During my junior year of high school I took Physics. Knowing that I wanted to be a nurse, I poured through the catalog of the school that I wanted to attend after high school and looked at the courses that were recommended. Chemistry was required; Physics just recommended. Intent on making sure I was accepted to the program, I decided I would take Physics and Chemistry. I’m normally not an overachiever, but call it delusions of grandeur or healthy self esteem, at the time I secretly fancied myself a brilliant scientist or, if not a scientist, than definitely a brilliant nurse.
Our school building was an old British church that had been repurposed as a school with a huge auditorium in the center and classrooms along the sides and upstairs. Physics class was held in the science lab, located at the back of the auditorium, up steep stairs, in the highest spot in the building. We sat on stools around large, rectangular tables surrounded by science in the form of long tables, beakers, formulas, posters and pictures. A sign saying “A Physics student took a drink, but he shall drink no more. For what he thought was H2O was H2SO4” served as a warning to all of us of the violent death we would undergo if we did not pay attention. Bunsen burners, beakers, pipets, droppers, and funnels became familiar equipment and goggles were a necessity.
Like most classes in Murree, the class size was small. There were perhaps 12 of us and a mixture of juniors and seniors. Importantly, I was the only girl in the class.
The year started out okay, but as summer turned into Autumn, I began to despise Physics class. From what I wore to what I weighed, I was fair game for intolerable teasing from every single guy, egged on by the teacher. I laughed right along with all of them until one spring day when I didn’t laugh anymore. I left class sobbing like my heart had broken in a million fractals. It was my brother Stan who saw me leave the school building sobbing. Though he had graduated a couple of years before, he was back for a short time working at the school. He heard my cry, hugged away my tears, and marched up to that Physics Lab in a full-blown rage.
I don’t know what Stan said, but I know his righteous anger burst forth like a canon. Physics class got better for me. Though I still could not wait for it to end, at least a certain measure of respect developed. Never again did I leave Physics class in tears. Stan had done what I could never have done. He had marched in there, and in righteous love had demanded that the bad behavior stop. It was an early lesson in advocacy, it is a lifetime memory of sibling love.
A few months later, my brilliant brother Tom arrived from the United States. Patiently he sat with me each evening, teaching me what the teacher could not because I was so wounded by the class. He coached me to the Physics finish line and I ended up the class with a B+. This was a miracle. It was an early lesson of sibling patience, it is a lifetime memory of sibling love.
That’s the thing with siblings. They just are. While others have to earn a place, siblings have it and you don’t really pay attention to them. Except when you think back on a childhood and the role they played, the times they teased you mercilessly always trumped by the times they stood up for you with rage or coached you with patience. You may be able to count the deep talks you had with siblings on one hand, but that’s okay. Because beyond the deep talks is the deeper understanding of what it is to grow up in the same places, to experience the same household with its strengths and weaknesses, to face life’s challenges together.
It’s been a year to the day since my brother Stan died. A year to the day since we received those awful text messages through the large family Whatsapp. A year to the day when the wretching sobs made me throw up and scream in a silent house. A year to the day that marked my waking up thinking daily about my sister-in-law, my niece, and my nephew. Anyone who has siblings will go through this at some point. Last February was our turn. It came too quick. It was too tragic. It shouldn’t have happened are all places I can’t go yet I go there anyway.
The week following his death was filled with some of the most remarkable love I have ever experienced in my lifetime, as a handful of us gathered in Thailand. We cried, talked, laughed, and comforted each other in that sacred space of grief. We drank mango smoothies and ate Thai curries, walked in gardens and basked in warmth while the Northeast I had left froze over. We did not know that a few weeks later a pandemic would upend the world and our grief would be eclipsed and upstaged by a worldwide crisis.
But it was, and so our grief was put on hold to make room for an angry public that enjoyed outrage so much that they were of no use to the truly grieving.
And now it has been a year. I do not have more words, but I do have more understanding of grief, more understanding of grace, more compassion, and more need for God. And I know, that Christ, who redeems all, is in every moment of this day.
“O Christ, redeem this day.
I do not ask that these lingerings
of grief be erased, but that
the fingers of your grace
would work this memory as a baker
kneads a dough, till the leaven
of rising hope transforms it
into a form holding now in
that same sorrow the surety
of your presence, so that
when I look again at that loss,
I see you in the deepest gloom
of it, weeping with me,
even as I hear you whispering
that this is not the end, but only the still
grey of the dawn before the world begins.
And if that is so, then let that which
broke me upon this day in
a past year, now be seen
as the beginning of my remaking
into a Christ-follower more sympathetic,
more compassionate, and more conscious
of my frailty and of my daily
dependence upon you….”*
*Excerpt from Liturgy for the Anniversary of a Loss © 2017 Every Moment Holy by Douglas McKelvey
13 thoughts on “When Siblings Rescue”
I enjoyed so much hearing you recall your sibling involvements, Marilyn.
As an only child I feel I missed so much. I remember when my children would have disagreements, it was always difficult for me.
Praying for your pain during this time of remembrance….
Beautiful, Marilyn. So glad you had that healing week. And such a brother!
On Mon, Feb 15, 2021 at 3:40 PM MARILYN R. GARDNER wrote:
> Marilyn posted: ” During my junior year of high school I took Physics. > Knowing that I wanted to be a nurse, I poured through the catalog of the > school that I wanted to attend after high school and looked at the courses > that were recommended. Chemistry was required; Ph” >
Holding you in my heart and prayers, most especially this week. Much love.
Thank you so much.
This is a beautiful tribute to your brothers. I can just see Stan standing up for you like that. He was that kind of person. I am so sorry you lost him. You all had such a unique life as TCKs. As I observe my grown children now I am so grateful they have had this kind of unique life too. I have lost 2 brothers. My oldest brother died last fall, due to complications from a cancer treatment. It was too soon. No one was prepared and I was not able to travel and join the small funeral with Covid raging in the fall. We all have had so much grief these last months but it is still true that “blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.” May you continue to find that comfort.
I’m so sorry about your loss. I remember my dad losing his first sibling around when he was 60. I still remember his tears when he found out the news in Pakistan, via telegram, that she had cancer, and then a few months later when she died. I was somehow very unprepared for this …. perhaps we always are. Thank you for sharing.
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Thank you for this. I do not cry easily (boarding school toughens you up!) but this brought me to tears on many levels. I can so relate to the abuse you got by your classmates, and I’m sorry it happened. At least you had a brother who marched in and shut it down. What a blessing. In my case i had ONE dorm mother who was watching and realized I needed to get out. She advocated for me and that made all the difference. Really glad you had someone advocate for you, too.
Memory Eternal to Stan. I’m so sorry for your loss.
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How I’d love to sit with you and exchange stories, tears, and tea. I am so grateful for the advocates – for what they do for us, and what they teach us. Thank you for sharing a fraction of your story.
I’d really love to have tea and exchange stories with you. Your writing is a blessing to me. Thank you for being there and being vulnerable for all of us. May God be with you during this Lent.
I don’t know personally your loss but the beautiful way you described your sibling connection moved me to tears and gave me a deeper sense of familial love. Thanks.
Thank you so much Eric. These words mean a lot.
Thinking of you all in your loss… Donna
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Thank you. Are you in Istanbul right now? Love to you.