Due Date

I am just arriving home from a baby shower that I attended out of obligation to my sister.  I don't know the mom-to-be very well. 
My sister asked me to attend her baby shower and to be honest, when she mentioned the girl's name my brain recalled no reference.  My sister beat around the bush until she finally just blurted that she was Michael's friend...didn't I remember?

Oh.

...and she's my sister's friend, too.  And my sister felt uncomfortable attending her shower alone because the young woman is connected to the memory of our brother.

I didn't want to go in the worst way.  I think I behaved rudely to my sister when she mentioned it again to me.  I would delay responding to her texts about it and replied blankly, as if I forgot, yet again, who this girl was, and why was I invited anyway?

I met her exactly three times, three years ago.  Once at my brother's 50th birthday party and then twice again a month later at his bedside when he died and at his funeral.

My fear and sadness surrounding very personal things hindered my support to my sister.  One of those things is the memory of my brother.  I didn't want to remember that he died, you see.  It's easier to pretend someone lives far away and just couldn't make it at Christmas.  It's easier to think they're working.  I don't have to connect to the reality that my brother died if I just act as if he is down the basement watching TV at my mom's house when I visit, knowing he used to be there.

When I heard my mom was going to the shower, too, I made a decision to lighten up.  ....and it was a decision, just like it had been one to be rude, aloof and blind to my sister's reaching out.

I'm ashamed of my attitude towards my sister.  She needed me to go to Michael's friend's baby shower.  She needed me to lighten her mood, to support her.  She expected it of me because she felt that I could.

I went, albeit begrudgingly.

Once there, of course, nothing felt so serious anymore.  At our table sat another pregnant young mom, so full of plans and anticipation.  We all laughed together.

Then the newly expectant grandmom came to us to welcome us and acknowledge that we were Mike's family.  My mom's demeanor lightened, Theresa seemed comforted and I smiled appreciating the acknowledgement...but inside, very small, I heard, "He's here."  Then I chuckled remembering his funny smile and off-the-wall remarks that just cracked me up.

Now I don't believe Michael is sending me other-worldly messages that he's with us.  What I think is that all the locations and situations I've been placing Michael to protect myself from the pain of losing his brotherly love has shifted.  He's moving closer.  In my mind, I placed him where he would have really been...there, at the shower, where no man should tread!  The reality that he couldn't be there moves me closer to my own "due date."

I recall this similiar shift after my father died.  It was about 3 years after he died that I sat at his grave and cried. 

My friends always comment how "brave" I am at funerals.  In fact, I gave the eulogy at my brother's funeral. 

I'm not brave.  Just the opposite.  I am too cowardly to share my grief.  It's also a coping mechanism that allows me to emotionally detatch until it's "safe."  Whatever safe means.  On the upside I am able to hold it together to speak, represent, allow others to share their pain. 

But I know better than to believe that is how my feelings will remain. 

I feel my psyche is approaching it's own due date.  I'm feeling closer to the acceptance that Mike is gone.  Then I will begin the process of missing him.