Eighteen years ago today, I lost my oldest brother Roger in a car accident. I will never forget the late night phone call from my father or the crack in his voice as he struggled to hold back the tears. I will never forget the feeling I felt as I heard his words. My heart was in my throat and my stomach was churning. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move.
By this time my husband had become conscious enough to know that something was terribly wrong. Somehow I must have choked out enough to inform him of what had happened. He tried his best to comfort me but I don't remember a word he said. I could not focus enough to hear him. A million thoughts were whirling in my head. Why? How? Are they sure? His kids, his wife, what were they going through? My Mom, oh the agony she must be feeling! I should call. I can't call. I don't know what to say!
I returned to bed. I didn't know what else to do. I did not sleep. I cried. I thought. I prayed. I listened to the wind outside my window and the snoring of my sleeping husband. I cried some more. I struggled with my emotions that plagued my mind, body and spirit. My very soul was shaken to its core.
Somewhere in all of this turmoil, I realized that I wasn't really shocked at his death or even how he died. For those of you who knew Roger, you knew he liked to live life on the edge; always looking for adventure and always on the go. He had always been restless and in his restlessness he was often careless. I do know he loved his family. He was a proud father of seven kids and he really did cherish them. He took them fishing (one of his most favorite pass times). He played with them, (usually this involved teasing and wrestling). He included them on camping trips and romps in the mud with his truck. He really was just a big kid at heart.
No, I wasn't really shocked that he was gone, I was sad that he was gone. Sad because of the words that I had never spoken and should have. Sad because I really did love that guy and I don't know if I ever told him. Sad because all I had left of him now was memories. They were mostly good memories. Scrabble games where he made up words that turned out to be real words. Motorcycle rides that scared the begeebers out of our mother! Football games, wrestling matches, tickle fights, and even snake wrangling. These are what I have left, but they are enough.
I truly believe that a piece of my brother lives on in everyone who knew him and cares to remember him. We all lost something wonderful that day, but we don't have to lose it all. Remember. Remember the good memories and even the bad because each one of those memories not only keeps Roger alive, it helps to keep us alive as well. Every person that God puts in our lives helps to make us who we are. We can become stronger for the memory of love or we can become weaker and live in our sorrow and regret. But Roger….he would have picked the first over the latter. I never knew him to live in sorrow or regret and I know without a doubt that he wouldn't want any of us to live that way either.
The night may have been long, several years' worth, but the joy does come, you just have to look for it.
Weeping may last for the night, but a shout of joy comes in the morning. Psalm 30:5b
Rest in peace Roger, rest in peace.
