The Surviving Child

I lost my brother before any of the people I know experienced any type of loss. I was 31, he was 32. He came home on October 20th, and after having a meal at my parent's house - my mom, dad, husband and brother, Stuart said he wanted to tell us something.

My father was reluctant to sit down, as they had not really spoken much in the last few years. My father was tyrannical and if you did not adhere to his "life rules", you were excommunicated. My brother had been in and out of college, and ended up out west. He had 2 successful bakeries and a health food poster exporting business.

He was an amazing artist and musician (played saxophone. flute, piano, and pretty much anything else he laid his hands on). He was accomplished and adventurous, and lived more in his 32 years than most people live in a lifetime. He was a huge part of me, and when I lost him, I lost half of my heart.

We all sat down at the dining room table, and he said "I have something to tell you." He hesitated long enough for me to throw out some guesses- starting with marriage and concluding with being arrested. He said "No, I have systemic melanoma and I have a 20% chance of living for the next 2 years." (Skin cancer from a mole on his back, that became malignant and metastasized through his body). I screamed and became paralyzed. HE actually got up to comfort me.

I got pregnant in December. Stuart died 6 months later, when I was in my fourth month. I can't really tell you how I got through this period of my life.

I always wanted children, and had already been married for 4 years, but felt if I could not bring some happiness into our lives, we would all drown in sorrow.

My mother said "Don't fall apart on us now". So, I had to continue being strong- even though a part of me was dying with him. It was the most horrible thing that has ever happened to me. We were losing him- but he was losing everything.

I spent the last few days in his home with him. My parents left Tuesday morning and I arrived later that day. Suddenly, he took a turn for the worse.

He said he wanted to talk to me, but he never again was able to do so. He asked my husband to assist him in suicide if he did not die by Thursday. It was a moot point.

On Thursday, everyone left to get some pizza. I stayed back with him and sat in the room next to him. He was very warm, and it was snowing out and freezing in his house. I sat in his living room with a fur coat on. Suddenly, I could hear a change in his breathing (known as the death rattle). He would take a breath, and then there was way too much time before another would come. He died while I sat there holding his hand.

I talked to him. He was in terrible pain. I kept telling him to let go and not hold on anymore. It was awful. A few minutes later, he took his last breath. I remember feeling very frightened- which I felt guilty about for years later. It was as if his spirit left his body and I did not recognize the encasement of his soul.

I called my parents. They flew out the next day and we made arrangements. He wanted to be cremated, and so, he was. My religion does not really favor cremation, but I felt, and convinced my parents to understand, that everyone has the right to die the way they choose. His ashes were spread on a beautiful lake that he selected, one year after his death, by some very close friends.

My life has changed so much since his passing. As parents get older, they tend to re-write history. Stuart validated my sanity. Now, I just have to believe in myself and the accuracy of my memories. The last thing he said to my husband was "please, don't let Kate suffer for me." I have never stopped.

I have continued living my life and have made him a big part of my childrens' lives as well, even though they never had the privilege of meeting him.

As the surviving child, we go through a whole different set of emotions.

Of course, losing a child is one of the worst things in the world, and it is certainly not how things are supposed to be. But losing a sibling, especially your only sibling, has to be right up there as well. I became the supplier of all the happiness for my family. Everything that arose became my responsibility and decision. I needed my brother to be in my life.

My father retired at 57, a year after my brother died. He could no longer work. My father died in 2001, 17 years after my brother.

People say it gets easier. I don't think it ever gets easier- you just forget what it felt like before your heart was ripped apart.

I can equate it to a crack addicted baby. The pain they feel is the only way they know how to feel. Of course, they are in pain, but they don't know what it feels like not to be. I think we may not pay enough attention to the children that survive.

I deal with "survivors guilt" of remaining children in my practice. The question of "why him and not me?" arises. I cannot answer that. I don't believe we have that answer. But, we must accept it and move forward.

I must say though, that after the first death- there is no other. My world was and will never be the same.

The fact that he spent 32 years in my life is one of the things that I am most grateful for. "I was at heaven here with him". I will always miss him and will cherish his memory forever.

To those who have loved and lost, you are far from alone.

http://www.eastcoasttherapist.com

With over 25 years of therapy experience, Kate Carlton provides useful, thought-provoking and often life-changing counseling and advice. She has consulted and provided employee motivational workshops for Fortune 500 companies and has volunteered in emergency rooms in non-profit hospitals. An avid sports fan (NY Knicks and Yankees) and amateur athlete, she is also a divorced mother of two children, one in college, and another in high school. She also enjoys film critique, reading, Words with Friends (who doesn't?), and spending time with her family.