Today marks 8 years since my brother Andrew, my only sibling, took his life.
Outside of my husband and my daughter, I don't know if I have ever loved someone as much as the love I felt for him. Andrew and I were about as different as night and day. Our worldviews, values, beliefs, and interests were nothing alike. But I was so proud and grateful that God gave him to me to be my brother.
Andrew was incredibly funny. He had a sense of humor like no one I've ever met and could make me laugh like no one else. He was incredibly creative and entrepreneurial. He could read people very well. He was incredibly perceptive. He had so much depth. One of his good friends who gave a speech at his funeral that blew me away described him as "a kind and gentle soul." He also showed a lot of courage throughout his life to step out and try risky paths and do things that were hard to do to follow his dreams of learning about acting and film-making. He was incredibly ambitious when he found the things he knew he really wanted to do. There are so many beautiful things to celebrate about his life and the unique gifting and strengths God placed in him.
Andrew also had a lot of deep pain and wounds and struggles that I don't think anyone ever fully understood. I didn't see underneath the surface of a lot of his behaviors to really grasp these roots. When I think of these parts of his story, I still weep and feel so much heart break and tears. Things weren't meant to be like they were.
If I could go back in time and do things differently, I wish I could change how I responded to a lot of the things he did. Instead of being the controlling older sister, acting like a third parent who wanted to fix things for him and correct him or try to argue him out of choices he was making that felt really concerning to me, I wish I could have had a better understanding of all of the layers underneath and better invested in the long game of loving him well in his pain. I wish I had had the relational and emotional scaffolding to just be a compassionate friend that was safe enough for him to share with while I listened and asked questions, trusting the Holy Spirit to care for and work in his heart in ways I was incapable of doing. I wish I could just go back to those days so badly and love him so much better as a friend, even though we would have had to agree to disagree on a lot.
There is so much I wish I had done differently. I want to take responsibility for the things I did wrong. It's good and right to do this, to learn from life and death. I own my sins. I know my sinful bent towards pride, control, and self-righteousness are things I've needed to repent of in the years since his death.
But I refuse to live paralyzed in guilt by the voice of the accuser. I write this blog post as one who has made a lot of mistakes, but as one who has been shown much grace. After a lot of counseling and learning from incredible patient and gracious friends who've taught me a lot about Andrew's story and struggles, I have felt Jesus' forgiveness, and compassion for where I was then on my own journey of maturity and healing and the limited capacity I had at the time.
Suicide is so tormenting to loved ones though as you wrestle through the tension of the agency and responsibility that person had along with all of those things you should have or could have done, what you didn't do, ways you fell horrifically short, and all of the what if's.
I've come to really appreciate The Fray's hit song "How to Save a Life." I think it grapples with a lot of hard truth and wisdom.
In the weeks after Andrew died, one day I decided to read through the book of John in the Bible. I felt Jesus speak so distinctly to my heart as I read chapter 6. Even in all that I didn't do well and owning my own part, He was stronger and He was always the one who was really in control- not me. He alone is the Savior- not me. He was the perfect Good Shepherd and Dad who saw Andrew's heart and understood him perfectly. He knows and saw all of it. As I read John 6:35-44, I felt Him say to me, "Oh Anna, you couldn't mess this up." I can trust the goodness of His heart over the failings of my own.
I know that only Jesus can love perfectly because He knows all intimately. He is the only one who is the perfect balance of grace and truth. A consuming fire of holiness that demands our life and devotion without compromise and the most understanding, compassionate, tender rescuer, wonderful counselor, and dearest Friend.Time and space don't suffice in this post to unpack all of the indescribable ways Jesus cared for my heart in those days and weeks and aftermath of years in healing from such a horrific and traumatic loss. His grace for me, His love, was so tangible. Plane tickets, friends who were there, planning Andrew's funeral, his tombstone being paid for, songs, verses, gifts, direction, jobs, my church, new friends, travels, counseling, a thousand extremely specific and detailed things that are too sacred or personal to share. He was there with me in the worst. To quote one of my favorite songs, "...You have led me through fire. In darkest nights, you were close like no other. I've known you as a Father. I've known you as a Friend- and I have lived in the goodness of God." I've known the power and kindness of His heart in the worst brokenness.
Today, eight years later, I still carry both the ache of missing Andrew and the gratitude of having been his sister.
I entrust Andrew—his story, his pain, his beauty, and his brokenness—into the hands of my good Dad, who sees clearly and loves perfectly.
So I rest here: honoring Andrew and worshipping the heart of the God who saw him all throughout his life.
Some songs I always listen to this time of year that carried me through then:
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