My Baby Brother Died Two Years Ago Now

My brother died in March of 2021. He was my youngest brother, born on February 14, 1973, just two years before my daughter. They were close. They were more like siblings than he and I were.

He belonged to all of his 5 siblings. We took him where ever we went, including some took him out on dates. My brother’s wife said that she thought for sure that Tim was Chuck’s child. She said that his coloring was closer to Chuck’s than anyone else in the family.

I had been married 2 years before he was born, so people that didn’t see our mother when she was pregnant thought for sure he was mine. If they saw her, they knew he was her baby as he weighed 11 pounds when he was born and it showed on our mom.

I wrote the following and placed it in a book for his girls and gave it to them at his funeral.

My Brother Tim

My baby brother Tim Estey

He isn’t an Estey that is testy

Always good-tempered, I sigh

As a little guy

He was the very best, so why

Did he die before his time?

And at a time like this, how can I rhyme

I have cried and cried. I laughed until I cried

I can try and try but I really can’t get past I tried

I gave him reiki and it wasn’t enough

It was really rough

I prayed for a miracle

We needed that, we told the guy with the collar, the clerical

We told each other

Not my brother!

I snapped at a few

It wasn’t their fault I knew

But he was doing so well last week

He was well on his way to the peak

of that mountain top that he needed to reach

to be on his way to living his best life I preach

he loved his family, his children,

his grandson and there will be more grandchildren

My daughter, was more like his sister as they grew up together

Cried and cried too and told of all the things they did in all the weather

She said, “Mom, he could be a big brat! He would spit luggies in front of me

As we walked down Clausen Avenue. And he knew I didn’t like that.” And then we

Laughed and laughed as we could both see him do that and laugh.

“And remember the bathtub all full of dirt, when we would have to take a bath

As we had made mud pies”

Then big sighs!

I feel so bad for his daughters and Henry, he is so young yet, the lad

He loved them all so much and he was such a proud dad

Posting honor roll and award letters lately, almost every year

He was such a Dear

My brother Tim

We will all miss him.

Author: Denise Estey Lindquist, March 2021

How then did this grieving happen for me then:

I was writing a Poem a Day in February, which is always healing for me, I do my best grief work in September and January. I figure I was in shock for quite some time, getting through the funeral. It was one of the first funerals that were allowed on our reservation that year.

I didn’t help with his property as three of his four girls were adults. That was helpful for me as my head wasn’t in it for as long as it was when I was handling my mother and sister’s estate. I stepped up the best I could for my sister’s children, providing some Christmas and birthday support.

I hope to do that for Tim’s girls too. Especially the younger ones. That helps me in my sadness to think about helping their children. Not the same way they would but help nonetheless. Maybe mostly help them through the loss, by continuing to be the family they would see with their dad.

I found myself starting to have some anxiety. I had learned years prior about 4x4 breathing/square breathing and other names and other breathing exercises to use before anxiety attacks. I did that and didn’t have to deal with anxiety or panic attacks.

Depression crept up last winter with some seasonal affective disorder. I ordered a sunlamp to help with that. I have used it this year as well. It helps to talk to others who understand and to write about loss. I am fairly good at self-care.

I can find myself isolating and I force myself to reach out. To make plans. To put those plans on the calendar. It is important that I follow through. Instead of questioning why I am forgetting things, I give myself the reminder that I am grieving.

Forgetting at my age can be scary, even though I just passed my mini cog at my yearly physical, which is a check for dementia.

I have friends and people in laughter yoga to spend time laughing with. I made a decision a long time ago to allow my tears to run and never stop them unless it is way inappropriate for the circumstances.

Even though I know how to stop the tears, and have taught others, I almost never have to stop my own tears.

Grieving is a part of living and we can try to avoid it or walk through it and get to the other side in a better place. We can support others as they walk through their own trauma, grief, and loss. It is much more doable when we have done it ourselves!

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First published by Mindful Mental Health in Medium.