Yesterday marked the 2-month mark since my brother died suddenly of cardiac arrest from an undiscovered arrhythmia. Last Friday, my sister called.
“How are you doing,” I said.
“Well, it’s Friday. I come home, I make a cocktail, and I call Stu.”
“Wow, you need to find something else to do on Fridays to take your mind off that.”
One piece of advice we’ve given and received over this unreal event is that a person must make new traditions in order to move on. My sister-in-law can’t knock about in her empty house doing all of the things THEY used to do. Change the furniture around, change your morning routine, try to do things that will not be a reminder and suck you down into depression.
So, here’s our new tradition. My sister resolved to come home on Fridays, make a cocktail, and draw something.
In support, and because I need to do different things too, I promised to do the same. I have to say, it’s rather nice. You can’t really get around the fact that Stu comes to mind because he is the reason we are doing this, but for that few hours, my sister and I are thinking of each other, and that’s a comfort. It’s a connection that is a pale shadow of the benefits of each other’s company, but I think it will serve.
The object I picked brought up some interesting thoughts. People often turn to the sea for comfort in times of sorrow. Its boundless energy and broad space are accompanied by a white noise that helps clear the mind. I live on an island, where the Salish Sea brings many unexpected things to our beaches. As I worked, I reflected upon how a living thing, or person, can be called to mind from something left behind.
We miss you, Stu. We hope our rusty drawing skills make you smile.