Risk your heart
Al as a young pilot shortly after his solo flight.
He is pictured here in the front cockpit of Daddy’s vintage Aeronca Champion.
“Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that…You are here to risk your heart. “
—Louise Erdrich
As many of you know, my younger brother Al died one week ago yesterday, almost exactly one year from the date Al and I lost our beloved sister Carla. Her death was devastating to Al, as we all knew it would be. She and Al talked daily and she was the good listener he and I both needed so often. I don’t think he ever got over her death. I know I have not.
Al was a risk taker, and in far too many ways, that trait did not serve him well. But when it came to risking his heart, he had absolutely no regrets, as he made clear to me during what turned out to be our last long conversation two days before he died of an aortic aneurysm chillingly similar to what killed Carla. Unlike her, Al knew his death might be coming. After his hospitalization and diagnosis, during the weeks of seemingly endless medical appointments in preparation for heart surgery, we were able to have hours of frank conversation that might not have happened without this grim possibility hanging over us.
Al was the sibling closest to me in age, and when both our older siblings left home, we shared many fun times. His friends and my friends almost all knew both of us, and he was my travel buddy, fellow rock music enthusiast and witty companion whose one-liners helped me through good times and bad. In recent years, he was one of only a few people who understood how the architecture of one’s life changes after years of living alone. It was a sort of backdrop to every conversation, an unspoken bond that needed no words.
As the losses in my life multiply, I find that each grief has its own terrain. While Al’s absence from my life leaves a different sort of gap to navigate, it is still a profound one. What I have gained from the past decade of seemingly continual bereavement is a resigned familiarity with aspects of life that will become increasingly clear to most of the people I know as the years slip away. Erdrich is right. Life will break you. And nobody will be able to protect you from that.
But paradoxically, that warning contains a promise. As Carly Simon sang long before I fully understood her words, “there’s more room in a broken heart.” As the space within increases to hold all the sorrow, it makes room for even more wonder, gratitude, and faith to keep moving forward to whatever may– or may not– lie ahead.
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Defeat Despair 
Julia,
I’m so sorry for your loss. It is heartbreaking!
I, too, can now understand the message of Carly Simon. Her sentiment is very much in line with the thought on grief that I recently shared. “Honor your grief, for it is sacred. It is a testament to the depth of your heart.”
Yes, life will break you. That’s just the plight of humanity. But that’s not the rest of the story. As Christians, we are in this world, but we are not of this world. ‘God does make provisions for our lives by His grace. The Bible is filled with references to joy, happiness and satisfaction. God never leads us into situations for the purpose of our being unhappy or in despair. Even in these circumstances, we can experience the joy of the Lord knowing that we are in His perfect will and that He is watching over us.’
‘Difficulties are “but for a moment” while God’s “favor is for life”; sadness may last for a night, but “joy comes in the morning” (Psalm 30:5). Emotional happiness is not determined by whether we are laughing or crying but by the certainty of knowing we are in God’s will and that He is with us (Hebrews 13:5).’
May the Lord bless you and keep you, and give you peace!
Chris, thanks so much for these lovely and comforting thoughts. I’ve found that the older I grow, the more I understand these promises. Toward the end of Daddy’s life, when he often woke up struggling for breath from COPD, he told me that he learned to pray for the peace that passes understanding. He called it “the prayer that never fails” and I have tried to remember this wisdom since he died, the first of many devastating losses over the past decade. Carla’s husband likes to remind me that “we will all be together soon” and that too brings me comfort. Thanks for being here and for caring! ❤
Julia, you have my deepest sympathy on the yet another loss. This one hit hard as my oldest sister passed away April 16 of this year. Not other death I’ve experienced has held the aching bewilderment that I feel. Our birthdays were 3 years and 2 days apart in Oct. and we celebrated together when we could. Siblings are a unique breed having the power to heal and hurt us like no other. I join you in your bereavement. 💔
Hello Carol, I’m so sorry for your loss.💔 “Aching bewilderment” is a very good description for how I felt when my own sister (3 years and 10 months older than me) died unexpectedly last year. I’m sure you are surrounded by countless reminders that still hurt even as they bring the joy of remembrance. Your statement “Siblings are a unique breed having the power to heal and hurt us like no other” is so true! I hope you have found ways to survive the huge yawning gap that your sister’s death has left. Thank you for being with me during this season of grief.
Dear Julia, I’ve been thinking of you today. c
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Thank you so much. Though many have forgotten this somber date, there are those who silently observe it with me, and it gives me strength just to know that. This year, God provided for me by allowing me to spend the day among close friends from our years in the NorCal Republic, all of whom knew Jeff and remember him well. Their love and support gave me great joy. Here are just three of them in a photo I snapped on October 6. Thanks again for being here, and for remembering along with me.
Hi Julia, Reaching out with a virtual hug. I’ve just reread today’s post, written 7 years ago. The losses of your siblings struck right to the heart as this is the first Thanksgiving without my sister. As I said before, we celebrated our birthdays 3years and 2 days apart in October. I got through that as I’m accepting the reality of her death but that aching bewilderment is ever present. So fast approaching is advent and the first Christmas without her. They say the first significant days of the year following a loved one’s death is the hardest. I don’t believe that and I don’t believe in closure as in “over it.” How could that be? I hope you have a day of peace and the joy of Thanksgiving. ♥️
I agree with you, we don’t “get over it” and I don’t think we’re meant to. I think words like “closure” and “get over it” are designed to comfort bystanders who don’t know what to do or say, or who are uncomfortable with the reality that loss is part of life. The losses and sorrow do transform, though, and we come to realize all the ways that our loved ones have left much of themselves behind to comfort us through the years of grief at being without them. My sister and I were super excited about Christmas; it was something we had shared since childhood, and when she died, Christmas changed completely for me, probably permanently. And my brother used to be able to share fun memories of Christmas as children (Daddy and Mama always made it extra-special) so that too is gone. I’m so sorry for your losses and the inevitable pain you are feeling at this time of year especially. Wish you lived close enough to pop on over for a cup of tea, but meanwhile, please know that you’re in my heart and I will pray for you during this very difficult time. ❤ ❤ ❤
Dear Julia, I’m so sorry to hear of your recent loss. Unfortunately as our family members age we are all exposed to the inevitab
Ron, that’s so true. And each loss helps me to appreciate every day I have left.
Julia, I am so sorry to hear of Al’s passing.
I’m praying for you and Matt and your family.
Thank you, Susan. ❤