One year and "rolling thunder"

April 9, 2008 was the worst day of my life. We found Brian and our lives changed forever.

One year later the grief is slightly in check. However, it is still able to overwhelm me for the oddest reasons.

One year does not change the hurt, disbelief, and unanswered questions.

One year marks many milestones missed and only confirms that “Brian should be here.”

One year shows us how much we have changed and yet Brian does not.

The pain of April 9, 2008 does not magically disappear 365 days later. It is always there. Occasionally, the pain goes away for a fleeting instant. Then, reality cruelly reminds us that Brian’s death was not a terrible dream and forces us to wear the heavy harness of grief while others go about their day.

I think about Brian constantly as I go about my day. I also feel him around me all the time. I have told friends I have an idea what veteran’s frequently call “phantom limb syndrome.” It is like I lost an arm, but my brain feels like it is still there. That is how I view Brian now. He is with me and I can feel him close to me. I just can’t see him. I also know Brian likes his new Jedi powers and has fun hiding my keys!

Our family friend Adam, Joan, and Kerry Mac Vay said these wonderful words about Brian: “Brian did not exist, he lived. He was like a bolt of lightning that lit up the darkness for a short, brilliant burst of colorful light. Yet his thunder still rolls on in our hearts.”

We loved that beautiful description. Some of our Mom’s wonderful friend’s had those appropriate words placed on a plaque honoring Brian. It is under a tree near Lincoln Park in Kettering where Brian once lived.

Brian experienced more things and impacted more people in his 33 short years than most will do in 80. There is no doubt that Brian lived and he will always roll on in our hearts.