dear cody
codeman.
it’s taken me a few years to write this. perhaps in part because i’ve never let myself ruminate too long in the grief, or because i’ve felt guilt to be here without you.
as the years pass i find myself wanting to talk about you more and more. thinking about you and who you would’ve been today. thinking about what you would be doing for work, or where you’d be living, or how holidays would feel with you still here, how the girls would be, what our relationship would be like, how mama would be.
i guess since this space has become like a digital diary for me of sorts, i think this is safe here.
nobody talks about the weird cycle of grief.
when it will assault you. on a clear chill day out of nowhere, in the middle of a conversation, or how a memory can be triggered by the sound of something familiar like passing motorcycles.
when you passed, i felt this deep sense of guilt. that had i not taken you to get your motorcycle on sunday, monday could’ve never happened. that had i answered my phone sooner, i could’ve gotten to you quicker. i’ve read that it’s common for folks to experience guilt this way. as if, one decision on our part could somehow circumvent God’s plan. that we could negotiate with fate. although i’ve been able to accept that and release that, that same guilt pays me a visit every year around my birthday. ever since my 30th birthday, there’s a twinge of guilt, dread and deep sadness that comes over me. a voice that reminds me that i’ve outlived my big brother. that i’ve done something that he’d never get a chance to do.
i often say that i was never meant to be an only child. mama has way too much love for just one kid. i don’t know how to explain it. how do you explain finding the capacity to pour into two kids deeply, plans to do it for a lifetime, and then suddenly you’re left with just one? one who differs from you so drastically at that. i feel bad for feeling like that. for a long time, i couldn’t talk about you, because it felt selfish to take up too much when there were others who (i had assumed) were much more fragile in their own right. mama losing her first born, and only son; the girls to lose a father; granny and grandpa to lose their first grandbaby; and me the ever independent self-sufficient self-identified strong little sister. how silly. i recognize now, that that was always never expected of me, nor fair to my own process. unfair. i practice releasing that energy a little bit more each day.
i don’t know where the time has gone. it somehow feels like it happened yesterday and twenty years ago all at once. i’m afraid that one day the memories might fade and i’ll forget. never you. but the essence of you. you know like the way you sounded, your laugh, your mannerisms. that one day, it’ll be more time that you’ve been gone, than time i got to share with you and the details will get foggy.
i remember early on, feeling deprived of being able to share major milestones with you. being mad. irreconcilably upset that i would never again get a chance to do the sibling things you do in life. you never getting a chance to experience my bookstore, you never seeing me in serious relationship, never being able to grab drinks and talk about our 30s, or getting married and you being apart of my wedding, having kids and making you an uncle, planning mama’s birthday parties together, tag teaming on hosting family gatherings at our respective cribs.
you’ve always secretly been the coolest person to me. So beloved to everyone. allowed to live your truths aloud, allowed to be free-spirited in a way that i envied. a few years ago, i was listening to a podcast, that talked about this phenomena about the ‘good kid, bad kid’ in a family. all my life i had felt my role was to be the ‘good kid’. you know what i mean— dependable, always with a plan, never in (real trouble), self-sufficient. and you, the ‘bad kid’, trouble was never too far, unafraid to march to the sound of your own drum, and always seeking out fun and excitement no matter what. i think back then, i used to feel the burden of having to always be “on”. perfect. no room for mistakes. how lucky for you to be able to not be held to the same expectations. how liberating it must have been for you to do whatever you wanted with little care about what anyone has to say about it. i realize that whole good kid/bad kid complex has created its own sort of prison for me. it’s kept me small out of fear of disappointing people. it’s kept me from rocking the boat too much, and putting too much stock in how things appear without question. what i’ve learned is that, in so many ways i’ve always looked up to you even if your life has directly informed how to (and how not to live in the world). i’ve always lived in your shadow. you’ve always had such an impression on me. i don’t feel like i ever expressed that to you while you were here. im sorry i didn’t tell you enough how proud i was of you.
i’ve always felt this duty to protect you in the ways i felt you were more vulnerable (read: more forgiving or dare i say naive/hopeful) than me. like with daddy or against the world. I’m sorry if it’s ever felt like I abandoned that ever. i’ve always appreciated the way we’ve naturally looked after each other. mama always said we were all we got. you always looked out for me in all the ways a big brother should, stopped kids from bullying me, kept me away from certain dudes you knew were up to no good, you kept my secrets. thank you for being my protector and big brother.
you know what else no one prepares you for?
the jealousy.
i find myself experiencing jealousy of family and friends and their relationships with their siblings. it sounds weird to say that. i think of that intrinsic closeness of having someone else who was in the “trenches” of childhood with your parents with you. the exclusive members-only club of a lifetime.
in a week, i’ll be 32 years old. can you believe that? you would’ve been 36 this year. i can’t believe that seven years have passed already.
i try not to make too much sense out of God’s plan. i try not to question too much why take someone finally starting to get their life on track. instead i try to remember to be grateful of the time i was allotted with you. that i was blessed to have you as my older brother, and for the memories we have shared in this lifetime. thank you for your beautiful spirit. thank you for continuing to guide me.
i love you.
always your little sister,
cori
🖤🖤🖤
This was absolutely beautifully written. As a big sister I can relate to every feeling you felt as the little sister. The complex idea of the “good kid/bad kid”, the need to be perfect and cause less stress on my mom because my little sister was always in something. The fear of failing, making mistakes, being imperfect or simply living and experiencing life unapologetically. I didn’t lose my sister but those feelings I can resonate with. Thank you for being strong enough and in a place to share this with others!