The
question I am asked constantly is “How are your parents doing?” A simple
question right? One that’s usually asked during a lull in conversation or when
you’re catching up with an “old friend”. Except when it’s followed with an
all-knowing look because the person that asked the question knows how your
parents are doing. You know the one where they tilt their head to the side,
look you square in the eye, and maybe even touch your shoulder for support,
then break eye contact because of how uncomfortable the answer might make them.
So instead of telling the truth you lie, saying, “Oh they’re great! Mom has
started a new job. Dad stays busy around the house and they threaten to move to
college with me every day!” But that’s
not the truth. The truth is, you haven’t seen your mother’s eyes light up in 2
years, and your father spends his nights in the barn because he can escape his
own reality for a short time. You see, the truth is always the hardest ones to
tell. So you stick to the generic. It’s easier that way.
I lost my brothers when I was 17
years old. I was a junior in high school and the only thing that I was
concerned with was how much I hated having a job, and more importantly, how to
get the, “boy of my dreams” to fall in love with me. I never thought in a
million years that the first semester of my junior year would be spent drowning
in sympathy cards, eating “funeral food,” as I liked the call it. You know the
food that people bring by after a tragedy because they don’t know what else to
do? They just know they want to do something. And of course picking out the
music, pictures, quotes, and flowers that tend to make funerals less dreary and
funeral like. I always thought I’d help my brothers plan their marriage
proposals and weddings, not their funerals.
When most people hear our story
their mouths almost fall open and their eyes tend to get the size of saucers
because even having lived through the last two years, when I tell it out loud,
I myself can’t even believe it. Usually people say things like, “Oh my
goodness.. I’m so sorry.” Or, “That’s awful..” I sometimes chuckle to myself
thinking what a great Lifetime movie our lives would make!
The day our lives changed forever
was October 5, 2012. My older brother Justin had just picked up his usual pack
of cigarettes and decided to take a back road on his way home to enjoy the
beautiful fall day. Little did he know that in a matter of seconds he would
take his last breath, as an oncoming vehicle ran a stop sign, and ended his
young life of just 21. Justin was your typical middle child. He got the short
end of the stick on everything. I mean, my oldest brother got the brains, I got
the looks, but Lord, did he get the personality. He had a laugh that was so contagious
and it literally reverberated off the walls. One of his greatest talents was
making even the people that didn’t like him; love him by the end of the night.
Out of the three of us kids, he was the one with the big heart. We always joked
that he was the sticky, gross stuff that held our family together. The day
Justin died, I witnessed my beautiful family of 5 start to fall apart without our glue.
No parent should have to bury his or
her child. No parent should have to set up funeral arrangements, or deal with
the life insurance, or decide whether or not to donate their child’s organs. No
parent should have to go through that hell. Ever.
Then there’s Jared. I could probably
write an entire book on my oldest brother and it wouldn’t be good enough for
him. He was a man that always strived for greatness and settled for nothing.
Our barn was filled with inspiration quotes and his favorite song to play
before a big show was, “All I do is win,” if that tells you anything about his
competitive side, and maybe illustrates just a little bit of his arrogance as
well. I’ll let you be the judge of that. After Justin’s accident, God gave me
the gift of becoming extremely close with my big brother. We shared many nights
together, and if we couldn’t be together, he made sure to blow up my phone with
lots of text messages and calls to let me know how much he loved me. Little did
any of us know that Jared, the strong “protector” of our family, was fighting
his own battles that we knew nothing about.
On December 26th I hugged
my oldest brother Jared one last time, as he rubbed his hand on the top of my
head trying to “fix my hair,” as he said. December 26, 2012 was the
last time I heard my big brother tell me he loved me, and the last time I got
to say it back. At roughly 1:30 AM December 27, 2012 my brother
Jared was met by his little brother at Heaven’s gates, and half of the Bedwell
family was together again.
No parent should have to bury his or her
child.
They say that grief has its stages
and that every person grieves in their own way. But they don’t really mention
the shock that goes with it. They don’t mention how sometimes you just can’t
cry, because you’ve already used up all your tears. They don’t mention how much
you want to sleep because sleeping is so much easier than facing the real
world. And they definitely don’t mention the change that you see in the mirror
every morning.
In 3 short months, I went from a fun
loving, carefree, selfish, chubby teenage girl, to this serious, stoic, woman
who had bags under her eyes, and who’s cheek bones stuck out. My parents, went
from being laid back, goofy, happy, adoring parents, to strict, sad, serious
individuals who’s biggest fear and concern was anytime their only living child
got out of their sight. In 3 short months a family of 5 became a family of 3. A
mother and father lost part of their future. They lost the possibility of big
Christmas’s with lots of grandkids. They lost getting to have daughter in laws,
and helping plan 3 weddings and baby showers. My mother lost her baby boys, and
my daddy lost two of his very best friends.
I sometimes feel that when I tell
people that my parents are my hero’s they kind of blow it off, thinking it’s a
fairly cookie cutter answer. But the truth is, you never know what true
strength is until you look into the eyes of someone, who all they want to do is
give up, but they keep on going, because of you.. You never know true courage
until you watch someone overcome the uncomfortable glances, and hushed voices
that tend to follow a tragedy, so that they can return to work to provide for
the people they love. You never know true love until you have a child, and you
never know true heart ache until you lose someone that you love.
“You’re so strong,” people mean it
as a compliment, but it feels as if it couldn’t be farther from the truth. How
can you be strong when every time you walk into a crowded show barn or a family
gathering, your legs feel weak? How can you be strong when tears come so
easily, and defeat seems so close? I used to feel as if that when people called
me strong, they didn’t know what they were talking about. Then I realized that
real strength is going on, when every part of you wants to give up. Real
strength is putting one foot in front of the other and crawling out of bed
every day. Real strength is putting the needs of others before your own. Real
strength lies in the hearts of my parents who selflessly devoted themselves to
me and all the projects I’ve had in the last 2 years. Real strength is in the
friends that come to stock shows, graduations, call on birthday’s, and make it
to other special events even though attending such things causes them to miss
the best friends they once had. Real strength is having so much love for the
person that you lost that you live your life, not only for yourself, but also
for them. Real strength is learning to live again.
Grief is such a funny, tricky
thing.. One day your curled up in the fettle position in the clipping room
asking God why he would put through such hell, then before you know it you
catch yourself smile, or maybe even laugh at a joke someone told. Then before
too long, you start to joke around too. And strange enough, a few more weeks,
or months go by and you catch yourself singing in the car again. Finally you
come to the realization that life does go on.. Even when such a large part of
your heart is missing, life continues. Before you know it, you graduate high
school, college, get married, have babies, watch as they grow up and slowly it
gets to where you don’t think about that gnawing pain in your chest anymore. You
just learn to live with the discomfort.
