For my Sister

My dear, darling Sister,

Today is going to be very difficult. Attending Anthony’s graduation without his being there has to be another knife in your weary heart. I’m sorry I’m not there to celebrate his achievement and hold your hand as this milestone he worked so hard for passes you by without him in attendance.

I’m so sorry. I’m trying really hard to find the words but I’m struggling. I always have words. Something to make you laugh, something to bring a bit of levity. Comfort. Anything to take the sting of this immeasurable pain away. Words have always been my friends, but not now. I have nothing that will make this better. The loss of your sweet, tender-hearted son is something that leaves me utterly speechless.

I’ve started several different posts about Anthony since he left us in April. I want the world to know how special he was. I want them all to know about the comfort he brought to my son during so many years of ridiculous therapy. How many times has your family dropped everything to come to our side when Ben was ailing? Countless. Your thoughts and prayers and support have been a beacon for me over the past 12 years of Ben’s illness. Anthony was one of Ben’s very best friends. We all know that Ben is pretty good at being alone, but the relationship that he and Anthony shared was… magical. 

You raised a good boy, Sissy. You did a good job. You loved him, cared for him, supported him, encouraged him… all the things a loving parent should do. I know he didn’t doubt that. What he did doubt was himself. And that’s something you did not have the power to change. When someone has in their mind that they aren’t worth it, it’s hard to turn that around. It’s something that needs to be learned on their own. Unfortunately, he didn’t give himself enough time.

When I was Anthony’s age, I could only hear the negative. Words came into my brain and filtered through my crappy self-image, unable to refine into anything fortifying. While I’ve learned a lot over my 47 years and have decided that I’m ultimately not worthless, it was a very difficult battle. Some of us are just wired that way. It’s not anything any amount of parenting or therapy can change. It has to be done from within. I recognized some of the same traits in Anthony, and even addressed them in a letter I wrote him two years ago for his sixteenth birthday. We were a lot alike in many ways, using our humor to cover up how bad we were hurting, retreating when things got too tough, beating ourselves up for every damn thing, whether we had anything to do with it or not. We had the same affliction of simply feeling too much and not knowing how to handle it.

 

I don’t know everything, Sissy, but I know this: You were the perfect parent to suit his needs. You did your job well. Knowing that you always wanted to be a mom, there was no question that you’d excel at your job. Gabriella and Anthony were blessed to have you as their mother. You provided them with the best and most important thing a mother could give – your heart. They never lost sight of that.

I also happen to know a thing or two about low self-worth and how damaging overwhelming depression can be. It doesn’t matter what anyone says, if you don’t believe it, you won’t hear it. Anthony was such an empathetic young man and picked up on everyone’s emotions. His first thought after meeting someone was, “I wonder if they liked me?” Because he’s painfully aware of people’s thoughts and feelings, even to eventually go to the extreme of forsaking his own thoughts and feelings in order to honor someone he cared about more than his own. Anthony didn’t understand his value. He didn’t give himself enough time to realize how precious he was. I’m so sorry for that.

I can’t imagine what you wake up to each morning and the heaviness you fall fitfully asleep with at night. I’ve tried to imagine it. I sincerely have. I’ve been preparing myself for my son’s death for 12 bleeping years. I know you can’t really prepare for something like that, but every day I think about the possibility of losing Ben. And how heart wrenching that would be. And how I wouldn’t want to go on. And that waking up to face another day without him would be the worst chore I could ever complete.

I guess what I’m trying to do here is bring you a tiny bit of comfort that you are an amazing mother. Your son is and will always be important to us. He added a lot to our lives, especially Benjamin’s life. I’m sad that many people didn’t get to know how wonderful he was and how dearly he will be missed.

And when they call his name at graduation today, smile knowing how happy he’d be to have completed this milestone. Celebrate it. Grieve it. Allow yourself to feel today, whatever those feelings might be. And know I’m here for you… to laugh with, to cry with, to celebrate and mourn with… I’m your girl.

I love you deeply. Always have, always will.

Love,

RaRa

Anthony

 

 

3 thoughts on “For my Sister”

  1. I’m truly sorry for your loss. I have an idea of what your sister might be going through. He was a beautiful boy. You also described my Andy so precisely.

    You are helping your sister more than you know. Sometimes we need permission to grieve! You did that for her (and also for me).

    My heart truly breaks–or what I have left of it–for your entire family. I have no flashy words or Bible verses to give that will help–because they just DON”T!

    Know that you and your sister are loved–even though we haven’t seen one another in years–it feels like yesterday.

    Love to your sister and you,
    Kim

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