In the days after my brother died, my family decided to have a small, family-only service in my parents’ home. I headed to Texas; Ty stayed home. Flying felt strange, airports, anxiety-inducing. Little did I know that days after my trip Texas would emerge as a hot-spot for the virus, meaning that if I went today I’d have to quarantine for two weeks upon return. The trip would be many things: a time to process the loss of Sam, to see my dad as he recovered, to be with my family.
Full disclosure: we are a big group when together. At the time our gatherings fell under the county and governor’s recommendations for being in a group in Texas. We wore masks around my parents, again, following the recommendations for that time just five weeks ago. Had Sam died a few days later, I’m not sure that would have been the case. I don’t even know that I would have been able to go.
I took a camera, of course. Some of the photos are too raw and personal to share, and some capture so much of the good stuff in my family. My Texas-based nieces and nephews are pretty young, so their understanding of death has evolved in recent weeks. They talked freely of Sam, maybe not completely understanding the finality of his absence. Georgia, 6, told me, “I just wish I could say goodbye.” Jameson, 4, said he was sad then showed me his dinosaurs. The trio of two-year-olds parroted my sister who taught them that when Sam said “huh,” his one-syllable means of verbal communication, “it means I love you.” They’d see his picture and say it over and over again. I hope they never stop.
Capturing the littles being themselves allowed me to stay in the present with them. Even as our world felt heavy with loss, they expressed sadness and concern in some moments, while mostly they continued about their childhoods. They love being together. They love being with their aunties and uncles. They adore their grandparents. They know they belong in our super-sized crew, and in the days after my brother died, we all needed that sense of belonging. I think these photos convey a bit of that. I’m not sure when I’ll be able to go back to Texas, and that makes the photos matter that much more to me. This is the good stuff of being us: in the midst of death, so much life and a definite sense that the kids are all right.
