How I lost a brother and gained a sister in one day

The most poignant moments of my life sneak up on me. Granted, some of them I saw coming: when I married my Jebbo, when I held each of my babies for the first time. I imagined these would be unforgettable, life-altering moments, and they were. But more often than not, the emotions that drive the snapshot images that form the tapestry of my life come in a rush and knock me on my ass. It feels a lot like being punched in the gut.

I got metaphorically punched right in the gizzard last Saturday. My brother got married. I would have to be an idiot, or really un-self-aware, to imagine that this day would pass without any moments that I will remember for the rest of my life. So, I knew it was going to be an emotional day. The when of it, though, was a surprise, as it often is to me. I was in line to walk down the aisle. Right up to that point, it had been a hell of a hectic day. My existence had been consumed with the management of hair, clothes, everyone being at the right place at the right time, and attempts at gracefully maneuvering the egos and bodily functions of two small kids in formal attire (have you ever tried to help a coiffed and gowned [and stubborn] flower girl go pee?). After Evie disappeared  (for the umpteenth time) and required a cursory search party, I had a memorable fantasy about propping my feet up and downing Morgan ‘n’ diets until smiling came easy again.

Yet as the service started, all the noise in my head stopped. I stopped, and for the first time looked, really looked, around me. And who I saw was my mother. She was striking in her mother-of-the-groom regalia; that much I had already seen. Now, though, I saw through all of the formality and fuss and saw her fragility. Her pride, her tears, the bittersweetness of seeing her son happy yet realizing that he has really grown up. I saw my dad, farmer-gone-debonair in his tux and cufflinks, his eyes glistening and red-rimmed as he waited with Mom. For a man I have never seen cry, he seemed markedly unabashed about wearing his heart on his sleeve. The therapist in me cheered while the little girl in me wanted to comfort her daddy. I left my place in line to hug both of them. Cue my own tears, the cup of emotion finally runneth over.

That’s when I got my sock in the gut: “my little brother is getting married.” In a flash I remembered him as a guileless toddler, following me around the house because I held his tractors captive; as the little guy on the elementary playground that I felt compelled to look out for at recess; as a teen stumbling drunk and breaking Mom’s lamp, spurring a secret between he and I that wouldn’t leak for almost 10 years. As a young man leaving home, moving into his first apartment and trying to find his way in life. As the brother who had grown to be one of my closest friends. He was no longer a child in any way. He hasn’t been for a long time, but this moment cinched it in my mind. And just for the briefest of seconds, I felt a pang of loss. Our past is gone. Our little Michl family of four is no more.

In almost the same breath, I realized all I was about to gain. I stood at the back of the church, doors to the sanctuary thrown open, music changing to organ. It was my turn to walk down towards that nervous and joyful man at the altar, my brother. Before I started I looked back and saw Abby. She was already starting to cry as she clutched her father’s arm. My heart squeezed when I looked at her, and I remembered that already, I love her like a sister. I want her to be in my family. I am happy to say goodbye to the past if it means that she will be a part of our future.

And this is the snapshot image that will remain when I look back on the day. I’ll remember other things, like Evie crawling under a pew and screaming during the ceremony, like the best man’s speech (which was another of those “sock me in the gut” moments, but that’s a story for another day), like losing and serendipitously finding my sunglasses, like eating a Skittle that I thought was a Reese’s Pieces (and this, my friends, is not a good surprise if you’re me). It was a day filled with laughter and tears, dirty jokes and cocktails, family and friends. It was an honor to be a part of it. Though I did have to let go of my “baby” brother, I got him back as a peer and friend, and I also got a sister out of the deal. I am so freaking happy about the whole damn thing that I can barely wipe the cheesy smile off of my face every time I think about it. Cheers, once again, to Nate and Abby!!

Irony in the air: You say goodbye, and I say hello

There’s irony in the air tonight—at exactly the same moment that I’m saying goodbye to my grad school family, I’m saying hello to my high school family. This weekend is my ten-year high school class reunion. Thus I said my first goodbye to the Exeter Class of 2001 ten years ago, almost to the date. Looking back, I struggled with that goodbye as well. I remember being the sodden mess (the one I expected to be last night) the night of our senior party. I remember listening to that damn Vitamin C song about graduation and “friends forever” in my car every day of the summer and crying every time. I remember feeling like I’d never find another group of friends, that I’d never love anyone like I loved my classmates. And actually, pieces of that worry came true, I suppose…I did not and can never “replace” my high school friends. They are unique, and awesome, and the friendships that you make in high school—especially a tiny rural school like the one I went to, where most of us were together every day from kindergarten to senior year—are precious for a lifetime. However, continuing to love my high school friends did not have the catastrophic effect that I’d expected at the time: that I would never have other friends that meant as much to me. The truth is that I did make new friends, in time. I did find other places and other groups with which I belonged. I need to tuck that fact into my mind and let it breathe hope into me, because I’m struggling with the very same set of worries today, only this time it’s because my grad school friends are leaving. Ah, it’s funny how history repeats itself. It’s also funny how even when know we have changed and grown, in times of stress we default to the same old set of insecurities.

As recently as a few short months ago, I might have looked back and scoffed at myself for being so “dramatic” about the way I handled my high school ending. I would have probably thought something like, Oh, well, you’re just a lot better at emotional regulation now than you were ten years ago. Now, though, I’m not so sure that what I did back then was overly dramatic or “wrong” or “immature.” I was definitely not blunting any emotion or avoiding anything; I was merely feeling what I needed to feel in the moment and coping with that in the best way I knew how. I’m doing much the same thing now, in different ways. Is my emotional regulation or my coping any better or any worse now, really? I honestly don’t know the answer to that.

This all being said, what I’m ready for is a weekend of fun with my high school friends. I fully expect to cry at some point over the weekend; after all, we’re all going to have to say “goodbye” again at the end of it. (Have you figured out by now that I’m not very fond of endings?) But mostly, I expect to greet, eat, drink, dance, and be merry. I’m gonna see that irony in the air and laugh my way right through it.