To look at a gravestone and see what remains of my birth brother is enormously overwhelming. While I knew in my teens of his death, I had never been to his grave. My birth mother has not really talked about him in any detail in our few conversations. It is so strange, I even wrote in journals as a young girl about how I wanted a big brother.

As I walked in the cemetery searching for my brother I did not know how I would feel seeing his grave. Then I see his name, my heart hurt so much. As I touched the cold marble I was with him. I was always under the impression that he had died in his teens and was shocked to learn that he died when he was 8. It completely broke my heart to realize that he was just a little boy when he died. I saw a picture of my brother for the first time on his grave. To see his sweet innocent face on the tombstone was too much for me to bear, the tears would not stop coming.

The only thing that my birth mother told me about him was that he never got over losing us, girls. He was the caregiver even at the young age of 5 since my birth mother was out doing her thing. I really feel cheated not to have the memories, stories, to even know about him, or even have a picture of him. I sat there thinking of all that could have been, should have been, while looking at his sweet smile. I want what I cannot have, the brother I lost before I ever knew his name or that he even existed. I sat there with tears running down my face wondering if he was anything like my little boy. What would he have been like today if he had lived? Oh, how the past shadows the future.

I will share more about the visit and my thoughts in the future.


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More reading:

Knowing What You Know, Would You Do It Again?

Adoptee: Raw Grief of Dark Secrets