This morning, I am searching my brain for the right words, which is quite frustrating to me, as my fingers should be flying across the keyboard. For the first time in months, we have both taken a day off to do nothing, and Honeydew lies contentedly on the couch with our baby, watching Saturday morning cartoons. In my office, I am surrounded by reminders of bills to pay and checkbooks to balance and Quickbooks accounts to analyze, but we have agreed that I will take a much needed hour and write.
Today marks seven years – seven – since my youngest brother, Howard, died in a fraternity house fire, along with two of his friends.
I am sitting here, sipping my coffee half-n-half, wishing I had an archaeology degree – like Brother Dear.
Looking at the last photo taken of my intact pre-Honeydew family, I think that such a degree might help me to write about what I have decided are the eras of my lives. The word Paleozoic comes to mind, but then again, I am only thirty-one.
There is certainly the pre-Howard’s-death era, a gloriously innocent and privileged time in my life that lasted 24 years, as I was 24 when he died.
And there is obviously the post-Howard era. Not so glorious.
But this morning, after Maggie had her breakfast, the three of us curled up on our bed, under our sunny, western facing window, and Maggie Rose commenced her morning routine: cooing, smiling, and laughing delightedly with her whole heart.
And I realized that for me, the immediate-post-Howard era is over.
I am not saying that Maggie’s birth filled in all the potholes in my soul that Howard’s death left behind. Until the day that I die, I will keep the memories of the black grief that defined the immediate-post-Howard era, and the hard lessons learned.
But I can say that Maggie’s arrival has gifted me with a new set of tires with which to navigate said potholes.
Her birth does not make Howard’s death, and gaping presence in our lives, easier or better or different in its effect on my ability to handle screaming smoke detectors or gorgeous young men bursting with potential – dead or alive.
But from the moment Honeydew said, slowly, in a wondrous tone I’d never hear him use before, “It’s a … it’s a … girl!” I have known that I am in a new era in my life.
Go on, Mama said.
And I am glad that I listened to my Mama, that I did not let paralyzing grief turn into paralyzing fear, or rejection of joy.
Howard, how I wish you could hold Maggie on my couch this fine morning. Love you so, Littlest Brother.
2011. Glacier County Honey Co. All Rights Reserved.
August 27, 2011 at 12:49 pm
A beautiful story of life’s journeys….which are filled with glorious highs and sometimes gut-wrenching lows…
August 30, 2011 at 6:31 pm
Thank you Susan … thinking of you as you navigate your journey, too.
August 27, 2011 at 1:06 pm
Oh, my, Courtney. Seven years. I have to tell you that when my heart and head get tied in knots of sadness, I often think of you, your Mom and Dad–your family and how you have honored your ‘littlest brother’, and life itself by living it so fully. I was told recently that you never ‘get over’ such a loss, but that somehow you eventually ‘get used’ to having it as part of your life. Whatever the real truth, I’m thinking about you all, and thankful for your joy.
LOVE
August 30, 2011 at 6:30 pm
Thank you, Annelle – it is true that you never get over, but I would agree that you get used to it, and you do go on.
August 27, 2011 at 1:16 pm
Thank you for taking the time to share your feelings. I’m hoping Liz can find the same peace with her new baby. Love to your whole family.
August 30, 2011 at 6:31 pm
Oh, I hope the same! Can’t wait to see Baby D! Love to y’all, too.
August 27, 2011 at 1:17 pm
Beautifully written, Courtney. You and all your family are in my thoughts and prayers today especially. It hardly seems possible that it’s been seven years.
August 30, 2011 at 6:32 pm
It amazes me, too. Thanks, Gael.
August 27, 2011 at 1:57 pm
Dear Courtney, I hope your writing is as comforting for you as it is for those of us who read it. I remember so well that day 7 years ago. and even better the year before when we took Marcus to see Ol Miss and Howard joined us for dinner. You were born into a family that has suffered egregious tragedies every generation, a family of some of the finest people I have ever known. It makes no sense. Perhaps the only comfort is the beautiful pre-era memories and then the new life that each generation creates. I think that’s why I am so thrilled to share your joy over precious, sweetness Maggie Rose. I can’t wait till the day we can hold her in our arms and see in the flesh the evidence of the continuation of your fine family. Love to all of you.
August 30, 2011 at 6:32 pm
I had forgotten about Marcus’ visit to Ole Miss … thank you for reminding me, and for your very kind words, too. Hope to see y’all soon! xoxo
August 27, 2011 at 2:12 pm
This is so precious Courtney…..my heart goes out to you all!!!
August 30, 2011 at 6:33 pm
Love you, Wanda.
August 27, 2011 at 2:32 pm
It is hard to believe it has been 7 years….my heart goes out to you all.
August 30, 2011 at 6:33 pm
Thanks, Mori.
August 27, 2011 at 2:43 pm
Seven years—how it can all change in the flash of a moment. Grief and joy two emotions that God gave us that can both be unexplained. So happy that God has given this gift of joy to you and your family to somehow help that grief be a bit lighter. Hugs to you all.
August 30, 2011 at 6:34 pm
Unexplained is definitely the word I’d use … thank you for your very kind words, Jenny.
August 27, 2011 at 2:50 pm
You have always been able to make words come to life and become the visual from afar. I think of you and your family often. Some of my best memories of my career were in my computer lab! Sometimes I wish we could all go back to that innocence. Love you Courtney. Maggie is beautiful.
August 30, 2011 at 6:36 pm
Wish I could hug you through the internets, Mrs. W. Maggie does, too. xxoo
August 27, 2011 at 3:13 pm
Courtney, may I say that as someone old enough to be your mom, you have, in your grief, found great wisdom. Life is a series of heartbreaks. But it is also a series of great joys. Those who choose to lay down and drown in the grief, or anger or bitterness or whatever negativity close and lock the door to love and joy and lightness of heart. The hand that is closed to make a fist to shake at God cannot open to receive blessing.
I’m sorry for the tremendous loss your family suffered, but happy to know you’ve been wise enough to choose life. And joy. Blessings!
And? The little Bee is perfect!
August 30, 2011 at 6:36 pm
She is perfect!
Thank you for such a lovely comment, and for reading. Both are much appreciated.
August 27, 2011 at 5:56 pm
Hey Court. I had a meaningful, lovely conversation with Neil today, and we spent time talking about the last 7 years. It is beautiful to read that you are able to visualize life´s stages and find yourself in a new era: motherhood. Even though How isn´t able to hold Maggie, his spirit is present in her giggles and smiles. I send you love on this memorable day Court…
August 30, 2011 at 6:37 pm
Sending love right back to you … it was SO great to have Neil with us in July. Please come up when you have a chance!
August 28, 2011 at 7:18 pm
Courtney, what a beautiful story. Please give your Mom a hug for me. Life is for the living and Maggie is sooooooo cute. Enjoy every minute. I was just in your neck of the world last week and how beautiful it is. I drove thru Glasier Park on the 50 mailes of the most beautiful road in America and it truly is. Thinking of your family today!!!
August 30, 2011 at 6:37 pm
Jane, I gave my mama a big hug, and it felt mighty good. Next time you’re in the neighborhood, stop by and see how we extract honey! Would love to see you. Thanks for reading!
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