After High School
graduation I was not like all the other Graduated Seniors. I didn’t have extra-large
twin sheets that match the color of the college that I was going to; I didn’t
have a shower caddy, or even a mini fridge. I had my Chevy Tahoe packed full of
boxes and clothes ready to move to New Orleans for a mission year. I thought it
would be a great time in my life filled with new friends and experiences that
few rising freshman get. The year was the best of my life until the summer came
around. July 2nd, 2012 not
only devastated me like no other day before it, but it also made me realize who
and what is important in life and how to start living every day to its fullest.
The day started out like any other working for Project
Homecoming. The only difference was that I hadn’t received my daily email from
my Dad. I stepped outside and the humidity felt like a wet towel was put in a
microwave and then wrapped around my face. I had gone straight to my work site
that morning instead of going to the office. I sat in my truck for a little
while finishing my horribly fattening and ridiculously greasy Sausage McMuffin.
Right as I was throwing the wrapper into the back of my truck I received a call
from my boss asking me to come into the office. He didn’t say why, and there
was no reason for me to go in, so I started to get this weird feeling in my
stomach. I could only think about what he must have to say. The feeling only
got worse as the drive continued making the whole time feel like the longest
drive I had ever taken. I got into the office and my Construction Manager told
me to call my Mom. I started to worry then thinking that something had happened
to someone somewhere. I kept calling and calling my Mom, and she didn’t pick
up, then I tried my brother and it went straight to his voicemail so I figured
they were talking. I asked my Construction Manager if my Mom had said anything
about it, “it’s something tragic” were the only words that she said. My mind
immediately went to my Dad, and how there was no email from him that morning.
Then I just waited until my Mom called. I can’t forget her voice over the
phone. It sounded shaky, like she was trying to be strong, but her voice wasn’t
possibly strong enough to carry the weight of the words that she was about to
say. Somehow she was able to tell me that my brother, Tim, had died the
previous night from a heart attack.
My big brother, who I played at the beach with which
would end up me being held by my ankles while he dunked my head in the water, who
I raced Mario Karts with, who I grew up with. Being 7 years apart we were never
incredibly close because we had completely different mind sets. A college kid
doesn't always want to hang out with a middle school student if they can help
it. I have fond memories of him setting his alarm to wake us both up on
Christmas morning so that we can go see what was in our stockings however, we
could only grab our stockings. There was an unwritten rule of a stocking grab
and then we had to go to our rooms and also not wake up Mom and Dad, but of
course kids our age and size would make a lot of noise. Our parents were just
nice enough to not yell when we woke them up. Nineteen years of memories were
with him. He spent countless hours in high school parking lots teaching me how
to drive, and actually drove me to prom my junior and senior years of High
School. He gave me advice in all departments of my life especially during my
mission year, and went above and beyond the call of duty for a big brother. We
had this club growing up. It was called “The Lipka Men’s Club.” The club
involved my Dad, my Brother, and me. We took Mother’s day pictures together
wearing white polo’s and pink and green ties. We gave Christmas presents as a
club and received Christmas presents from the ever elusive Santa. Then, in a 3
minute phone call, I found out that he had died, that we had not only lost my
brother, but lost one of my two favorite members of the best club that I have
ever been a part of. Later that day I
went home to my family – we all felt a huge void in our lives. The week until
the funeral consisted of trying to figure out how to fill the void amongst piles
of sympathy cards that didn’t help anything, food that wasn’t eaten, and people
only seen for weddings and funerals. You
are either an only child, or one with a sibling. There is nothing worse than losing your
sibling. There is nothing worse than trying every day to learn how to move on. The person that you have made future plans
with now lost. Everything from ‘when you
will see each other again’ to ‘who will take care of your parents when they go
crazy’ now gone. The funeral came on
that weekend and to everyone’s surprise I spoke at it. It was difficult, but I
talked about how I was going to work as hard as I could to make Tim proud of
me.
After
saying that at the funeral, that one line, my life changed. I started to have
lots of questions, but I couldn’t escape the thought of what my life would be
like if none of this happened. I first think of how my brother was coming to
visit me in New Orleans the weekend after the funeral, how he had made travel
plans and I had made itinerary plans for us to spend time together without our
parents around, an experience that we never got to have. I think about how much
easier my life would be without this weight to carry around. Finally, I think
about how my faith was before Tim died; how strong it was, and now how it has
been turned upside down, causing me to question everything that I learned
through my Young Adult Volunteer year and my 19 years of life. All of the
Sunday school lessons of ‘Jesus loves you and he won’t let any harm come to
you’ betrayed, and the complex questions of faith, discussions on what God is
doing in our lives, and how everything happens for a reason, disappeared. Then
finally I grasped reality that this is my life now and I thought about making
Tim proud. I realized how wrong I was with my actions living in New Orleans – the
parties, not putting 100% into everything that I did, and not fighting for what
I believe in. During the reception one
of his friends from Washington, D.C. came up to me and said, “The one thing
that people most loved about your brother was how genuine he was, and how kind
he was to everyone.” I then realized what I had to do. Weeks passed and before
I knew it I had to go to college. I don’t think I fully realized what I was
signing up for when I chose Maryville; it was a college where I knew absolutely
no one. I wasn’t going to let that stop
me though – I couldn’t. I knew what I
had to do to make my brother proud of me. I just had to figure out how to
balance social life, college, and this new weight on my shoulders. College life
started pouring in and I was trying to take my Dad’s advice of treating college
like the job that I had: put forty hours of work in during the week, and ten
hours of work in on the weekends. That advice took care of my school work, but
my social life relied on what my brother’s friend told me, to be kind, to be
genuine. I try to treat people well now, I try to behave in ways that would
make people feel good, about themselves and life. I try to behave in ways that
would make my brother proud. I go out and live my life. I try to get out and
spend time with friends, get to meet new people, and form relationships with
people that I usually wouldn’t hang out with, just because that is the right
thing to do.
Right
after my brother’s death people looked at me and expected to find me on the
floor sobbing in a fetal position. That did not happen, but after some time,
what people found was a stronger person. I can not bring my brother back. I
have come to learn that. However, I can live in a way that makes him proud of
me and of the Lipka man that I am becoming. I have been changed, and I have
been challenged, and there is no way that I can think of honoring my brother
better than by treating people in the way that I want to be treated. July 2nd, 2012 not only
devastated me like no other day before it, but it also made me realize who and
what is important in life and how to start living every day to its fullest.
I'll let you know what grade I get. For now though I have transition retreat for the YAV program, expect another post after that experience.
Peace
