The gift in grief. Joel Straw December 29, 1971-June 20, 2024

We don’t talk a lot about the loss of a sibling. And yet, it is such a common experience. Equally common, is how often we lose more than one brother or sister. I suppose the more of them we have and the older we get, the more ‘ordinary’ an experience this is. ?

A week ago, my 52-year-old brother Joel died. The baby of the family. His young age, and dying at home, mean an autopsy, which won’t provide complete results for four months. Joel lived in Kimberley, B.C. He’d been working in the yard, didn’t feel well, went inside to lie down, and never woke up. His partner was by his side. The grief is deep and complex. As grief usually is.

Joel’s death has me thinking a lot about a year that changed his life, our lives, dramatically. It started with the death of our brother Mark in April of ’95, then Joel’s mother in October of ’95 and our father in February, ’96. By the age of 24, he’d lost both parents and a brother. He moved out west early that year. I’d seen him in person only twice in 29 years. Distance changed nothing about our deep bond.

As I revisit our childhood, to share old pictures and stories, I search for the gifts embedded in this part of my journey. The first I came to realize, is the gift of time.

My husband has been fighting stage 3 lung cancer for two years. Unlike the experience of Joel’s sudden death, we are provided with time to talk about big issues. Time to reconnect after years of being focused on raising children and building our careers. I have no doubt where he stands on many things. We’ve had the opportunity to understand the depths of our love for one another and our children. Joel’s daughter and partner, all of us, are left in shock at his death, with so many unasked and unanswered questions.

The reflection around our younger selves has provided a second gift. I need to back track here. Over the years, I've received lots of criticism for my writing. Folks say that I centre myself. It is a criticism with which I struggle. I write in the first person. I write so others might see themselves in my words. ?It pours out of me in this way.

Joel’s death has grounded me to the genesis of this deep-rooted need to put my thoughts down in words and send them out into the world. I’ve been doing this since I was eight years old.

I have boxes of letters in my home. My family of origin was scattered when my parents separated. We communicated through cards and letters. Long distance phone calls were expensive.

The letters I wrote to my brother Mark, that he saved, were returned to me when he died. I wrote to my stepmother Jan, my father and my mother. A lifetime of letters and memories were returned to me when each died. The letters can be sad or funny and sometimes both. They document our lives from my perspective as told to someone I loved.

The letters kept us connected. I wrote them from California, Edmonton, Calgary, Mississauga and later postcards from all the places I would travel for leisure or work. I no longer feel the need to worry about my first-person voice. It comes from an honest place. It is an attempt to stay connected.

Thank you for being part of this LinkedIn community. Thank you for reading and engaging. When life’s tough moments happen, I know I’m not alone. I hope you know that too.

Details about Joel's life and memorial will be published soon through McPherson Funeral Home in Cranbrook, B.C.