Surrounded by Love

Sometimes, when you're in a really low place, it helps to pull your head up, look around, and realize that you are surrounded by love. You can't always see the love. It's easy to shut it out or ignore it. But it's there. 

I find that I shut this love out a lot, especially when I'm in those really low places. I've closed up my heart and don't let anyone or anything in, because love can cause a lot of pain. Today, I forced myself to open my heart up just a little bit. Because I was feeling rather raw and broken. Because yesterday was a shit day. Because sometimes you have to reach those really low places in order to start building yourself back up again. Because keeping my heart closed all the time is actually a tremendous amount of work when there are so many people in this world who have love for me. 

I read what I've written and think, that doesn't sound like you. That sounds like it was written by someone you would probably make fun of for being a sap. But it's how I feel today. And it's how I wish I felt most days. I didn't end up finding the strength in my heart where Shane told me it would be. I found it in other people's hearts. And it was more than enough to keep me going until tomorrow.

"When your strength fails, take some of mine. It will be in your heart when you need it." -Shane Reifert

"When your strength fails, take some of mine. It will be in your heart when you need it." 

Shane wrote this to me in a letter when he was still going through Basic. I had it inscribed on a set of dog tags that I wear when I'm having a particularly rough day or need a bit of luck. It's one of the most beautiful things anyone has ever said to me, and I'm glad it came from my brother. Most of the time, it works. Whenever I think I'm having a rough day, or someone isn't being very nice to me, or I have a list of things I need to do longer than I can count, I repeat Shane's words to myself and I think about him and what he would say to me. I think about all of the rough days that he had in Basic and in Afghanistan. I think about how much of a strong person he was for doing what he did with his life.

Then I usually tell myself to stop feeling so sorry for myself and to accomplish whatever I need to accomplish, and things are fine. Today is one of those days where I have to keep saying that over and over to myself and I can't seem to find any strength left. 

I've been having a pity party for one all day and no matter how many times I look for Shane's strength in my heart, I can't seem to find any. People tell me how strong I am. But I feel weak all the time -- like I've been living off of fake strength for the past four months and maybe reality is finally starting to catch up. 

4 Months

From Post Secret:

 
Miss you, buddy. Every single day.

Member of the 1-327 Killed in Action

Please keep the family and friends of Specialist Brian Tabada, of the 1st Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division, in your thoughts. 

According to the Department of Defense, Specialist Tabada, of Las Vegas, Nevada, was killed in action on February 27, 2011, while fighting in the Kunar Province, Afghanistan. He died as a result of wounds suffered when insurgents attacked his unit using small arms fire and a rocket propelled grenade. 

He was only 21.
 

Redacted

Reading a death report from the Army is like playing the worst game of Mad Libs you can imagine.

There are no nouns. No names of characters. No places. No times. Just cold details and multiple versions of the same exact thing, signed with signatures that have all been redacted, labeled like exhibits for a trial in which no one will ever be charged. So much the same exact thing, that there is no way it's what the writers of those different versions actually remember. I've read enough police and eyewitness reports to know that it's impossible for 30 people to remember something taking place in the same exact way. The human brain just doesn't work that way.

I am in no way suggesting that this indicates any kind of fraud or deception. The report has to read this way because most people would probably infer that different stories indicates some kind of fraud of deception. And a part of me does understand why I was forced to play a terrible game of Mad Libs. But the rest of me thinks that I've gone through enough pain as part of the aftermath of Shane's death that I should just get to read the real report, just one time, so that my brain doesn't have to play mental gymnastics to make sense of document with redaction after redaction.

50,000 Hits

Thank you to everyone who reads this blog. When we started it, I never imagined that we would get to 50,000 hits. Of course, I would much rather have Shane back than know people have been reading this. But since getting him back doesn't seem to be an option, the blog has been a comfort and has hopefully allowed people to get to know Shane and my family. And most importantly, the blog has allowed many of you to donate and help soldiers. So thank you for reading and for your continued support.

Time Doesn't Heal Wounds, It Just Passes

"Time heals all wounds" is a popular saying. I used to believe that it was true. Any heartbreak that I had, any mistake that I made, any bad day was always made better with time. Sometimes it would take days or weeks to make whatever wound I had to start to heal, but the wound would always start to scab over. 

This time, though, nothing. Time isn't healing anything. My wounds are just as open as they were the day that Shane was killed. They're slightly different wounds, but they still hurt like hell.

Part of me wants to forget about Shane for just a few minutes. To find a place where he hasn't been, a song that he hasn't heard, a meal he hasn't eaten. Even if I were to find a new location, I couldn't get rid of Shane if I tried because he permeates every part of my brain. And then another part of me just feels immense guilt for thinking such thoughts. And then the cycle repeats. 

I suppose that time has allowed me to cope with Shane's death. But coping with something and having something healed are two completely different things. I know that I've become better at coping. But I haven't started healing. And part of me thinks that I never will.  

Times of War

"In times of peace, sons bury their fathers. In times of war, fathers bury their sons."

~ King Croesus

 

"All I Mind's Losing You"

I sleep in my brother’s bedroom every night. On his pillows. Surrounded by all of things, untouched since he left them. I suppose that this could be interpreted as morbid. But I find it comforting. I like waking up in the morning to see a young Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix on the walls. Not because I love Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix – I do, but that’s not the point. I also like waking up to see Shane’s book and music collections, and not because I would pick the exact same book and music collections.  The reason I like waking up to these things is because Shane liked these things. Shane picked the Bob Dylan and Jimi Hendrix posters. He picked every CD sprawled over every surface in the room. And he read probably most books in his collection, especially the Star Wars ones. All of these things, added with many others, are part of what made Shane, Shane.

So I wonder, what happens if the room becomes disturbed? What happens if I take a shirt out of the drawer? What happens if I read a book and forget to put it back? What happens when, on some day in the future, these things are packed away or given away? Will I lose a part of Shane? Will that make him more of a memory some how? Does that mean I might forget a part of him?

It’s easy to remember everything now because it’s all still fresh in my mind. I can imagine that Shane is still in Afghanistan and that he will be coming home in two or three months. Then, in two or three months, I will have to make up something else to tell myself when Shane does not come home with everyone else. And time will only continue to move forward, bringing an ever-distancing gap between my brother and me.  Things will continue to happen to me. People will enter my life. Events will occur. Lessons will have to be learned. And all of these things will need to be remembered. And I become afraid of remembering these new things – afraid that they will take over my memories and push Shane out. Of course, when I rationally think about it, I know that isn’t how memory works. But even with reason and logic, my concern remains. And that is that I’m going to lose Shane.

Pity Party

Today is a day where I would like nothing more than to lay around feeling sorry for myself and saying, "why me" to no one in particular. I don't want a dead brother. I want an alive brother who is going to be coming home from Afghanistan by the time the weather is nice out and who I can go visit and talk to on the phone and in person and share music with and fight with if I'm angry at him and laugh with him about a stupid joke and cry with him if I'm sad or just sit in silence with him because sometimes that's okay, too. I want to yell at someone that none of this is fair. That Shane was a good person and didn't deserve to die. That I just want my brother back. I want someone to tell me that the joke is over and Shane can come out now and be alive and I won't even get sore about the past three months being awful if I can just please have my brother back. So if that could just happen soon I'd really appreciate it.

I wish that Shane was just some kid I knew and not my brother so that all of this didn't hurt so badly. So that I could just move on. But there really isn't ever going to be any moving on. There will be adjusting and there will be a point where I can drive in the car by myself without crying, yes, but there won't ever be moving on because I don't get another brother. I can get a boyfriend or a husband or a guy friend or a son but I can never get another brother.

And now I just feel selfish for all of the things that I think and feel right now and I know that all of this is normal or is probably normal because I don't read any books about this sort of thing. But I just want a break from it.