 These vintage IU sweatshirts were Dave's Christmas gifts to all his sisters at Christmas 2016. He was so proud of himself for thinking of this gift because he was recreating a photo from when we were little of all us in IU sweatshirts. With all the layers of grief as we miss my brother David this Christmas season, it's hard to know what to think or say. I woke up on Christmas morning feeling really sad. I thought about not getting out of bed for the whole day, but I did. The weather was so nice, and the sun was shining so I took a walk outside to help me calm my heart before I faced the day. I asked God to tell Dave how much I love and miss him and how much we wish we could see him and hear his laugh this Christmas.
I wrote the following words a few months ago and decided I wanted to post it today because it rings true especially for this season. Someone put a gift bag in my mailbox with a shirt that says, “I’m not okay” on the front and “I’m still mad” on the back. It was so kind of this mysterious gift-giver to give this to me because that’s what I kept feeling in the months after my brother died. In Jewish culture, widows wear black for a year to help people know to understand why she might be downcast and to treat her with care. In biblical times, people would often tear their robes to show their sorrow, and sometimes they would even shave their head and put ashes on their face in an expression of their grief. So I’ve been wearing my shirt that says, “I’m not okay,” and for some reason, that helps. It’s hard to answer the question, “How are you?” It’s a common question that we all ask each other, but sometimes it’s really hard to know how to answer. The truth is… I’m not okay, I want to scream, I want to throw things, I’m hurting, I’m tired. I’m learning to live with the pain. I’m lamenting, and I’m worshiping. I’m celebrating good moments, and I’m crying on the way home. I’m learning to live with the pain. I’m crushed, but I’m not giving up. I’m overwhelmed, but I’m trying to do the next right thing. I’m learning to live with the pain. I’m not the same, I’m no longer innocent to the taste of death, I’m loosening my grip on the things I thought I could control, I’m laying down plans I thought I had, I’m learning to live with the pain. I’m not as self-sufficient now. I’m just a vulnerable sheep, and the Lord is my Shepherd. I’m following my Good Shepherd each day, each hour, each step, each breath, I’m relying on Him for every little step because I feel lost and weak, and life doesn’t make any sense anymore. But I’m also BLESSED. The Bible tells us “Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.” God is a God of COMFORT, so I get to experience this fully now. There is COMFORT in God’s presence, so that’s where I want to be more than ever. That’s where there is true peace, True rest, True warmth and light. The hope of heaven fills my heart. “Blessed are those who mourn for they will be comforted.”
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 I was probably 16 in this photo, and Dave was probably 13. We're holding our sister Sara's dogs. I don't remember taking this photo, but I do remember Dave's shirt and my shirt. We must have worn them often. Tonight I decided to sit down and write a letter to my brother.
Dear Dave, I feel like I have all these things I want to tell you. Stephanie and I had such an amazing trip together in Tijuana and San Diego. I hope you got to see how she honored you on your wedding anniversary—how she gave her testimony in front of 100 people exactly 1 year after your wedding, how she donated her wedding dress to a woman in Tijuana, how she held that woman’s niece and found a flower girl dress for her, how she prayed for this woman before the wedding, how she carried the dress’s train as she walked. God gave us so much joy that night. Then we went to San Diego, and Stephanie and I walked the beach together. I wished so badly you had been there to walk alongside her. Dave, we saw other couples on the boardwalk by the beach pushing strollers with their babies. We saw young dads with little kids on their shoulders. I looked at Stephanie and told her, “It’s too hard to think what might have been.” Gosh, we miss you so much, and it’s hard to let go of the dream that you and Stephanie would have had children together, and you would have been such a fun dad. You would have been so proud carrying your babies around; you would have raised your children to know Jesus and listen to God’s voice. It’s too hard to think about what might have been. Dave, I felt like God told me He wanted to restore my joy. I still don’t know how to live without you, but I know that I have to carry the joy of heaven in me. Dave, Stephanie is such a faith-filled woman. But you already know that. We talked about you everyday on our trip. We loved California and Mexico. But it was so hard coming back. I broke down on Thursday, sobbed hard from my gut, because I came back to the Hope Center, and you’re still not here. Dave, I sit at your desk. I find notes in your handwriting. I log into your computer. I just started a bible study, and Stephanie is letting us meet in your apartment. I don’t know how this is real, but I have to keep living each day. I’m going to eat Mom’s fried apple pies for my birthday. You loved those so much. We loved to eat them together with Mom and Dad. We’d eat half, and then save the other half to eat for breakfast the next morning. You loved apples. Life keeps happening, Dave. Andrew Luck retired. IU’s basketball season started. Kanye West made a gospel album. Gabby got her wisdom teeth out, and she is applying to colleges. Anna got her learner's permit, and she's pregnant with a baby boy. I wish you were around to be this child’s uncle. We miss you, Dave. At church this morning, I saw a guy from a distance that looked a little like you, and for a minute, I thought I was you. I’ll always be looking over my shoulder for you. You are my brother. That word is so precious to me now. It’s incredible that God gave me a brother like you. Okay, Dave, I have to wipe my tears, take some medicine for my headache, and finish a few things before I go to bed. I love you so much, Mary |
Mary works at Brookville Road Community Church, where she leads children's ministry and women's ministry. She is the author of She Won't Shrink Back: A Story of Building & Believing.
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