46 years ago today, I became a sister.  I was 20 months old at the time, so as far as I am concerned, I don’t remember life without my little brother.  He was always there–until January 9, 2015, when he was not.  With Jon’s death, I was suddenly faced with an identity crisis.  He was my only sibling, so could I now truthfully declare myself anyone’s sister?  How do I answer when someone asks me if I have any siblings?  When Facebook is spammed by people posting about celebrating sibling week, happy sibling   day, “share if you have an awesome sister/brother!”, am I allowed to feel awesome?

My worst nightmare was always that we’d lose Jon.  He started out life in a rough way, being born with a cleft palate and cleft lip.  This meant years of surgeries, weeks of hospital stays and recoveries, and monthly trips to Kansas City to KU Medical Center for check-ups with specialists.  Jon was bullied by other kids because he looked different and talked oddly until all of the speech therapy paid off.  Our parents always stressed that we needed to be careful around him and not bump him or do anything that caused injury to his face and surgical sites, and they reminded me often to look out for him.  This was not an easy task, as Jon was a risk taker.  He liked to trek around our town or farm by himself, and this was before the days of cellphones; there would be no way for us to know if he was injured or bit by a snake or lying bleeding in the pasture after wiping out on his bike or go-cart or motorcycle.  All of this added up to my being very protective of my little brother.  I spent many hours of my life worrying about his safety and well-being.  I’d wake up in a cold sweat after having nightmares of receiving a call or visit from police telling me something had happened to him.  When Jon became an adult and journeyed into the world, he would go weeks and sometimes months without contacting anyone in the family by letter or phone.  We would have a general idea of where he’d been living last, and we would hope he would send us updates on his address changes, but there were no guarantees.  He was capable of moving himself, and he did frequently, so he didn’t need to call us to help him when he relocated.  Mom and I would talk on the phone, wondering if he were OK, and knowing that it was out of our hands.  It was a very helpless feeling.  Jon got better about checking in after Mom called the police and had them do a welfare check on him after he’d been out of touch for too long.

Eventually, Jon grew up and set aside his more risky behaviors.  He stayed in regular contact with us.  Technology played a huge part in this.  All he had to do was fire up his computer every day and send us IM’s or emails.  Chatting with my brother every day was a part of my daily routine.  We didn’t have a set time to do so, but I knew if I sent him a message, he’d respond before the day was out.  He was a great sounding board.  I could talk to him about anything that was going on in the world or our lives.  I really miss that.

Since Jon died, I’ve had to learn about sibling grief.  What I’ve learned from reading and talking to others online is that we are sort of a forgotten category of grievers.  When someone dies, everyone instinctively reaches out to comfort the parents and spouses and any children they may have had.  But the siblings are an afterthought.  We hear a lot of “Be strong for_____; losing him/her is devastating for them.”  Well, yeah.  The aftershocks of grief are not only experienced by parents, spouses, and children.  There are not many books or websites for dealing with sibling loss, but it’s a real phenomenon.  It is a lost of your shared history.  Jon and I did everything together, when I stop to think about it and our childhood.  We weren’t literally together 24/7, but in all the important memories, we shared them.  Now I have no one to walk down that memory lane with, no one to turn to and say “Hey, remember when…” and laugh and smile.

Today is what would have been Jon’s 46th birthday.  It’s been probably over 30 years since I physically celebrated Jon’s birthday with him, but it is hard to see birthday cards in the store that would have fit him perfectly and not have a reason to buy them.  It is hard to see a gift that would have made him smile and have to pass it by.  It’s hard to figure out how to celebrate Jon when even happy things make me cry.  There’s a concert happening nearby tonight that I want to attend.  It is a “Monsters of Mock” concert with impersonators of 3 bands that we listened to; we both saw the real bands when we were younger, so I know he would have gotten a kick out of it.  It’s always surreal to attend concerts without Jon, since we always went together when we were teens.  When we became adults, he left me behind and attended them on his own since I was too busy with college and jobs and kids and all that mundane stuff, so he saw bands I never got to see.  I’m glad he got to see them and have a great time.  Jon was all about living life on his own terms, and he did it well.  I am proud of how much life he put into the 44 years he was alive, and I will always be proud to have been able to call myself his sister.