Three's Company

It's always been the three of us: my mom, Tim and me. Despite growing up in a family without a dad I never felt I missed out on a lot.  My mom more than made up for that void.

My mom, Linda, Tim, and me; 1983.

Yes, there were times I longed for my dad to be alive: my wedding day, the birth of G but it always felt okay because I had so much love and support from my mom and Tim.  I am pretty sure the feeling was mutual for all three of us.  We have always shared a unique and special bond.  A bond that is created when tragedy and loss strikes like it did when my dad died. Tim and I lived our whole life without our dad and so it was just our norm.  We all genuinely hurt if the other hurt and rejoiced when something good happened for the other.  We were committed to staying attuned to each other's lives even when geography separated us. 

Quintessential Tim: climbing trees and smiling brightly.

This is why the death of Tim feels like one-third of my heart is missing... he is part of me. He will always be part of me. Initially I questioned my status as "sister". Am I still his sister or was I Tim's sister? I concluded that I am Tim's sister.

Tim and I discussed on several occasions (one of which involved whiskey and tears)how blessed we felt even though we were raised with only our mom. Blessed and "so lucky" because our mother was (is) so amazingly awesome.  Even though she was a single, full-time working Mom she was there for us for EVERYTHING.  It also helped that my mom practiced and excelled as a social worker and counselor- we grew up in the almost non-existent "functional" family as opposed to the more typical dysfunctional one.  It was something the three of us sort of laughed at because who knew that by having such an open, loving, communicative family that we, in a way, were at a disadvantage to relating to other people and their family dynamics?

During the couple of weeks following Tim's death I constantly tried to understand and process my feelings via imagining tangible objects- atypical thinking for me.  But I believe it was/is the only way I could try to make sense of what was happening. In my mind, I kept seeing a bowl representing grief over the loss of my dad and now I had to fill that bowl with even more grief that was the death of Tim. When I thought of my family, I imagined a table.  A table is strongest with its four legs, but you take one leg away and you still have a pretty sturdy table. Take one more leg away and that table still can stand but it will tip over so much more easily. Now, my mom and I are left with just two legs to maintain the table's stability. I have to remind myself that despite those vital missing legs, we are made of some damn strong, solid wood!