Voices: 7 things I learned after drugs killed my brother
Kevin Brown, center, with brother Matthew and sister Heather at his graduation from Rider University in Lawrence Township, N.J.(Photo: Courtesy of Allison Brown)On Jan. 4, 2014, my brother woke up for the last time.Kevin Brown, 26, walked down the stairs in his usual gray robe to make bacon for the last time.The Kendall Park, N.J., resident texted his friends about meeting at a pub. He had one last conversation with my father.He showered, got dressed and left the house like any other day, not knowing it was his last.One year ago, he laughed for the last time, smiled one last time, took his last breath.Dec. 28, 2013, was the last day we spent together.Jan. 1 was the last time we texted. Jan. 3 was the last time my life was normal, the last time I felt peace, the last time my family was whole.As I've try to put those "lasts" behind me. 2014 was all about firsts — first day back to work as the co-worker whose brother died, first time celebrating a birthday without two brothers, first half marathon, first but not last (Sorry, Mom!) tattoo, first Tough Mudder obstacle race, first Kevin Brown Memorial 5K run, first Christmas where we didn't open gifts in youngest-to-oldest order, first anniversary of the lasts.Through this year of first experiences without Kevin, I've learned a lot. I wouldn't wish these invaluable life lessons on anyone, yet, I am so grateful for them.Suffering has been stronger than all the other lessons this life has taught me. I have been bent and broken but — I hope — into a better shape.I am becoming a kinder version of the old me: more understanding, someone who wants to enjoy all parts of life, who doesn't want to waste any time.Writing has helped me survive. After getting home from the hospital the night my brother died, I wrote.I wrote down everything and anything on my mind, and after a few hours, I had written my brother's beautiful eulogy without even knowing it.So in the best way I know how, I've gathered all my thoughts, my pain, my sadness and my loneliness from this past year, and here is what I have learned.1. It's not about forcing happiness. It's about not letting sadness win.When I saw my brother lifeless in the hospital, I thought the tears would never stop. And the truth is they haven't.I cry every day, but the crying isn't the same. It's no longer the ugly, can't-catch-your-breath crying.Now it happens more when I see a picture of Kevin posted on Facebook that I wasn't expecting to see or when I feel he's missing out something.I decided very early on in my grieving process that I wouldn't let my life be consumed with the former type of tears. I knew I needed to feel each day, each moment, each wave. But dwelling on the sadness wasn't going to bring my brother back, so why bother?A few days after Kevin passed away, my family and I were laughing hysterically in the kitchen because my brother wanted to be the "boss." We laughed and laughed until our stomachs hurt and tears of happiness were streaming from our eyes.Then, we all went silent.Although nobody said it, I know we were all thinking the same thing. We were having a moment of happiness without Kevin — our first of many. I don't think any of us expected to laugh so soon, but that moment gave me a glimpse of hope, a glimpse of happiness.2. Guilt is guaranteed. Guilt isn't always a rational thing; guilt is a weight that will crush you whether you deserve it or not.Oh, how true that is. I have felt varying degrees of guilt this past year, and it has eaten my insides.I have tremendous guilt for not being a better sister. I often think I've been a better sister to Kevin this past year than when he was alive.I have immense guilt for being too busy in my own world to not realize what was happening in Kevin's. For that, I not only feel guilt, I feel like the most selfish person.I'd like to believe I could have done nothing to prevent this. But deep down, I probably could have, and I have to live with that each and every day.Maybe I could have talked to Kevin more, maybe I should have tried to be more involved, maybe I should have made him feel more loved, and maybe I could have made sure he knew he mattered. That's a lot of maybes with no guarantees, but they run through my mind on a nonstop loop.3. Find perfect moments, and hold onto them as long as you can.Perfect moments — the kind you wish you could bottle up and save forever — come and go so quickly. I wish they could stay forever, but of course, that's unreasonable, and I think that's why I'm always searching for them.I suppose, that's how it should be because what's rare is valuable.I've had a few perfect moments this year — organizing the Kevin Brown 5K in Monmouth Junction, N.J.; singing Faithfully by Journey with my cousins under the stars; dancing to Show Me Love with my girls at a wedding; going to an Of a Revolution concert in Atlantic City; celebrating my grandmother's 90th birthday. A few others are so perfect that I don't want to share them.Perfect moments happened in my life with Kevin, and I am learning that they will continue to happen in life without him. And that's OK.4. Life is unfair, and bad things happen to good people.The worst possible bad thing happened to me, and in the beginning of my life without Kevin, I pitied myself. Why me? What did my family do to deserve this? The answer is nothing. We don't deserve this pain. We don't deserve to live without a piece of our hearts.The answer to why is not logical, but this is my new life. So asking such questions is pointless.Instead, I started to realize the right question to ask: "Now, what am I going to do about it?"And the answer was simple: Keep Kevin's memory alive, help spread the word about opiate addiction, and spend as much time as possible with family and friends.5. Pain makes people change. I am not the same person I was a year ago, and that statement is both frightening and inspiring. I needed a long time — and many sleepless nights — to accept that I was changing.And now as I reflect, how could anyone, especially myself, expect me not to change?My brother's death has breathed new life into my soul. I feel as if I have a better outlook about everything.Losing Kevin has given me a deeper perspective on life. Putting one foot in front of the other after such a tragic loss has turned me into a person who appreciates more quickly, cries more easily, hopes more desperately, loves more openly.I am far from perfect, but I am better for all that my brother taught me in life and in passing.6. Morning comes and the sun will shine again and again.One of the difficulties of grief is learning how to move forward while part of your heart is forever frozen in time. To say this process is difficult is an understatement.Sometimes I am overwhelmed with peace of mind and gratitude. Other times, my feelings get the best of me, and I crumble.Each day that we are fortunate to wake up, we get a choice. We can choose what path we want to take.As long as the sun is shining, I will choose happiness. I will choose love. I will choose memories. I will choose to smile.7. Time does not heal all wounds.Sure, time is necessary in the grieving and healing processes, but it is a minor ingredient.Healing has less to do with the passage of time. More important is what we do with our time that matters.What really, really matters is how we spend our days on this beautiful earth, who we surround ourselves with, how we react to situations, what we do to help others, what differences we make in a single life.I am on my way to healing, but I am not there yet. I don't know if I'll ever fully recover from the loss of my brother.What I can say is that today is better than yesterday, not because time simply has passed but because I am allowing myself to do what I must — to accept my sadness, to embrace my grief, to let pain take its course.I have learned to grieve in my own way. I cry, I laugh, every night before bed I look at pictures of my brother hoping to spark a dream, and I write about everything I'm feeling.Because love lasts, so does grief. So long as I love my brother, I will grieve his loss.Grief is the price of love, and love is worth every piece of this broken heart.The love in my heart, the overwhelming love for my brother, hurts me and heals me at the same time.Every day in this past year has been a lesson on love and loss. Some days were filled with complete sadness, some with belly-aching laughs, some with total numbness.But each day has helped me move forward, however fast or slow my heart will take me.Kevin Brown, 26, brother of Allison Brown of South Brunswick, N.J., overdosed on drugs and died in January 2014. He was a soccer star, Rider University graduate and successful accountant for Horizon Blue Cross Blue Shield of New Jersey but battled an opiate addiction. Obama's combative tone in State of the Union addressJan 21, 2015
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