I Cry

Posted by Guest | September 20, 2009 | 20 Comments

Mendy Hunter was born and raised in Pennsylvania. She is the fourth of eight children. Mendy left the lush, green hills of her home and headed west to BYU. After taking a scholastic break to complete a mission in Romania, she graduated with an English degree. Soon thereafter, she married, started a family and moved to Maryland, where she currently resides. Mendy now has four children and spends her days in the full-time occupation of motherhood. Interests in addition to her family include reading, quilting, hair-styling and blogging at Mother Is A Verb at www.mendyhunter.blogspot.com

I have seen death. I was touching my five-year-old brother when he took his last breath. “I love you, Brent. I love you,” I repeated as I stroked his arm. I wanted him to hear that, to know that, and to remember it when he slipped from this world to the next. His weary body had been fighting the leukemia for almost four years, but his death certificate blames pneumonia for his demise. (The slightest common cold quickly turns into pneumonia when your body doesn’t have the immune system to fight it.)

My father, older brother and I reclined on the bed around his failing body. “My right lung just collapsed,” he announced through ragged breaths. How did he even know what that felt like? I wondered. His breathing grew louder, more labored, if such a thing were possible. Then it was silent. Painfully, loudly silent; we did not speak to break the ugliness. There was nothing to say.

Whenever I think of that Wednesday afternoon in March twenty-three years ago, I weep. I cry out of sadness for the twelve-year-old girl who became intimately acquainted with grief at such a young age. I cry for my brother who lost his best friend, and, for a time, his faith in God. I cry for my parents who watched a disease gain victory over their baby boy.

And, if I am truly honest, I will admit that I cry for a thirty-five-year-old woman who still loves a brother she can barely remember. I have only a hand-full of recollections of him left in my memory. When I read my diaries from the months and years immediately following his death, I see the words, “I miss Brent” written in my pubescent bubble script and I don’t empathize with them. I never think to write those words now. I used to feel guilty that I don’t feel a big void in my life where another brother should be, but now I don’t. I understand that the void isn’t there because my brother still lives. Without a second thought, I count him as one of my siblings even though he hasn’t been around at Christmas or weddings with the rest of us. I still love him.

On the day he died, I knew that Brent’s beloved Transformers weren’t going with him, nor was his state-of-the-art Teddy Ruxpin bear, but he could certainly leave this earth with the thought in his mind that his sister loved him. Even after he took his last breath, I endlessly repeated, “I love you, Brent. I love you.” And I still do.

Comments

20 Responses to “I Cry”

Corinne
September 20th, 2009 @ 7:49 am

Thanks so much for sharing that, Mendy. What a hard and yet sweet memory, to have been there.
Kellie
September 20th, 2009 @ 8:52 am

Beautiful, Mendy. I love how your knowledge and faith woven through this story.
Kellie
September 20th, 2009 @ 8:53 am

…how your knowledge and faith *are* woven through this story…
Carol
September 20th, 2009 @ 9:18 am

Thanks for the beautiful post. You express so well the feelings a child has when they watch a loved one die. I lost my father to cancer when I was a teen, and my mother nearly died when I was ten. Those experiences were painful, heart-breaking, and sorrowful, and yet they also taught me that life is precious, that love is eternal, and that faith is priceless. I would not have chosen to learn those lessons in that manner, but knowing that my father–and now my mother–still live and love me and believing that my Father knows and loves me as well gives me peace during times of sorrow and adversity.
Jill Shelley
September 20th, 2009 @ 10:14 am

What great writing. She writes like she is just sitting here talking to us. That’s a gift. I wish I had read this about 12 years ago when my husband and the father of my 4 sons died. It would have helped me a bit more understand how a child faces the death of a loved one.
annegb
September 20th, 2009 @ 11:48 am

Lovely. Mendy, thank you.
mmiles
September 20th, 2009 @ 2:14 pm

Mendy,
Thanks for reminding us all that it’s still painful for those who have lost loved ones years down the road. Time doesn’t heal all things.
Merry Michelle
September 20th, 2009 @ 2:39 pm

Beautiful. I cry too, especially when someone can convey loss and pain so purely. I’m sure Brent watches over you and all the members of your family and that you’ve all felt his presence through the veil.
Natasha
September 20th, 2009 @ 3:36 pm

What a beautiful post. Thank you.
Selwyn
September 20th, 2009 @ 5:09 pm

Loss IS loss, no matter the time since the ‘time’. Thank you for sharing, and the reminder.
Cari
September 20th, 2009 @ 5:35 pm

Very nice. I’m crying now too. Well written. You MUST be a wonderful person, in person.
Handsfullmom
September 20th, 2009 @ 8:15 pm

That was beautiful. My husband lost two siblings; one died at birth and the other at age 20. For a time, I had a hard time understanding why he always said there were nine kids in his family, when his parents really only raised eight and there are only seven left now. But it’s like you said, they are still his siblings even though they’ve passed on.
Tracy
September 20th, 2009 @ 9:49 pm

Mendy, I never heard that experience you had before. It’s so sweet and tragic. Love you sweet friend!
Laurrel
September 20th, 2009 @ 10:18 pm

I’m sure he is so happy with who that 12 year old sister has become. What a sweet reunion you will have with him one day.
m&m
September 20th, 2009 @ 11:02 pm

I cry, reading this.

Thank you for sharing this touching piece.
Margaret
September 21st, 2009 @ 9:36 am

You’ve powerfully and well.
Ellen
September 21st, 2009 @ 10:17 am

I loved your post. My brother died 11 years ago next Monday. It’s tough to lose a sibling. But we will see them again and it will be a reunion filled with slugs and hugs I’m sure.
m2theh
September 21st, 2009 @ 2:59 pm

I still cry for the little sister I never knew, who was stillborn 23 years ago. I was 12 years old at the time, and it still hurts.
nicole
September 30th, 2009 @ 1:21 pm

I’m crying too now-big sloppy tears. Thanks for sharing Mendy-and I’m sure he knows how much he is missed-the love in your family and in you is so apparent.
Vanessa
October 4th, 2009 @ 10:02 pm

That is so very touching Mendy. Thanks for sharing and helping to put life in perspective. Makes me want to go squeeze my babes and never let go.