Time freaks me out.
Four years ago I spent the night in a hospital waiting room. The next morning after spending a few hours with my brother, he took his last breath in my arms.
It seems like so much time has passed since then. I was a week into my 19th year of life. I was still a child. I didn’t know what it was to lose someone who held so much influence in my life.
In retrospect the time that has past—it feels like a mere few days ago. The details of those precious hours are so deeply engrained in my brain. The image of my brother being rolled past the entire ICU unit unseen because an American flag lie over his body, being saluted by every staff member on the floor and my entire family is a moment I will never forget. I remember making those difficult phone calls to my prayer warriors, the ones who had been behind my family for the past 3 months.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t supposed to lose my big brother. I didn’t want to lose my childhood best friend.
I started my sophomore year of high school, while he started his first six weeks of his new career at basic training. Growing up, the Army never scared me. My dad served two tours in Vietnam in the 60’s. My brother was even the namesake of my dad’s dearest battle buddy who lost his life in Vietnam. I held such a high respect for those who served. I even considered joining while I was in high school, going with mom to visit a recruiter and see if I could join after finishing college.
My first semester of college, one week after my collegiate volleyball season ended I got the call. The fear I lacked for the past 3 years, the time, my now 21 year old brother had been in the military—it all fell on me in that moment of hearing he had been injured in Afghanistan. He was only 6 weeks into his deployment, and 3 weeks prior he had become a dad for the first time.
My world crumbled in an instance. This was my biggest hero, someone who had been there for so many things growing up. He was the biggest part of my childhood.
Edward was a combat medic for an infantry division. His job was working with infantrymen, going along with them on missions as their medic. December 3, 2011 my brother’s armored vehicle was struck by an IED while driving in a convoy away from their home base. The bomb striking the vehicle caused it to land on its side, and with the blast hitting the fuel line, it caught fire. Edward was pulled from the turret, being the sole survivor of this accident.
After multiple surgeries, spending a week in Germany, he was finally returning to the States. Immediately after finishing my first semester of finals, I boarded a plane to Texas to meet my family who was with him everyday in the hospital.
I was emotionally overwhelmed during those three months of medical ups and downs. I prayed incessantly that the Lord would heal my brother. I fasted and had full faith that he would be healed.
Time is still something that troubles me. I know that I have come so far in healing, that the Lord has been so good in being a comfort to me in a time of confusion, but I also feel like days like today make me so emotionally overwhelmed— like I lost him yesterday.
I now belong to two families. The first is a family whose blood I carry with me. This is the family who loved me before I was born, the family who made my childhood the reason why I have such a desire for adventure. The second is a family of loyalty. A family I never wanted. A family whose existence met a need I didn’t have. After the death of Edward I felt so misunderstood and isolated. I watch my parents struggle through losing a son, but didn’t quite understand what to feel or do. As a sibling I felt that I have been overlooked in the subject of bereavement. Thankfully I have joined a tribe of survivors. We have come together as a family who all lost someone in the military. I see the red on our flag as so much more than I color—I see it being a very personal cost. I am so thankful for being able to speak into my military family and for them teaching so much about myself.
Lord, help me continue to seek you in the hard days.
