodbye. Kev had to be to work the next day, we would need to leave.
I felt like I was abandoning you.
I felt like you deserved to have us all by your side as you left this life.
I was angry that I was being forced to leave.
I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my chest.
Years later I would begin to think that you wanted us to go. Maybe you hung on longer than anyone expected because you didn't want everyone there. Shortly after I arrived back home, you went quietly without all your rowdy friends and family stirring things up.
When the phone rang I crumbled again as two simple words changed my life forever.
"He's gone"
8 years later the pain is as real as it was in that moment.
8 years later I still feel robbed.
8 years later I'm still angry that skeletons in the closet clothed in secrets kept us from knowing we were siblings for far too long.
8 years later I still regret that our last conversation was an argument.
8 years later I still wish I could have heard you laugh one more time.
8 years later it's still sometimes hard to say his name...your name.

8 years later I'm still so glad we named him after you.
8 years later I'm thankful that you were in my life for 22yrs...as my cousin, as my friend, as my brother and as Uncle Aaron to my children.
(Uncle Aaron and Jay 2000)8 years later I'm thankful that as my heart crumbles I'm able to use precious memories of you to glue it back together.
8 years later I'm thankful for your smile, your hugs, your toughness and your tenderness.
(Uncle Aaron and Rock 2000)8 years later I'm thankful for the things you taught me in your life and through your death...to love life, to give myself to those I love, to say "I love you" often, to laugh a lot, to play hard and love harder and that life is too short to hold grudges.
8 years later I'm thankful for the short time you and Michael lived with us when the big boys were small. It wasn't without it's challenges, but I will cherish that time forever.
8 years later I still don't understand.
8 years later I still crumble.
8 years later I cling to knowing that His ways aren't my ways. That He has a plan even when I don't see it or like it. That He loves you more than I ever could.
8 years later I can say "The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord" (Job 1:21)
8 years later I love you little brother and I miss you more than I ever imagined possible.
8 years later I crumble, but I trust in the God that first called your name and then called you home and I trust that someday we'll worship Him together.
Michael, me, Aaron 1999...one of only 2 pictures I have with both my "little" brothers.