My vacuum cleaner bag failed this morning. I knew something was wrong when I wasn’t getting suction.
I opened the vacuum and to my horror the entire inside of the vacuum was filled with dust, debris and lots and lots of dog hair. At first, I thought the vacuum bag had exploded. In actuality, the vacuum bag was empty. It had never sealed properly and didn’t do its job.
I remembered a few weeks back that I had a really difficult time getting the bag inserted to the point that I thought perhaps I had bought the wrong type of bag. Eventually I secured or thought I had secured the bag, and I closed the lid.
So, for two weeks or so each time I vacuumed the dirt accumulated inside the vacuum instead of being trapped in the bag.
Oblivious to the fact that the bag may have not been inserted correctly I continued to vacuum until the vacuum told me that it was no longer picking of stuff.
Today is the anniversary of my brother’s death, a year ago. He died of brain cancer but I wasn’t told he had cancer or was dying, so my first knowledge of it was when my sister called and said he had passed away.
Apparently, he had not wanted me to know but instead confided in my sister for the last couple years of his life. I know it was probably hard for her not to tell me, because a promise is a promise and she had promised not to tell me.
Last year at first, I had difficulty processing it.
My brother was kind of like a hero to me. He was seven years older than me, but I really looked up to him. In our adult years we didn’t see much of each other because we lived in different cities. Our birthdays were two days apart so one thing we made sure to do was to send each other a birthday card each year.
The year that he died I felt a nudge from the Lord to share the gospel message of salvation with my brother in the birthday card I sent him. I believe he knew Christ because we had grown up in a Catholic family. We went to church, and we knew the story of Jesus and that he died for our sins.
But when my brother lost one of his children to sudden infant death syndrome it was difficult for him to believe in a loving God any longer. He seemed to move away from his faith at that point. In later years he went back to the Catholic church.
Today when I saw the explosion in my vacuum, I felt the same explosion in my soul.
While I try to understand why my brother did not want me to know he was dying, the difficulty lies in not being allowed to say goodbye. There was no funeral, there was no memorial service. It’s just that one day I knew he was alive and the next day, he wasn’t. The lack of closure was hurtful.
I always thought I had a close relationship with my brother, but last year when he died and again today I realize that I probably didn’t.
About a year before my brother died our last living aunt passed away. At the funeral I could tell that my brother was pulling away from me. He behaved differently. He was having difficulty walking down a stairway. I reached up and held my hand out to help him, and he pulled away and seemed aggravated with me. That’s the last memory I have of my brother.
It’s not the best memory to have, so today I try to focus on happier times like the time we were kids washing the dishes and he would flick the towel and hit me. It stung but I would dance around and say, “You missed me.” To which he replied, “I did not.” and he’d pull the towel back and smack me again. I’d never admit he hit me or that it hurt, even a little bit.
Or the time he gave me a rum, and coke when I was 14 years old, something mom would not have liked had she known.
I remember the time he took me for a ride on his motorcycle through the park, winding down the hills and feeling the breeze across my face. Another time we rode at night with a friend of his and I felt like we finally connected as adults, and I wasn’t just his baby sister.
I realized today that I didn’t even cry last year when I heard the news. I was so dumbfounded I just couldn’t process the information, so I stuffed it inside and told myself what was important was that his family abided by his wishes both in life and death.
When I looked at the explosion of filth in my vacuum it reminded me of all the trash, I have built up in my life from childhood right up until this very minute, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. I’ve stuffed my feelings inward rather than expressing them.
But looking at that mess inside the vacuum reminded me that I need to filter my thoughts and contain them appropriately.
After a thorough cleaning the vacuum is back in working order with filter and bag in place.
And after a good cry I have finally processed my brother’s death on a level I am able to understand.
“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens: a time to be born and a time to die.” Ecclesiastes 3:1-2
Perspectives: From Lynn 