“The candle that burns twice as brightly burns half as long.”
My brother Jon passed away a year ago.
I’m not normally one to share my emotions freely, but it was an enlightening experience for me to talk about this, so here goes.
I write a lot about human nature in the marketplace because I’m fascinated by the way emotions influence your money decisions. You have no control over the emotions you feel, nor when or how you feel them. You alone decide how you respond to it.
At times over the past year I have felt like I was having an out of body experience as I watched my own roller coaster of emotions.
Normally I’m a pretty well-balanced guy. After Jon died, my mood swings were more severe than normal.
In stock market parlance, my personal VIX spiked: higher highs and lower lows. I’m not used to the volatility.
It’s all the feelings you’d expect, but there have also been some unexpected outcomes.
When you lose someone, you feel vulnerable, but in some ways also partially invincible. Seeing a loved one go through a traumatic experience hardens you.
Martin Short lost his brother at the age of 12, his mother at the age of 17 and his father at the age of 20. memoirsShort reflected on how the tragedy shaped his life going forward:
The hard times were hard, but they provided important lessons: they gave me information about life that few boys my age had, and also a certain fearlessness. John Candy once told me after a particularly crazy improv set at Second City that I had “balls of steel.” Ah, but the balls of steel were earned, I thought, not grown.
Seeing how strong Jon’s children have been during this experience reminds us of the power of the human spirit. They didn’t deserve this, but it will also give them all a certain fearlessness, just like their father.
Having difficult conversations is now much easier. The big things don’t worry me anymore. My life philosophy now is: whatever happens – good or bad – I will deal with it.
This experience has also strengthened the strength of the community.
Jon’s funeral was the worst day of my life. It was overwhelming to see so much heartbreak on the faces of friends and family.
But so did the level of support.
We had a three-hour visiting period, assuming people would come to pay their respects and leave. People showed up from the start. It was full. Nobody left. Everyone stayed the whole time.
After Jon died and I shared his story I’ve heard it from thousands of people.
Most sent their condolences. But so many others shared their stories with me about their experiences with the loss of a loved one. A parent. A brother or sister. A husband. A child. A good friend.
Sadness can be a lonely emotion, but the way you deal with it is with others.
About six months after Jon died, I started feeling better. Or at least get used to it. Then out of nowhere the black cloud returned. I had a really rough week where all the bad feelings came back. I got stuck in my head and replayed it again.
Then out of the blue I got two messages on the same day from people who read my blog and follow the podcast. I’ve never met them. Both randomly checked in to see how I was doing.
Both were along the lines of: How are you? I know it’s been a few months, but it must be tough. I’m thinking of you and hope you are doing well.
I’m sure these people had also lost someone, because they understood that grief is a process and not an event. Those kinds of check-ins really help.
I’ve never known what to say to someone in a situation like this. Now I know it doesn’t matter what you say. You don’t have to say the perfect thing. There’s nothing you can say. You give a hug. I’m thinking of you. I love you. I’m here for you.
That’s it.
George Eliot once wrote, “Our dead are never dead to us until we forget them.”
I’m constantly reminded of Jon: songs, movies, random memories.
Jon didn’t want a traditional funeral. He wanted a party.
So when I gave a speech at the service, I told some stories about how much Jon loved to party.
Here’s one of my favorites:
Before my wedding we met with the DJ to talk about the music we wanted for the reception.
The man asked us if there were any wedding songs we wanted to exclude. We didn’t think much about it, but my wife said I think The Chicken Dance. I never liked those.
It didn’t really matter to us, but we wanted to give him something.
Fast forward to the reception. The dance floor heats up. I’m talking to someone at the bar and I hear the Chicken Dance blasting away.
I shared a look with my wife. Neither of us really cared, but we thought it was funny because he asked.
So I walk up to the DJ and ask jokingly Hey, I thought we didn’t say chicken dance?
Yes, I know, but the best man said the groom personally requested it.
Jon was of course the best man.
I turn around and see him standing front and center on the dance floor, leading the way with the hardest chicken dance of his life. Big smile on his face. Surrounded by friends and family. Going to town.
My brother loved having fun with loved ones.
Those are the things I will remember about him.
I received advice from a friend who had also lost a loved one. He told me that you will obviously become sad if Jon is not there for holidays, birthday parties, family gatherings, etc.
Don’t think about it in terms of I wish Jon was here right now.
You rephrase it as If Jon were here right now, he would…
Jon was the kind of man who always knew what to say and when to say it. He always grabbed me a beer before I asked for it. He always gathered the troops for a family walk after a big meal. He turned up the music at the perfect moment during a card game. He would create an adventure before the kids all got bored.
I will always be sad that he is no longer here to do these things, but grieving has also taught me the importance of celebrating the times we had.
That’s what he would want.
#thoughts #grief #wealth #common #sense