I will never be the same. After the summer of twenty-twenty-one, part of my heart was gone. That summer my brother left me. My parents were in tears numerous times. My sister was deadly silent for multiple weeks. Even my dog’s appetite was less than usual. That summer took an unprecedented physical, emotional, and spiritual toll on me and my family.

My brother, Andrew Gillett, had chosen his college, Cedarville University. He had chosen his roommate, his schedule, even his backpack. My family was flying to Ohio to drop off my brother for college on a rainy August morning. As we were driving toward the PDX airport, the rain started a violent assault on the windshield of the family SUV. As we go through the security lines, everyone is silent, as the commotion caused by being up at one-thirty to try and catch a five o’clock boarding time is surprisingly exhausting. Once we all put on our shoes after the security check, we walk towards gate D5, one that I will remember on the day I die. I sit next to my mom, who has always been a comforting force to me, although I now have to take over that role. I have never seen my parents so affected. Not when my brother got the main part in a school play, not when my sister made the higher level volleyball team, not any of the multiple times that I broke my wrist. Boarding the plane seems like the longest hundred feet that I’ve ever walked, like I’ve never walked, and this is the longest race in the world. For most of the plane ride I can’t sleep. I drift in and out of a slight doze, but a baby crying here and a cough there wakes me up every time that I fall into the most shallow sleep that I’ve ever experienced. Once we get off the plane and to the campus of my brother, we start unloading. The upperclassmen welcome us, and some even come up to me and tell me that I’ll be okay, as me and my mom had to go to the car to cry it off a little. My brother stayed at his dorm, leaving the rest of my family to venture to our hotel, unpack, and head to a Buffalo Wild Wing for some dinner. Even the hot wings do nothing to heat up my dampened spirit. The solid hotel bed provides little sleep, as my whole family is tossing and turning the whole night. We have already said our goodbyes, as no one wants to endure the pain that ensues even hearing the voice of my brother. Only two more days of living here until I can cry into my own pillow until the end of time.

As the week goes on, I can pay little attention to the activities around me. If you asked me to repeat one word that was said to me, I couldn’t tell you. I was focused on the solitary fact that I had lost my roommate, my mentor, my brother, but most importantly, my friend. He had taught me about the Bible for eleven years. He helped me with math homework, getting bandages, and taught me how to tie my shoes. How could I ever live without my one and only brother? I would no longer have a roommate that I could see when I turn over in my bed in the middle of the night and know that everything will be okay. As I walk along the stiff floors of the airport, I try not to think about the fact that my best friend is now lost to me, but my efforts are futile. I can tell by the way that my family walks that they feel the same way. The rigid seats of the gate do nothing to comfort us, and all we can do is sit in silence. I will never recall what happened in the next eight hours, as I was being held captive by my own mind. Was he okay? Had some tragic accident happened, and I no longer even had a brother? Had a nuclear bomb hit, and no one even knew? Had he just randomly disappeared off of the face of the Earth? I had to go to sleep. If I stayed like this, I would never be able to appreciate anything. The only thing that can wake me out of my trance is the skidding of the airplane wheels on the asphalt of the runway. All of the attendants say “Have a nice night!” but all that I can think to say is a mere “ya.” My feet somehow trudge toward the family SUV, and as I climb into the captain seat, I realize that I don’t need to sit in the back row. This realization encourages tears, but I do my best to hold them back, as the last thing that everyone needs is another person crying. All of us know that the best thing for us will be to sleep it off, so that is exactly what we do. 

          For the next month or so, I fall into a place that is somewhere in between grief and mourning, but not quite either one. I stop reading my daily devotional, stop reading the Bible every day, stop caring. How could life be any good without Andrew? The only thing that keeps me going is talking to him every weekend. I no longer can just walk into my room and ask any question and know that I will get a reasonable answer. I no longer have a human calculator to help with difficult math questions. I will no longer have a brother that has gone through my exact situation and knows the best way to deal with it. When school starts again, I find that my schoolwork keeps me busy, so I throw myself into my studies. I soon find that my Bible has verses, chapters, even whole books that help me get through it. My brother has mentored me for my whole life, and whenever I read the Bible, it brings me closer to him. I see a word here, a verse there. They remind me of concepts that he taught me. Through all of this, I have found a way to flip through thin pages of paper, and somehow be transported to a place where I can see and feel my brother again.

         For the last three years, I have been able to be with my brother, even if he is halfway across the country. He visits during his breaks, and calls every weekend. He is now a junior at Cedarville University, and plans to graduate in spring 2025. We can talk about hobbies, shared and otherwise. I am able to connect with him whenever, and even if I can not be with him physically, he will always be with me in spirit.