Yesterday, Mom sent out an e-mail to my siblings and I with potential images for 3’s headstone at the cemetery. I was halfway through looking at the different styles and sayings before it struck me just how truly ridiculous it all was. There I was, sitting in my apartment, on my laptop, considering the comparative strengths of different tombstone designs. For my baby brother. Jesus.
I knew that Mom was going to look at headstones this week (cleverly scheduled after a massage appointment – good job, Mom), and I know that I will, of course, visit 3’s grave the next time I’m home, but that knowledge didn’t make this barrage of Real any less jarring.
Miranda Lambert sings a song called “Over You,” which was written by Blake Shelton in remembrance of his older brother’s death. Many of the lyrics are eerily appropriate to my situation. The first verse talks about remembering being together at Christmas, which was the last time I saw 3. The chorus sings “They say I’ll be OK, but I’m not going to ever get over you.” 11 weeks in, these lyrics make more sense than ever. I’m never going to truly get over 3’s death, and I’ll never really be OK with it.
But it’s the bridge of “Over You” that really resonates with this past week: “It really sinks in, you know, when I see it in stone.” I left home before 3’s interment, so I still haven’t seen his gravesite. Add that impending visit to the list of things I never thought I would have to do. While I don’t think seeing 3’s name on a headstone will make his death “sink in,” (I’m pretty sure seeing his body in a coffin took care of that), I’m sure that image will be every bit as painful as Ms. Lambert implies.
I know 3 is gone. I see his picture on my bookshelf in my living room, I see the memorial messages my siblings post on Facebook, and my friends are consistent in asking how I’m doing. I know 3 is dead; I don’t need to be reminded. The headstone, the choice of images and phrases, is a reminder that I don’t need or want right now. I understand the necessity, but I’m feeling petulant, like a child who doesn’t want to do her schoolwork. Leave me aloooooooooone. I just want to plaaaaaaaaaay.
I still get to have fun, of course. By career standards, I’m having a phenomenal semester, and I am happy about that. But that happiness doesn’t completely disguise the fact that my brother is dead. That knowledge makes blatant reminders of 3’s death, like choosing a headstone, that much more bitter.
Real or Not Real? 