Not Only Siblings, But Best Friends
By: Flavia Carr

Anything good about me pales in comparison to my brother. I can be smart; Christian excelled in academia, lead trivia teams to victory, and could blow through an episode of Jeopardy. I can be funny; Christian headlined the comedy show in college, won a pageant for his acting and impression abilities, and lit up every room he walked into with witty humor. I could be dutiful; Christian was unwaveringly devoted to those he loved, showing up at every event and being impeccable with his word. I’m creative; he was a true artist, primarily with his duct tape art and replica work. The ties of our shared parentage allowed us to be family, but our similarity and respect for our differences allowed us to be friends. We watched other siblings fight, abandon, and act with vicious intent towards one another, always agreeing that we could never be like that. To never give up on one another.

Our friendship was marked by constant phone calls, video chats, days spent running made up errands and quests, nights staying up late making each other laugh into the wee hours. I relied so heavily on him for clarity and reassurance; him on me for warmth and understanding. We told each other everything, sharing our everchanging hopes and dreams. We had a knack for making each other feel protected, even from each other, but especially from ourselves.

My brother loved to tease me, but had a low tolerance for others who tried. He found such humor in my jokes and observations, but even more in my neuroses and quirks. He saw my compassion and sensitivity not as a weakness, but as something that made me fundamentally good.

It took a long time to get a straight answer on the type of cancer. Even the team at MD Anderson, the best in the world, had to scramble to begin treatment. He endured two rounds of chemo and was given the devastating news that he would need to enter into hospice. Alone. Afraid. In pain. 

The months that followed passed slowly, each day more horrific than the next. I watched the vitality drain out of someone who was the embodiment of life. The joy, laughter, and zest scattered from my beacon of reassurance and hope. My family and I performed his daily living tasks to the best of our abilities. Although he was uncomfortable and perturbed, he expressed his gratitude at every turn, in true Christian form. He asked me to sit with him while he fell asleep, scratch his back, hold his hand. I gave my contact information out to his friends and social media so they could send a message that I’d read each night to him. I hope that he fully comprehended how he touched the lives of every person he interacted with.

He passed on a Tuesday morning. I won’t share the details of how bad it got, but it’s something I wish I couldn’t remember. He’d planned everything in an effort to take the burden from us. He donated his body, planned his memorial, and asked his friends to carry out his wishes so we wouldn’t lift a finger. A testament to his love and yearning to take care of us. 

I first became connected with the Grief and Loss Center after seeking out a group resource as suggested by our hospice social worker. My initial attraction was that the services came at no cost and the availability of virtual meetings. I began attending the Young Adult support group four months after my brother’s passing. Since then, I have consistently attended, listening to others’ stories of love and loss with the chance to share my own. Our shared experience gives way to an understanding that I am unable to find in my daily life. The support groups facilitated by the Grief and Loss Center have been invaluable. 

What sets the Center apart was the absence of denomination and respect for individual faith traditions. This allows for diversity in experiences and has opened me up to philosophies and worldviews I have incorporated into my own battery of coping mechanisms.

This service helped me realize that grief is not linear, but it is measurable. I found my fellow participants expressing sentiments and describing behaviors I was experiencing in tandem. It is a club that needs no members but accepts all in need. I am repeatedly reminded of the horrible journeys that led our paths to cross but am grateful they are part of mine.