Can the sorrow ever really give up?

It was Friday morning on the 29^th of April 2011. I had a day off from work. It was a sunny morning and I was having coffee on the balcony. It was already warm enough outside that spending time on the balcony was enjoyable. Spring had arrived. I took my phone and gave a call to my brother, but there was no answer. I sent him a text message by wishing him a happy birthday. He was turning 24 years.

Just about half an hour later, my phone rang. I picked it. It was my mother who was totally beside herself. “Mom, what has happened?!,” I exclaimed and started getting really anxious. “Tiina, you don’t have a little brother anymore.”

I will never forget that moment. I will never forget those words. I’ll never forget how it felt. The first thought was that she was kidding me. I was sure I had misunderstood her words somehow. I prayed to God I would have. But the cruel truth was that she was serious. My brother passed away in an accident three years ago in the very same day he would have turned 24.

I’ve been feeling blue all day long because this morning I got to know one of my closer relatives has a chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. In the past 12 months, there have been many issues in the family. Somehow I’ve started wondering how I’ve actually managed to get through it all. But it’s funny how strong a person actually can be. No matter what was thrown on your way, you’d just keep holding up.

I’ve often been wondering if I still have recovered from my brother’s passing. Can such a sorrow ever really give up? “Time heals the wounds,” is how the saying goes in Finnish. But every now and then it feels that a family member’s passing is something too big. Somehow it feels it damages a person for good in a way.

I had the same feeling when my grandpa passed away in May last year. He was 80 years old and he was really sick. He passed on cancer and it was actually a relief that he finally passed. I certainly don’t mean I’d be happy it happened. But it would have been terrible if his fate had been to spend months in the hospital surrounded by all the tubes, machines, doctors, and nurses. He was so sick and weak that he didn’t even manage to get out of bed anymore.

His passing was fast and calm. Fortunately he didn’t have more pain he actually had. But he was the last grandparent I had left. Now there’s none. They just live in my memories just like my brother does. What is a comforting thing is that no one can take the memories away. But I still feel sometimes that one day my brother and grandparents would come back – like they had just been in a long journey. Unfortunately, that’s simply wishful thinking.

I have very good memories of my brother. We shared two interests; cooking and music. He made me inspired to start learning to cook. He was a cook and he was excellent at it. Now cooking is one of my dearest hobbies. We often played together; I played the piano and he played guitar. He would challenge me with older rock ‘n roll that wasn’t the easiest to play. He liked The Doors. He liked jazz and blues. And he got me to like that stuff too as well as to play those genres.

In the previous entry, I was referring to a country song Cowboy Up. Fortunately I’ve found country music. It keeps me going and gives me strength. The lyrics of most of the songs have been very well written and they give me strength. Music has an amazing power in it. It can also have a huge effect on me. Fortunately I’ve found the kind of music that can comfort me. It’d be hard to keep going without it.