Kristine E. Brickey

27: the age he would have been today. 16: the last birthday he celebrated. 10: the number of years he hasn't sat at my table. He was only a few months away from his 17th birthday. Had he stayed, I would have, over the last decade, watched as he'd grown broader and taller. I would have cried and laughed and been frustrated over things he said and did. I would have hugged him tight and embarrassed him with kisses. I can imagine what he might have grown into, what we might have (fill in an emotion here) about these last ten years. They are only imaginings. There's no way to know what would have happened, had he stayed. This morning, however, on his 27th birthday, I do know. I know that within a few minutes of waking up I would have been singing 'Happy Birthday' to my son. Whether he was stationed overseas, living down the hallway from me, or couch surfing between friends' places, I would rise up and be singing his birthday song to him in person or into a phon...

Note: This piece was written by a former student (now a grown adult) and shared on her social media. For obvious reasons, it hit home with me in a powerful, emotionally provoking way. When I asked if I could share, Taylor Siebecker immediately gave permission. Aside from a bit of formatting, it is exactly as she wrote it. Thank you is simply not enough.  *possible suicidal triggering 63 various pills used to rest in the bottom of my purse in a ziplock bag; 63 various pills that I carried around, waiting to be taken to end what felt like my endless suffering. 63 reasons why I thought my life was not worth it. 63 pills that felt like they weighed thousands of pounds. I wrote my suicide letter, tears streaming down my face as I tried to explain why I did what I had planned. I still have that letter, buried in my closet; I read it often when I’m alone or wond ering what my purpose here on this earth is.  The thoughts that once raced through my head; they consumed m...

Sitting in my living room, a simple foodie show on the television, a little girl sings to a stranger, and suddenly, there are tears. She is sweetness and innocence, her smile sincere and without guile. So, the tears...there is no reason this should loosen them from me. Yet I know the reasons well. In the safety of my cozy home, no immediate worries, I cry. It happens more often these days. Just beneath the layer of ten years of resiliency, still so thin, Grief waits for me. This morning, there is no reason for crying, so Grief knows I am an easy target. Yesterday, I was ready for its arrival, fended off attack with yard work and laughter. This morning, after a restless night of little sleep and a two a.m. walk in the full moon brightness in my backyard, my guard is down. The girl's smile is an arrow delivered through the heart of my sadness, my tears the release of loss and sadness and longing for what has been lost. Some days there are tears. Some days the tears last an impo...

These days have razor sharpened my emotions. My eyes fill too quickly with tears. Anger spikes without warning. The simplest things become mountains. Yesterday, I sat in the parking lot of my new chiropractor and cried as I left a message. Today, frustrated tears rolled freely when the vet didn't answer my call. "I JUST NEED TO KNOW WHEN YOU'RE ARRIVING!" I yelled to nobody, dislodging birds from the trees. I'd just finished a calming yoga routine on my front porch. So much for that hour. These days are almost too much. Nerves are stretched thin and raw, ready to snap. It would be almost too much if it was all there was to maneuver; but, add in a decade of grief, new brotherly loss; combine the removal of physical and mental release from CrossFit, massage therapy, and regular chiropractic care; together, they are escalating my emotional fragility. I know I am not the only one feeling these feelings. I know it is important for others to understand that they a...

            Her mother has been calling for her. The first minutes, her voice is thrown into the warm summer morning, a simple thing. Now, much later, anyone who picks up on the sound would hear the irritation as her daughter’s first and middle name ring across the green grass and dirt road, disappearing into the breeze.   The little girl doesn’t even notice. She is lost in her own space and time, beneath the rough branches of the small crabapple orchard on the far side of the driveway. Her mother will call all day, but the girl won’t answer.  See, how her eight year old frame lies across her pony’s? The little Shetland is completely at ease, his soft white muzzle down in the grass as he grazes, occasionally crunching a fallen apple, still too green and hard and sour for most tastes. He doesn’t mind the girl, draped across his back like a saddle pad. They are lost in the warmth of love only understandable by girls and their ponies. Lying on...

My hawk came home today. It's been months since I saw him, since I'd seen any, really. I've been missing my hawks, signs that Robbie is checking in with me. Some people might think that it's crazy, but since my brother died on February 5th, I haven't seen a hawk. Not in my yard. Not in trees along the sides of the highways. Nowhere. May is hard. The hardest, if there is one, of all the months. It's more of a roller coaster, super wonderful days to remember, mixed with the worst of my life. So, it's harder. This year, this stupid, sucky, should have been the coolest year (what with 2020 and all it held in anticipation), has instead brought a decade marker of Robbie's death, the death of my only brother, the Corona 19 virus and isolation, and because this wasn't all enough, murder hornets. Seriously? Murder hornets? Yup. And, no hawks in sight. It might seem crazy with everything else, but no hawks made it all even harder to handle. Where was m...

Today I woke up. I wished happy birthday to my puppy. I started coffee brewing. Showered. Chopped veggies for the week. Cooked beautiful, delicious egg white omelets for myself and my 'work at home these days' husband. I did chores. Pet Thor the Mighty Barn Cat. The wind was cold and the sun was bright. But, most importantly... Today, I gave myself permission to stop pressuring myself about, well, EVERYTHING. Yesterday was awful. Horrid. Gray and gloomy and downcast. The weather was bad, too. Yesterday, I fretted about the noticeable downtrend of my strength, lack of motivation to workout, inability to sit and finish writing F*CK It, I'm 50 , increase in bouts of crying and sadness and missing my son and brother. Today, I woke up and decided enough was enough. No more worrying about NOT and CAN'T. Less feeling badly about things that are different. So many things are different now. So many things we cannot do, places we cannot go, and people we cannot se...