It's been six weeks since my brother, number four of seven passed away unexpectedly. I've experienced the death of a loved one but never anyone this close and this suddenly. This wasn't the typical "He lived a long life and it was his time to go". One day he was alive with everything in the world to live for. The next day, he was gone.
Me and my siblings, hands signifying birth order
In these six weeks, I learned a lot about grief and I would like to share my journey with you. I never truly understood was grief was until I lived it.
Let's go back to July 15th. The day.
I traveled from Maryland to Pittsburgh for my sister's birthday party. My daughter, Molly had been staying at my parent's house for the week in my hometown. I was going to meet my parents in Pittsburgh for the party and bring Molly home with me the next day. All was well in my world.
Until the phone call.
I was sitting in my sister's dining room waiting for my parents to arrive when my dad called. I could tell by his voice that something was wrong. He told me that they were going back to my hometown with Molly.
Wait, why? What happened?
"Luke is dead."
What? Are you sure? What happened? Are you absolutely sure? How? Why? I fired off question after question, not believing that this news could be true. Surely, this had to be some mistake. My dad said that it was a suspected overdose which made absolutely no sense because my brother had just celebrated ten years clean. No, no, you must be wrong. Luke was helping other people get clean. He was being the hero. This is all some big misunderstanding. Luke was just mini-golfing last night. I saw the photos that he posted. He had just called me a couple weeks ago. He had just texted a couple days ago. He was just Noah's confirmation sponsor in February. He's not dead. He couldn't be dead. No, no, no, no, no.
My family at my sister's wedding in May
I couldn't process it all quickly enough. I told my dad he couldn't return home because he had Molly. I needed to get Molly back. He said, "Well, won't you be coming anyway for the funeral?" Funeral?! What? How can you have a funeral for someone who IS NOT DEAD?! I asked my dad to stop the car where they were so I could meet them there. They were about twenty minutes from me. As I drove to meet them, not one tear. I texted my husband, Dave, still not quite believing what happened. He replied that he was sorry and that he would help me with whatever I needed.
But I still couldn't believe it.
When I pulled into the parking lot where my parents were waiting, my mom and sister were sobbing. I was still in shock. We hugged and I cried at the sight of my mom in so much pain. Her son. Her only son. There is no pain like the pain of losing your child. Yet, it didn't seem real. It couldn't be real.
Molly and my sister, Grace traveled back to my parent's house with me. On the way, it started to sink in. The floodgates opened. I began to cry.
Back at my parents house, family and friends were already gathered when we arrived. I realized something about myself in hindsight. I deal with pain by helping others. When I was busy, I was okay. While people around me were crying, I was thinking about making sure everyone's basic needs were met. Food. We need to get food. My aunt went with me to the grocery store and we bought sandwiches, drinks and I can't for the life of me remember what else but it was a lot. When I reached for my wallet, my aunt said she would like to pay for it.
From that moment on, any need we had was met by God through the love of friends and family. Priests came to pray with us. People showed up with food and groceries- even toilet paper. Countless stories starting pouring in about how Luke had helped their son get clean, about how he had just done a handyman project for them last week, about what a kind and giving person Luke was. Story after story. Friend after friend. The love was amazing. It held my parents together in those first days. While I made sure that they ate and slept, they were being held up emotionally by the love that surrounded them.
Luke, as a missionary at an orphanage in Mexico
The quiet moments. Those were the times when I would break down. Why, Luke? Why? You had everything in the world going for you. A beautiful fiancee and step-daughter. A rewarding career and the desire to finish nursing school to further help recovering addicts. A family who loves you. You seemed to have it all. And we were so proud of you. How could we not see your pain? Was it Leo's death? Was it the deaths of all of those you could not save? What caused you so much pain that you felt that there was no other way than returning to the drug that gave you nothing but pain? What were you thinking in those last moments? I hope that you called out for God's mercy and in His infinite love, He took you to heaven, where there is no pain. No sadness.
You left all of that here on Earth for us.
Luke with fiancee, Desiree and daughter, Bella
As the week went by, things started to quiet down as all the visitors had already come. We clung to things that reminded us of Luke. We found mementos he had saved in his chest in the attic. In his apartment, on the bed he died on was his NA step book- the inner most thoughts of my brother. But they were his thoughts and his alone and therefore should not be shared. But I did read it. And it helped me to see that just like any one of us, he had his struggles. But he was actively working to overcome them and make amends.
I sat on the bed in my brother's apartment. It was neatly made. For a few moments, everyone else had left the room. I laid my head on his pillow and wept.
The windowsill in Luke's childhood bedroom
Grief can bring a family closer together or rip them apart. In our case, it brought us even closer. We held each other. We shared the same pain. But we all grieved a little differently. We had to recognize that if tensions rose or we found ourselves upset by another's reactions, we had to remember that we are all grieving in our own way.
On the day of the viewing, we arrived an hour earlier for some private time. We set up a memory table for Luke and flowers from friends filled the room. And then it happened. The curtain opened and there laid our brother. We cried out in pain. And horror. The body laying there didn't look like Luke. I mean, we could tell it was him but it wasn't HIM. His soul was not there anymore. His smile was gone. That joy that once radiated from his was gone. His sense of humor, his compassion, his playfulness, his love...his body alone could not encapsulate those things anymore. All the things we loved about Luke had gone with his soul.
Once the viewing began, I was strong again. I had to be. For seven hours, a steady stream of visitors came. Seven hours. Oh, how much he was loved! If only he were here to see it. If love could have saved a person from death, my brother would have never left this Earth. But, in reality, true love really does save- the love of God. And I believe He saved Luke.
I tried to reach out to as many visitors as possible, especially addicts. I hugged them and begged them to stay clean. It's what Luke would have wanted. He would have given his life for any one of them. I told them I would pray for them every day and I have.
The next day was the funeral. The day we had to say goodbye. The procession to the church was beautiful. As we drove through the town my brother called home, for a moment everything stood still. A piece of the town would always be missing from this point forward. A police car waited for us at the borough line and escorted the procession to the church. An amazing tribute.
As we walked into the church, it was filled with people. Filled. The moment my foot hit the floor of the sanctuary, Hallelujah started to play and I felt like my feet would fall from underneath me. My husband held me up and I cried big ugly tears. There I sat in my pew, right beside the aisle where my brother lay. I wanted to reach out and put my hand on his casket. I just wanted to be as close to him as possible.
Four different priests spoke at the funeral- the parish priest, two from Spirit Life where my brother was working and one from Cenacolo, the community that saved my brother all those years ago. Again, I couldn't help but think, how could this happen to someone who was so loved? And he was loved so much because of all the love he gave.
During Communion, I knelt and cried. I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was a childhood friend who was there for me throughout the week. Even though we had lost touch through the years, in times like these, you realize who your true friends are. I was so grateful to all those who reached out.
As we were all sitting down again, my sister, Colleen saw me crying. She came around to sit by me. Soon, all six sisters squished in as we pushed everyone else to the end of the pew. There wasn't quite enough room for Grace so she sat on Colleen's lap. We all held each other as my mom and dad stood up to give the eulogy. I can't even describe what a comfort it was to have all of my sister's huddled together as we said goodbye to our only brother.
Downstairs after the funeral, there was a luncheon. It wasn't possible to know how many people would be attending so we had been nervous earlier in the week about having enough food. But we knew we wanted everyone to come share a meal with us. We bought a few hams and some salad and took casseroles and other food that had been dropped off throughout the week. When we saw the entire room filled to capacity, we trusted that God would provide. And He did. The very last piece of ham and scoop of salad was served to the very last person in line. Loaves and fishes. God provided.
At the luncheon, people got up to share stories about Luke. The most precious were ones from his nieces and his step-daughter, Bella. He was such a fun uncle. And he was an awesome step-dad. His fiancee, Desiree shared that before Luke proposed to her, he "proposed" to Bella and gave her a ring as well. He really treated her as if she was his own. I remember him calling me and asking for parenting advice. I remember the elaborate "fairy house" he built for her. It took lots of time and patience but he knew that the happiness it would bring her would be worth it. He was always thoughtful.
Luke and Bella
Despite the horrible circumstances that brought us together that week, we were able to have good memories together as a family. We laughed. We cried. We held each other.
The sisters at the luncheon
Before I left for home, I saw Luke's hoodie/footie on the table by the door. My dad asked me earlier in the week if I wanted it. I wasn't sure what I would do with it. But, just before I left, I picked it up and sniffed it. It still smelled like Luke. I held it close to my heart and took it with me. When I hold it, I feel close to him.
A note Molly wrote on the sidewalk
Now it was time to return to "real life". I didn't know how difficult that would be. That first morning home, I woke up and didn't want to get out of bed. Dave encouraged me to get up and go to the gym. As I was preparing to head out the door, I saw a pile of sympathy cards that came while I was away. I opened one. It was from friends we haven't seen in years. Tears started to flow. I put the card down and said, "I can't". At the gym, there were hugs all around. I held it together. I felt like all my tears had already been cried. Boy, was I wrong. As soon as I stepped out of the gym, all the tears that I had held in came out all at once.
I walked through the grocery store like a zombie. Why was everyone walking around like normal? Didn't they know my brother was dead?! Back in the car, I cried again. The strange thing about grief is that I can seem perfectly fine in one moment and in the next, I cry as if I'm hearing the news for the first time. As the weeks went by, this pattern of normalcy and moments of tears continued and still continue to this day. And I'm okay with that.
Last weekend, we celebrated Luke's 34th birthday. My sister, Laura came up with a great idea that we could honor Luke's memory by doing good deeds that relate to things he did in his life. She set up a blog with some ideas. The weekend of Luke's birthday was a busy one in my calendar. I didn't know how I would be able to get away back to my hometown. But I couldn't bear the thought of not being there. Dave assured me that he would take care of everything at home. He has been a rock through all of this. The week I was away right after my brother died, he took care of everything so I could take the time to be with my family and grieve. I am so grateful for him.
The four hour drive back to my hometown was full of tears. I was going to celebrate my brother's birthday without my brother. We had a full day planned. My parents and my sisters, Grace and Liz and I spent the say storming the town with love. We dropped off snacks and Gatorade (Luke's favorite drink) to the police station. We took Snickers bars to the church for the altar servers to enjoy. We brought cookies to the nurses at Spirit Life. All of the deliveries came with a note, describing what were doing. Many other people did the same things in their own towns in memory of Luke. I was very touched by all who participated.
We went to visit Luke's grave site for the first time. Upon arriving there, we had to chuckle. Luke and I share something in common- we both hate glitter. Luke's friend, Mary knew this and one year, she sent Luke an entire card full of glitter. It's been a running joke ever since. Well, it was apparent that Mary had been there to visit Luke because over the dirt, glitter was scattered all around. A good reminder of his sense of humor.
I played Hallelujah through my phone, the song that was sung at Luke's funeral. Then, Liz said that she had never heard "Wish You Were Here" which was a special song that Luke and I shared. It was always "our song". So I played it on my phone as well. We all sang along and I know that Luke was looking down upon us smiling.
Luke lived in Italy as part of his recovery program. When he left, he did not know a word of Italian but he came back fluent. He was very proud that he learned Italian just by living there. He was also very proud of the risotto and tiramisu he learned to make. We knew we had to incorporate these dishes into his birthday celebration. My brother-in-law made the tiramisu. I decided to make the risotto, a dish that I have never made before. Sadly, I was never in town when Luke made his but I hope that my attempt made him proud.
The weekend ended with Mass at Spirit Life. I still can't get through Mass without tears but at Spirit Life in particular. Luke loved that place. He was so proud of the work he was doing there. He wanted to get married to Desiree in that chapel. There were so many happy things that were supposed to happen.
I never knew grief until now. And I didn't fully understand what friends were going through when they experienced it. But now I know. And there are some things that I think could be helpful for others to know, based on my experience.
1. Don't ignore them. I never knew what to say when someone experienced loss. I thought maybe if I brought it up, it would remind them and make them cry. But what I didn't realize is that a person who is grieving thinks of their loved one all the time. They are not suddenly going to be upset because you brought it up. They will be touched. They may cry. They may not. But please say something. Just a simple, "I'm sorry for your loss and I'm praying for you" or "I'm here for you" will do. Even weeks and months later, if it's the first time you've seen the person, please say something. It's never too late.
2. Just be there. People who are grieving are not going to ask for help. If you want to help, think of what they might need and just do it. If you say, "Let me know if you need anything", they won't. But if you bring dinner, they will eat it. Think of what you would need if your whole life was turned upside down. Are they going out of town? Let them know you will get their mail or feed their pet. Just show up.
3. But realize that they might not be ready to talk. Don't take it personally if they are not ready to talk about things. They aren't ignoring your phone calls or texts. In fact, you reaching out is a good thing, remember? Let them know you are there when they need to talk. Then, reach out again in a few days and let them know you are thinking of them. When they are ready to talk, they will. Or not. But either way, you've let them know you are there for them.
4. Really listen when they are ready to talk. Listen to what they have to say. Take interest in it. Don't be afraid to ask the person to share good memories of their loved one. Don't change the subject unless they do. And please, if someone tells you they are depressed, listen to what they have to say but also encourage them to seek professional help. Understand that they chose you to talk to because they feel safe with you. Take it as a compliment.
5. Acknowledge it when you see someone crying. I have been guilty of not doing this. I want to say something but I don't know what to say. I don't know what the problem is and whether I want to get involved. But please, please, please, just ask, "Is everything okay?". That's it. That's all you need to say. I have cried every single Sunday at church. I leave in tears as I walk to my car. I pass by people. And no one has ever asked me if I'm okay. No one.
6. Realize that grief lasts a long time and that's okay. Just because they appear to be back to normal does not mean that they are not still grieving. They are not "over it" and never will be. I honestly hope that I grieve for the rest of my life because it's in that grieving that I also find comfort.
I hope that my story has given you a glimpse into the life of a grieving person. I still cry every day. The tears are not those of despair. I'm not depressed. I know I will see Luke again. The tears now are more like my way of connecting with Luke and reflecting on what a beautiful person he was. Earlier on, I didn't want the tears to end because that meant accepting what happened. But now, I am glad for the tears because they provide a strange sense of relief and comfort.
I had this necklace made and I wear it close to my heart always.
Oh Luke, Mio Fratello, how I wish you were here.
Love, Erica
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