I have this picture hanging in my room that I painted last summer. Usually it doesn't bother me. Today I walked into my room and the tears were inevitable. I looked at it and cried. Almost a year ago I painted said picture while sitting at the kitchen counter with the little girl I watched over the summer. Who would have thought that a year later it would be a water-color, wrinkled piece a paper I may never be able to part with.
You see this picture isn't just any picture. Its a picture of my family. The little girl I watched, we will call her B, wanted to paint. So we did. I watched as she moved lots of paint and water around on several pieces of paper in a short amount of time before I suggested she paint a picture of her family. The idea was to slow her down and make her take her time before she claimed she was done painting and bored already. To a complete surprise she agreed but only if I did the same. I watched as B painted her Mom, Dad, brother, and dog, paying close attention to each color she used for each person and what the person was doing. I sat next to her doing the same. Drawing Dad, Mom, T, and S, and myself. Each of us in a color that reminded me of the person and something near them that I associated with them. Careful details to what each was wearing and their hair. I put my paint brush down to check my phone and B looked over and asked me "don't you have a brother? why didn't you paint him?". I explained for the 9 hundredth time that summer that CJ wasn't born yet and I couldn't paint him if I didn't know what he looked like. As usual, to my kindergarten graduate, I was wrong. "He's still your brother." The words ring loud in my head almost a year later. She was right, so I painted in a baby. End of the day I put the painting on the back seat and drove home. Excited to hang it on the fridge like a 6 year old.
That same day, I walked in to hear that we had lost Christian.
The picture never made it to the fridge. It sat in the back seat of the car for the next few days while we were at the hospital, church, and cemetery. It wasn't until I was headed to the grocery store a few days later with S that she noticed it on the floor and asked what it was.
Its a watercolor painting. That's it. To the naked, unknowing eye, its just a painting that could have been done by a 6 year old (I'm no Picasso). To me... it's a reminder. "He's still your brother."
So here's my message to all the grieving siblings out there. (Because there seems to be a ton of support groups out there for parents but few for siblings. If I'm wrong... point me in the right direction!) No matter how long you physically had/have your brother/sister for... they will still be your brother/sister. Death does not change that. Just because they have physically left your life does not mean they are gone forever. They are with you in the ways that you keep them. Christian is my little tag along every where I go because I #doitforCJ. Don't be ashamed to share your story! It's hard, I admit to crying while typing this and it took me almost a year to share this part of the story. But the lives you can touch are countless. You never know how your story will change someone until it's shared.
So this week... when you see someone who could use a smile. Give it to them. Give them a reason to smile. Something as silly as drawing eye brows on the dog can spark laughter for hours. A simple text reminding an old friend that you are praying for them goes a long way. When you do it..... #doitforCJ.
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