I just returned home from doing a presentation at a Hospice training for new volunteers on the topic of rituals and good byes. As I prepared to present I realized that yes, saying good bye is very important, but it really is also about saying hello to a new way to be, a different way to have a person in your life even though he or she is gone. I will have much more to say about that regarding my process of adjusting to life since my husband's death. But part of this process, for me, has also been about grieving for my big brother, Geof, who was killed in a bicycling accident in 1987. Well, really it has been about finding him again - and saying hello. I did say good bye as best I could when he died, but I had some things I needed to attend to before I could more fully process his death. I wrote the poem Big Brother as I entered that phase. And then, six months after that, I found a wonderful way to reconnect with him.
Geof had ridden in the Trek Across Maine, a 180 mile bike ride from the mountains of Maine to the coast that takes place each June over a 3 day period. He rode in the very first year of the Trek, in 1985, and again the next year. I drove him to the start of the first day in 1985 and have a delightful, very clear memory of him riding the beginning phase in torrential rain with a huge grin on his face. I remember wondering, "How could he actually be enjoying that!?" 25 years later I found out the answer to that question when, on that anniversary ride (my third Trek) , the weather the first day was exactly the same and I had a glorious time with my team forging through the wind and rain and thinking about my big brother. I have ridden for the past 4 years and each year, in some way or another, I feel his presence, his support, and his love.
The poem Trek Across Maine is one I wrote after my first Trek experience. The picture above is of the bike storage on one of the stopovers. The years that Geof rode there were 100 or so riders - now there are about 1800 each year. Just an explanation as to why a rider chose to hang his/her bike in a tree!
Big Brother
Big brother, where did you go?
I never got the chance to know you.
I wanted to, but I never really did.
We shared the same house, the same parents,
yet we were so different.
I knew you loved me, knew you cared.
But we didn’t talk much.
We did what we needed to do to move forward
each in our own way.
I remember the Mother’s Day when we
shared a moment in the garden of our childhood home
as happily married young parents.
Children playing with our spouses in the front yard,
we sat together and began to discover each other.
I said, “We did pretty well, didn’t we?”
You asked what I meant.
I pointed to the front yard and smiled.
You got it, you understood and
in that moment I felt connected to you in a different way.
New ways to be together, the future bright, good times ahead.
It felt so solid and sure that day, just sitting together
my big brother and me.
Then you drove away with your family,
contented smile on your face.
A face that spoke volumes without words.
Ten days later Dad called to tearfully
tell me you were dead.
Time has passed and I have grown older,
much older than you ever had the chance to be.
Yet you are still my big brother
and now our children are
amazing young adults finding their
way in a world that has been too long without you.
I miss you, your laugh, your quiet confidence.
They miss you, too.
We have all gone on, but your absence looms large.
I miss you, big brother.
Where did you go? Where did you go?
Big brother, where did you go?
I never got the chance to know you.
I wanted to, but I never really did.
We shared the same house, the same parents,
yet we were so different.
I knew you loved me, knew you cared.
But we didn’t talk much.
We did what we needed to do to move forward
each in our own way.
I remember the Mother’s Day when we
shared a moment in the garden of our childhood home
as happily married young parents.
Children playing with our spouses in the front yard,
we sat together and began to discover each other.
I said, “We did pretty well, didn’t we?”
You asked what I meant.
I pointed to the front yard and smiled.
You got it, you understood and
in that moment I felt connected to you in a different way.
New ways to be together, the future bright, good times ahead.
It felt so solid and sure that day, just sitting together
my big brother and me.
Then you drove away with your family,
contented smile on your face.
A face that spoke volumes without words.
Ten days later Dad called to tearfully
tell me you were dead.
Time has passed and I have grown older,
much older than you ever had the chance to be.
Yet you are still my big brother
and now our children are
amazing young adults finding their
way in a world that has been too long without you.
I miss you, your laugh, your quiet confidence.
They miss you, too.
We have all gone on, but your absence looms large.
I miss you, big brother.
Where did you go? Where did you go?
Sarah Carlson
December 26, 2006
December 26, 2006
Trek Across Maine
(Through the Eyes, Ears, and Heart of a Neophyte)
Heart pumping, stomach churning, gasping for breath –
and I hadn’t even started yet.
Soaking in the moment knowing I was embarking on the ride
with the quiet support of my son, the companionship of my daughter
and the memories of my husband and my big brother in my heart.
Off we went, my awesome friends and I,
off to join the river of bikers ebbing, flowing, coursing
from the mountains to the sea.
An incredible journey unfolded as we melded into the current
powered by the human spirit, the stretching of personal limits.
Giving and receiving support to and from people we knew,
and people we had yet to meet.
Pedaling past a multitude of scenes
that represented Maine at its finest.
Rolling fields, green hills, distant mountains,
sparkling rivers and streams
weaving their way around the solidity of the rocky earth.
Serenaded by chirping birds, croaking frogs,
and the cheers of green shirted volunteers.
Blue skies overhead interrupted only occasionally
by friendly clouds that wafted by.
Up and down hills, feeling the contentment of reaching a peak and
the exhilaration of cruising down the other side.
Early mornings, flat tires, broken spokes, aching muscles,
more miles than we had ever ridden.
We did it all and I finished hand in hand with my daughter and
a sense of accomplishment
unmatched by anything I had ever done before.
Personal, multi-faceted victories for us all.
A memorable Trek that I hope is the first of many more to come
(Through the Eyes, Ears, and Heart of a Neophyte)
Heart pumping, stomach churning, gasping for breath –
and I hadn’t even started yet.
Soaking in the moment knowing I was embarking on the ride
with the quiet support of my son, the companionship of my daughter
and the memories of my husband and my big brother in my heart.
Off we went, my awesome friends and I,
off to join the river of bikers ebbing, flowing, coursing
from the mountains to the sea.
An incredible journey unfolded as we melded into the current
powered by the human spirit, the stretching of personal limits.
Giving and receiving support to and from people we knew,
and people we had yet to meet.
Pedaling past a multitude of scenes
that represented Maine at its finest.
Rolling fields, green hills, distant mountains,
sparkling rivers and streams
weaving their way around the solidity of the rocky earth.
Serenaded by chirping birds, croaking frogs,
and the cheers of green shirted volunteers.
Blue skies overhead interrupted only occasionally
by friendly clouds that wafted by.
Up and down hills, feeling the contentment of reaching a peak and
the exhilaration of cruising down the other side.
Early mornings, flat tires, broken spokes, aching muscles,
more miles than we had ever ridden.
We did it all and I finished hand in hand with my daughter and
a sense of accomplishment
unmatched by anything I had ever done before.
Personal, multi-faceted victories for us all.
A memorable Trek that I hope is the first of many more to come
Sarah Carlson
June 19, 2007
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