Nine years ago on February 28th, 2007, I sat in a hospital room in Madison, WI and watched my brother die. It was not the worst day of my life. We’ve all dealt with death in different ways and to different degrees so I have to believe that everyone would understand that on at least some level.
No, the worst day of my life either hasn’t happened yet, or I’m blessed enough to have my worst day be something I was able to overcome. Sure, in the 9 years since Andrew died I’ve had a lot of horrible days–there was the day I finally acknowledged what had happened on that morning, there was the day I celebrated a birthday meaning I was older than Andrew ever was or will be, and there were many days when simply thinking about it made it hard to breathe.
Today is a very hard day, as it is every year on both the anniversary of his death and his birthday, but today I need it not to be the worst day. And it won’t be. February 28th will never be the worst day of my life because it also represents Andrew being freed from his body. He never knew a life without a body where basically everything was broken. I know now he’s running around in heaven probably celebrating his version of this day. Because it’s not all about me. It’s about him and about your brother or sister or mom or dad or grandma or grandpa or friend who is no longer on this earth. Because they don’t want us to have a worst day of our lives. They want us to enjoy the parts of life that they might not get to be around for because for them it’s all about us.
I miss you, Andrew, more than you’ll ever know, but I have a sneaking feeling that you want me to have the best day of my life. Hopefully I’m trying to do that every day. For you.