By: Marlene Oxender
It was just last month when my brother Stevie passed away. I’ve been reminded of what it feels like to say goodbye to someone we love. How emotionally draining it can be. The deep hurt sticks around for a while.
We can wonder how many tears we’ve cried. Maybe a thousand. And it seems there’s no shortage of tears. Maybe we’ll cry a thousand more.
When Stevie was fond of something, he’d simply tell us that it’s good for you. Like ice cream. Or pancakes and sausage. It was easy to agree with him. He picked the best things in life and made them part of something that’s good for you.
Now that he’s gone, I’m working on finding my way. There is peace in knowing we’re here on this earth for the time we’re supposed to be here on this earth. We’re here to accomplish whatever we’re here to accomplish on the path that walks us home.
The text messages I’d received from friends at the time of Stevie’s passing are words I will hang on to.
Messages such as: “He has given everyone he met his life of happiness without judgment. God put him with us as a teacher. An example. He deserves the comfort of ascension. Thinking of you and your sad heart.”
Another friend wrote, “There are no words.” Her statement resonated with me. There are times we don’t know how to say what’s on our heart. There really are no words.
After a funeral, our minds must adapt to a new way of life. We can find it difficult to make decisions. We can be forgetful. “Scattered” is a word that comes to mind.
We know why our friends are staying in touch with us. Why they invite us out. They know our world has been turned upside down.
Sometimes I daydream about the thank you notes I would like to write. In my heart, I’ve written the most beautiful words to my friends. But I haven’t penned them yet.
There are times I’ve tried to apply logic to how we grieve. And I think I can store up the logic and bring it out when I need it. But the logic escapes me. And I accept the fact I’m in need of some healing time.
Stevie would likely tell me I’d feel better if I’d just go out for some ice cream. Or see when the fire department is sponsoring their next pancakes and sausage supper. He’d tell me to invite my friends.
And I should pay for their meals. After all, the polite thing to do is to remember my friends may not have any money with them.
Stevie was always thoughtful that way and kindly let others pay for his meal. In a video I’ve posted on his Facebook page, Stevie and I can be heard discussing the skipping of his birthday festivities.
He knew he was being teased. He would join in with answers that defended his right to cake and ice cream. Presents and birthday cards.
After I told him there’d be no birthday candles, he can be heard telling me that candles are good for you. Looking back on his words, I see Stevie really was a teacher. Now I see the wisdom. The light from a candle helps us find our way.
As I was typing the words for this column, a friend texted to ask if she could take me out for the day. She would drive. We’d go out for lunch then spend the afternoon with friends. I was feeling the love.
All of us need healing time after we lose someone special in our life. We want to talk about our loved one without the tears, but crying is part of our healing.
Stevie taught us how to see the value of the good things in life. Things like ice cream. Pancakes and sausage. A good work ethic. How to hold babies. How to correctly fold a towel. How to keep a house in order. How to give a memorable hug to friends as well as to those we met just moments ago.
It’s a wonderful thing to have had someone in our life who’d brought a light so great to the world that even after they’re gone, the light remains.
Stevie showed us how easy it is to love life and the world we’re in. Bumpy paths need light, and friends can show the way. Friends can stand by us and see us through.
Friends can be there through the sad and happy tears. Friends can help us find humor. Any way you look at it, Stevie was right. Candles are good for you.
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Marlene Oxender is a writer, speaker, and author. She writes about growing up in the small town of Edgerton, her ten siblings, the memorabilia in her parents’ estate, and her younger brother, Stevie Kimpel, who was born with Down syndrome. Her two recently published books, Picket Fences and Stevie, are available on Amazon.
