I Swear You Will Be Fine

It probably sounds naive, but I didn’t think losing Josh would be this hard. He had been unwell for so long that I had prepared myself, at least mentally, for this day to come. I always imagined I would be in London when it happened. Mum would call, and I’d ask if she had done everything she could. And when I knew she had, I’d tell her to wait for me. I would get the next flight home and take care of everything.

But I never thought about after that.

I never thought about trying to stay in our flat without Josh. We shared a room until he was 11.  When we had our own rooms, they were connected by a shared bathroom. When we shared a room, the last thing we would say was ‘Goodnight, love you’. Even after we moved into our own rooms, he would tell me the same thing after he used the bathroom. He said it the night before he passed. It used to irritate me that I couldn’t even get privacy in my own bedroom. Now I find myself waiting to hear him use the bathroom and open my bedroom door. It’s so hard to sleep in my own house because I keep waiting for him to tell me goodnight. 

I didn’t think about getting used to not hearing him around the house. It used to drive me insane, especially when he was little. Josh used to be an early riser, even on Saturdays. On the other hand, I would spend the whole day in bed if I could. He was far from silent – if Josh was awake, you were awake. The bedroom door closes loudly, the kitchen cabinets open and close while he finds breakfast and the spoon clangs against the bowl as he eats cereal. 

Josh used to love waking me up. I didn’t share the same enthusiasm, but it may be a younger brother thing. He loved it. I did not. He got a particular high from jumping on my bed. Thankfully, this was a ‘little’ Josh thing, not a teenage Josh thing. Over the last few years, as the illness took over, he slept more. And I learnt to listen for signs he was ok when I was in the bathroom. If he was singing – we’re ok. If it was silent – find some excuse to go in. We were so attuned to looking for signs that he was ok. Even the dogs barking typically meant things were ok. We were so careful, but it just wasn’t enough. 

I didn’t think it would be this hard. I thought if I avoided the flat it would be easier, but it doesn’t matter. The grief is always there. I see reminders of my brother everywhere. I see it when I see a teenage boy in the gym. I hear it when I hear a song he used to sing. I feel it all the time. Josh would agree that we didn’t have the easiest adolescence. While my mum and grandparents have always been incredible, life with our father was unstable. I thought that would be the hardest thing we went through. We grieved someone who was still on earth. But now I know what it’s really like to have your heart broken. It feels like with every breath, I think ‘Joshua. ‘ I know he isn’t here whether I’m asleep or awake. The grief is just always there. 

Josh would laugh at me and tell me not to be so dramatic. Yes, it is tragic that he was robbed of a healthy, normal life. But we were lucky, too. We got more time with him than other families do with their children. Life on earth wasn’t easy for him, and somehow, I never realised how hard it would be for us after he went. But still, it is not as difficult as life was for him. Josh would be proud of how my mum and Shalini are handling this. They have every reason to fall apart, but they don’t. So, honestly, the rest of us have no excuse.

I know that Josh wouldn’t have survived losing me. Or any of us. But only because he was so sick. I won the stupid genetic lottery and didn’t develop an awful personality disorder. So I have to survive what he couldn’t. I have to survive losing him – for him. Josh was dealt the worst card, but he still tried so hard. So even though I didn’t think about what came after, I think Josh would be pleased with how we’re all trying to make sure there is an after. 

Love,

Jess