We're OK

In 2008, my family lost my brother.  He was 28.  I know that it sounds cliche, but his death has left a huge void in our family.  I remember getting together for holidays after his death and scanning the room to do a mental head count:  1, 2, 3, 4, etc.  I was always shocked when everyone was there. Except for Matt.  It felt like half of us were missing.  It was just too quiet, too calm.

I know that we all take things for granted.  There's a reason for the saying: "Hindsight's 20/20."  We see things clearer as time goes by, and it's only in retrospect that we realize what we once had.  One of my biggest regrets in life is not being the sister I should have been to Matt.  I was the proverbial oldest sister.  The "mother hen" constantly nagging him to be appropriate and then being absolutely mortified when inevitably, he wasn't.  I wish I could go back and enjoy the moments he gave us.  Like high school graduation.  It wasn't enough for Matt to cross the stage and receive his diploma.  He had to pick the principal up (Matt was a BIG guy) and bounce him in a huge bear hug.  He celebrated my wedding by making the rounds at my reception and slapping all my friends on the rear.  For our other brother's college graduation, he sported the tiniest pair of Daisy Dukes EVER (Did I mention he was a big guy?) and a cowboy hat made out of Coor Light boxes.  He was truly the life of the party. 

In 2009, thirty years after Matt was born, my family gained Stinkus.  I've often said that it's like having a little piece of Matt here.  She's impulsive, funny, ornery, and uninhibited.  She loves to be the class clown, the center of attention, the life of the party.  Matt's favorite joke when he was little:  "What time is it when an elephant sits on a fence?"  I can't even tell you how many times I heard that joke.  Stinkus likes to tell one about a mailman hitting a cat.  Ask her.  She'll tell you.  :)  She's assumed her role as the one who makes us laugh and if anyone is upset, she sticks her little fingers in the corners of her mouth and sticks out her tongue to make her "silly face."  She doesn't understand if it doesn't work--"But I make you happy!"  I hate that she's already holding herself responsible for our happiness but I have to say that 99% of the time, she's successful.  :) 

This summer we've noticed a few new "Stinkus-isms."  One:  "I not gonna care."  Usually accompanied by a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"Stinkus, your shoes are on the wrong feet."
Shrug.  "I not gonna care."
"Stinkus, you have ketchup all over your face."
Shrug.  "I not gonna care."
"Stinkus, look up.  You still have shampoo in your hair."
Shrug.  "I not gonna care." 

You get the picture.  I'm both infuriated at her easy-come-easy-go attitude and jealous that I can't be more like her.  And once again, I see a little bit of my brother who was taken way too soon.

This past weekend, we traveled to a family reunion where tensions can sometimes run high and tempers can flare.  We were late.  In my mind I wanted to be at our day's destination hours before.  So I'm rushing around, growling and irritated, headed out the door with Stinkus on my hip.  And I hear her other recent Stinkus-ism: "It gonna be o-tay, Mom."  And I literally stopped in my tracks.  She's been saying this for a while now.  And there's nothing funnier than hearing a three year old remind me in the car:  "Take a deep bweff, Mom.  Just take a deep bweff.  It gonna be ooooo-tay."  But this particular day. . . maybe because I was with family, maybe because I again noticed the void in our bunch. . . . At that moment, I realized it was something Matt said all the time:  "It'll be O.K."  My dad even wanted it on his tombstone-- almost as if Matt is reassuring us from heaven.  I immediately teared up and marveled at how much this little person is like him.  I know that she'll never replace Matt--there's only one person who can pull off the Daisy Duke look--but it sure is nice having a little bit of his spirit here.  Maybe God is giving me another chance to cherish all those things that I used to chastise.  Maybe He realized that I needed someone in my life to tell me to take deep bweffs.  Maybe He's showing me that it's no big deal if you sport a little ketchup and extra shampoo.  It'll be O.K.