When the Same Reminds Me I’m Not
We sat in the same darkened room. We looked through the same books with the same options. All they asked us for were words for slight revision.
“The spelling of name is the same?”
“Yes except for the suffix. The previous ended with Jr. and this ends with the III.”
“Will you need the same number of Mass cards?”
“Please know we all feel the same, deep sadness that you’ve lost both of them in such a short period of time.”
The familiar light in my mind broke bright when I suddenly realized the same cold, solemn space where we numbly planned the second funeral of 2009.
Five years ago on this day, December 12, I witnessed the last breath my brother took. Seven months earlier, on April 19, I stood beside the bed when my father took his.
My men with the same name were gone in the same way, in the same year, when the same light their lives brought to this world slowly dimmed.
While this day is the same in so many ways, the date is a reminder for extra time in reflection of how I’m not the same because of their unending love for me and my recovery.