For My Brother

A letter to my brother on Feb 28th:

Bryan, as you know, I have a good memory. So I'm going to share a few of my memories with you - for instance, do you remember that day we all flew out to watch you graduate from Boot Camp? That warm California sun, you so tall and strong and proud, surrounded by your friends and brothers - all looking so handsome in your uniforms, standing at perfect attention on the parade deck. Do you remember? You were rightly proud of your huge accomplishment - being a Marine is a position of honor and it was a difficult process to make it through, many men don't, and you had your first award and ribbon on your chest. We were so proud and pleased for you!

Fast forward to Feb 28th, 2007 - I know you don't remember this exact day, though you've lived in its ripple effect every moment since - but fewer moments are seared into my mind as strongly as this day. I was in Grandma Toney's Chevy Lumina and had just parked at Mesa State. It was my final senior semester before graduation and I had three classes this day: Constitutional Law, Civil War History, and Developmental Psych. And then mom called. She was crying. And I just knew. It was about you, something had happened. My heart literally stopped. My only split second thought in that moment was, "not dead, please don't let him be dead." And so when her careful words of "accident, injuries, uncertain, please pray, no details" came though I was actually relieved. Numbly, I went to all of my classes that day in a complete daze. I didn't know what's else to do. I remember looking around at all the other students and wondering how they could behave so normally when I suddenly had become so different with just a phone call. It is a bizarre feeling.

Throughout the day bits of news came through, each report more bleak than the one before. I went through my day in a fog. At work at Red Robin that night I was mostly through my shift when the song, "Live Like You Are Dying" came on (you know the one about sky-diving?) and I completely lost it and was sent home a little early. I went to sleep in my little Grand Junction apartment with plans to head to Delta first thing in the morning.

But next morning, Aletha Jenkins, my friend and manager was at the door and as soon as she came in Dad called. See, he didn't want me to be alone when he gave me this news. And when someone tells you that... You think the worst. You think "maybe Bryan didn't make it through the night," and I held my breath and prepared myself. But it wasn't that news (Praise God), Dad had spoken to the Dr in Germany and he had said that you had been without oxygen for too long when you were injured, the brain needs oxygen, and he was so sorry but you were showing no brain activity - brain dead. That is horrible news. But when you are expecting to hear "dead" and you hear "brain dead" - do you know what you think? You think, "I'll take it, if the options are dead or brain dead, all take it."

Why? Because we had hope. Hope that God could do what the Dr's thought was impossible. Hope that you would make a full recovery, hope that you'd live against all the odds. And we held on to that hope for the next days and months as you went through surgery after surgery and your life hung in the balance - we held on to hope like a lifeline. And we prayed and we prayed and we prayed. We asked God for your life. Begged Him to heal you. Bryan, we prayed for you in a way I've never had to pray since - with an intensity I can't describe, but I'm not being dramatic to say that prayer is the only reason we have that you are here. That Feb 28th is your Alive Day. The Dr's couldn't explain it - what you went through? Died 5 times on the operation table? So many blood transfusions they changed your blood type? Who could imagine such a thing. Who, but God?

So many prayers were answered, but Bryan - so many were not. And the painful truth is that we don't get to decide. All we can do is ask with faith.

Do you know what else I prayed during those months? I prayed that not only would you live but that you would WANT to - that your injuries and your losses wouldn't poison you against living. That the loss of the man you were on that parade deck to the man you woke up to find yourself in that hospital room wouldn't sour you with disappointment and regret. That you would have new dreams and new hopes. What good would it do if the body healed but the man was broken? So I've kept praying.

And see this is where I am most proud of you - I am not saying it's been easy, only you know the dark days and the struggles, but when many would have given up and become a bitter, angry shadow of a
person you have kept moving forward. Year after year, step after painful step. And then you took this  dark day and seven years later you proposed to your pretty bride and reclaimed this day as one of life, and joy, and hope.

And the final prayer I prayed on this day has finally been answered. You just keep on living like you WANT to - I have never been more proud.