I Never

When I was younger, I would play the game “I Never” with friends. Everyone would sit in a circle with their hands in fists in front of them. One by one, each person in the circle would take a turn saying something they had never done. If someone else had done something, they had to put a finger up. The goal was to think of things that the others in the circle had done. Whoever got to 10 fingers up first was the loser.

Nowadays, I play “I Never” with myself. When Shane’s death was very recent, the big “I Nevers” were in the forefront of my mind. I Never get to see Shane again. I Never get to talk to Shane again. I Never get to celebrate a holiday with him.

As time stretches and the space between Shane’s death and the current day grows, it’s the little “I Nevers” that get me the most. These “I Nevers” creep up on me in quiet moments. Like today, while standing over the sink, wishing we had a dishwasher, I paused as I rinsed the suds off of an indigo blue bowl. It is one bowl of a set of four that reside in our cupboards, and I use one of them almost every morning.

But it wasn’t until this day, holding the bowl under steaming hot water, watching soap fall down the drain, that I thought how the bowl came to be in its current place. Shane and I had purchased the bowls, along with dinner plates and side plates and mugs and servingware. I don’t remember if they were for Mother’s Day or our mother’s birthday or maybe Christmas. But I remember going shopping with Shane, in the basement of a department store. I remember he was wearing his black Converse shoes and the light was very harsh and we looked at probably every set of dishes before coming back to a particular set of indigo blue dishes that we had examined when we first arrived in housewares. It’s a silly little memory. But it brings about a host of “I Nevers.” I will never walk through a department store with Shane. I will never make a decision with him, no matter how big or small. I will never buy another present for our parents with him. I will never walk a little ways behind him, surprised at how much of a man he had become as he walks with his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched, always looking thoughtful. These are the “I Nevers” that I will probably miss the most, but which are most capable of slipping from my mind because they are tiny moments, not occasions captured with a camera lens.

All of this came to my mind as I finished washing an indigo blue bowl.

I never take much care with dishes, but today I dried the bowl more delicately than required, and placed it gently in its proper spot in the cupboard.

Puzzle Pieces

I went to the mall today to do a small amount of Christmas shopping that couldn't be done online. I'm not doing much shopping to begin with this year. My brother has been dead for 41 days. The lives of my family members and myself have been forever changed because of his death, and it's just a little difficult to get into the Christmas spirit. 

But I went to the mall. It was a mall that Shane and I had gone to when he was home on leave. We had to leave after about 10 minutes because the mall is very open and he didn't feel safe. It was something that I will probably never understand because I have never been in a war zone. I've never had anyone shoot a gun at me. I've never had to look for cover. I've never had to think about the possibility of a hidden sniper. But Shane had, and even though we were in America, we had to leave the mall. I thought about that the entire time I was in the mall. I thought about how dangerous a place it would be if something bad were happening. Too much glass, nothing to hide behind, too many people, not enough exits, too many variables. 

I did my shopping. I eavesdropped on conversations. I stood in long lines. I was surrounded by normal people with normal lives and I was jealous of them. Yes, everyone has their own story. Everyone has tragic events in their lives. Fortunately, we aren't made to walk around wearing t-shirts that read "My Brother was Killed" or "I'm an Alcoholic Single Mother" or "When I was 10 I was Molested." So it's quite possible that everyone I was with while at the mall was also suffering through some sort of tragedy. Maybe they all were. But listening to such mundane conversations makes me feel as if they were all leading normal lives while I was being miserable. Maybe that's because today I chose to allow myself to feel miserable. Maybe that's what I needed. But going to the mall made me feel depressed and alone and gave me a sense of dread for the upcoming holidays. 

One thing I'm not dreading is that one of the men with whom Shane went to Basic is coming to visit my family and myself over Christmas. I'm glad he's brave enough to come stay with us during a time when many might not want to be around us. I'm excited to meet him and hear stories about Shane; for him to bring with him another piece of Shane.

I find pieces of Shane in so many different people and places. It's as if I'm building a puzzle that I cannot see. I have no idea how big the puzzle is or how many pieces it contains and I probably never will. But people keep bringing me pieces and the puzzle is gradually becoming more complete. When it's done, I will know Shane better than if he had lived to be 100, because I will know parts of him that he never would have shared with me in life. Of course, I'd rather have him alive. But since I cannot, I will continue to accept the pieces of Shane that everyone so generously gives to me. And it will be enough.

Shopping for the Unexpected; Screaming when Alone

Today I went to the mall with my father. We were going suit shopping. Normally, I love going to the mall, swiping my charge, and carrying home bags. But today was very different. We were buying a suit for Shane's upcoming funeral. 

The first salesperson we encountered was a flit of a girl. Younger than I am and "not my style," as my dad noted. She wouldn't take his measurements, didn't know how long alterations would take. So we moved on to the next store. 

Click "read more" for the rest of my mall encounter and my conversation with Grandpa and Grandma.