As I flip back through the pages of my life, I am stuck. I am stuck on the memories of him and the feeling of keeping him close to my heart. He had meant so much to me, had been the reason for my very existence. He had made me feel that I had a purpose in this vast universe. My purpse had been to love him, to be there for him and to be the best big sister I could be. We had been through so much pain and hurt early in our lives. Together we had gone through hell and back, had been abused, beaton, malnurished and taken from the only mother we had known. We had only each other growing up. Our bond had been strong and our love had been constant. We had fought at times but in the end, love had conquered all. I'll never forget his final message to his big sister. It's these words that, to this day, keep me going.
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"I love you Lisa, good-night." So pure, so honest. He had repeated these words to me over and over, three times. Three times he had told me just how much he loved me and three times he had also told me good-bye.
Psalm 23 is an inspiration to many people. It is these words which pack courage into even the weakest soul. It has been my comfort during those bitter, lonely nights and years. It had dried up the torment of my very tears and had been the strength that had lifted me out of the depths of hell.
The Sunday my brother passed away was the hardest hole I have ever had to drag myself out of. I can still see my brother falling...falling...falling into the arms of an angel, the life guard of the swimming pool. I had just caught the glimpse as I had turned around. I saw his pale sickly body dangling in her arms and I knew. I knew. I could feel the heart beat inside me crying, screaming, but no tears could form.
My mother had attempted CPR as did the lifeguards on duty, but I knew he was gone. I knew he would never come back.
As children, you're told scary stories of horror. Death is looked upon with fear and terror. Nobody ever tells you of the other side of death. Nobody tells you how empty and lonely it can feel. I had never known the knawing pain of such a beast as death. I sat there numb, staring at a lifeless corpse who had the resemblance of my Johnny. His pale skin appeared so rough and harsh. The touch had been clammy and cold. Life had left him. I stood there for mere seconds, yet it had seemed an eternity.
I saw those I loved wheeping and mourning his loss. Yet my eyes were dry. I looked around and began my chorus of crying, fake as it had been. The tears still remained dry.
What could I do? What could I say? I was a child, not yet fourteen. My life had felt so out of control, so hopeless, so helpless. All sense of normalcy had been ripped away by the cruel, theiving animal called death. This pain had turned to bitterness and the bitterness ate at my very being.
The next days had seemed to drag by like a slow scene in a movie. Every day I would look at the food on my plate and stare at it. It had become my fixation, my enemy. One bite had meant the difference between my survival and peace with my brother and Heavenly Father. Yet somehow I would always eat enough to survive one more day.
As my family made the funeral plans, I became more and more withdrawn, not wanting to accept his passing, not wanting to believe it was true. As I stared at his handsome body lying there in the casket, the pain hit me and I had to go for a walk. I could not look at him.
That night my mother allowed me to stay with a friend. April and I had been friends our whole lives. She had been so comforting through my pain. As she fell asleep I lay there, reminiscing on all the good times John and I had been through.
April's mother came into the room and held me for some time. She then gave me a pad of paper and a pen.
"Why don't you write to him." She had said. I remember her words like it was yesterday. I remember sitting at the table in April's room, with a pen in my hand and so many warm memories in my heart. I had begun my love for writing. I wrote and wrote and wrote as if my words were whispered to me by his spirit through the air.
I cried...it was a strong, pure cry. The tears were real, they quenched the pain inside my soul. The words were written in love and dedicated to a brother who had the meant the world to his sister. It had been a love letter to my soul mate.
To this day, I keep his Spirit with me where ever I go. I keep him in my laughter. I keep him in my tears. I keep him in my dreams at night. I write this now for him and for all those out there who have known a love as deep as his was for me, who have lost someone so dear in there life. I write this to my dear brother, the soul mate of my heart, who also vowed his love to me, three times.
Lisa M. Hunt