Blog.

Violet smiled the other day and I saw my brother, Andrew, in her smile. Also, like him, she has a wicked sense of humor. Georgia has a love for science and does this silly little dance. Andrew used to have a silly little dance (I can still do it). She and my dad (or Papa Sparky as they call him) really have fun with all of the science. Andrew’s presence, or lack of, has been a lot louder lately. I’m giving credit to the fact that I’ve been stepping out and talking about my st

May 1st was the 28th heavenversary of my brother Andrew’s death. To the average person reading this, you might think, “Man…that’s a long time! He’s still a thing? Aren’t you over that by now?” Why yes, insensitive person. I am still talking about him because here’s the thing: I still miss him. He is still my brother. I just got frustrated he wasn’t here…again. A few weeks ago I had a dream of my brother and cousin, Joseph. I can’t tell you the last time I had an Andrew dream.

I like closure and these last 24-months refuse to go away. I don’t like things being drawn out, I need them buttoned up and dealt with so I can move on. I attribute that to the loss of my brother, and what my parents describe as, my “high need for closure.” Right now, my husband is at work and I’m at home with our two girls, dog, and cat. COVID-19 is currently working its way through the U.S. and so I’ve been working from home full-time and “teaching” the girls school. I will

A tribute that includes fishing, snoring, and La-Z-Boy chairs. Dear Papa Bear, I don’t know what my first memory of you is. You’ve just always been. I remember staying the night at your house when I was a kid–so many sleepovers. I would wake up for two reasons: you were snoring or you were leaving for work at Dow Chemical at 5 a.m. in the morning and it was still dark. That darkness impressed me, it meant you were responsible. That snoring scared me at first and then turned c

I typically try to write these as though they are to my brother. Today I’m going to talk to the person who took his life. If you aren’t familiar with my story, “Setting the Stage” is a good place to start. Today there was an accident at a bus stop in Rochester, Indiana. I didn’t have the chance to chose to read the news article about three siblings all killed, and one other critically injured. I couldn’t avoid it on social media. So many friends sharing news articles saying,

“woman sitting on cliff overlooking mountains during daytime” by Milan Popovic on Unsplash Hey Andrew, There are times when it feels like it’s going to get tough for a while and there’s nothing I can do about it. It feels like we’ve been in the trenches for two-years and looks like we may be here a bit longer. Grandpa is sick. The thing is, it doesn’t really matter which Grandpa I’m talking about because they are both within a few years of each other and while Grandpa Lentz i

Oh, boy. I knew this day would come, I really did. All siblings have this moment and it’s totally normal. Georgia and Violet have begun to fight. I guess that’s not right. They’ve been fighting…for years. My husband, the only child (bless him), keeps asking when this “phase is over.” I had to be the one to tell him that it wasn’t going to ever be “over” and that this was totally normal. I think he died a little inside. So as children do, they say hurtful things to and about e

This title is a bit misleading. This isn’t a blog about rainbows, or even The Muppets. This is a blog about how triggers send us down a road we’d rather not travel on. Everyone has a trigger when it comes to grief. For some it may be a word, an event, an action taken by someone else, a smell, or even a song. My grandma passed away from cancer ten years and one month after my brother. My grandma was amazing. She never said anything mean about any one, was always willing to wat

“person writing on a book” by Cathryn Lavery on Unsplash Just a short blog. Now that I know the pain of losing my brother, whenever I hear of a news event involving a life gone too soon or a friend loses someone prematurely, I feel every emotion tied to my experience and wish I could trade pain since I am equipped now to handle it. (Kinda… mostly… okay, I’ve just gotten used to it.) I also grieve for the person who is not gone, knowing a bit of how they may feel “existing.” R

Andrew, age 4. Dow Gardens, Midland, Michigan. Deadlines and urgent requests were pouring in so mom and I decided to work through lunch. She ran to get the food and took longer than I thought she should. Instantly, I could see her mangled car on the side of the road and waves of anguish approaching…then she walked in and all was okay again. Matt and the girls will be away from me, and if I text and don’t have a response within minutes my panic starts to rise. Matt will go out

Andrew, Age 6. Mad scientist How I respond when asked if I have siblings. How do I answer that? Yes. No. I did. Whatever answer I give is awkward. If I say “yes,” then I’m telling the truth but if they prod…I’ll get to that in a second. If I say “no,” I feel like I’m being disloyal to my brother. After Andrew died, I would tell the truth, “I did have a brother but he was hit by a car and died.” That was always met by looks of horror, sadness and then pity. When it was fresh,

Georgia. Tonight, Georgia was helping me give Violet a bath… “Someday G, you and Violet will be able to take baths together. Won’t that be fun? My brother and I took baths together when I was little. We loved it!” “But he died right?” “Yes, he did. He’s in Heaven now.” “Why didn’t his doctors try to fix him?” “They did try but not everything can be fixed.” The simplicity of this exchange amazes me. The words cut, but the understanding is clear. The processing of events that p

Dear Andrew I’m sitting in my youngest daughter’s room willing her to sleep. For some reason, my girls don’t want to sleep. Ever. Me? That’s all I want to do. Remember when you and I shared a room? We had that bunk bed dad built. You had a mattress on the floor and I slept on the top. We didn’t seem to sleep either if I remember correctly. Or rather, I didn’t sleep. Karma and all that. I remember doing flips over the wall of the bed onto your mattress. I landed a little too h

Exit Stage Left On May 1, 1992, my seven-year-old brother was crossing the street to get the mail. He stepped off of the school bus, crossed the road, and was hit by a pick-up truck. He did not live. I was three weeks away from my 13th birthday. My hope for this blog is not to gain sympathy. Crap happens (good things happen too.) The goal of this blog is to help other siblings with their loss and know that they are not alone. When lives are snuffed out before their time, the