Remembering Brendan (3/24/1990-3/12/2011)
He was a preteen when we met; daring and feisty with a true dislike for being told what to do. As challenging as he may have been in those years I was married to his father, there was an endearing soft side that emerged when others were in need or he was helping with his littlest sister. I can still remember his smile, the way he could do almost anything he set his mind to, and how excited he was to get his driver’s license on his sixteenth birthday. He was generally messy, enjoyed junk food far more than any person should and would argue about the silliest things, yet he was the closest thing I had ever had to a son up to that point.
Blending families after divorce is no easy feat, and definitely clarifies why God intends for marriage to be a life long endeavour. There’s a lot of past to overcome and way too many players on the stage of remarriage. It was a tense and difficult season in my life, and this ominous weight plagued our family and my relationship with Brendan. We never shared in any conflict after his illness or after his dad and I had separated, yet we never resolved the lingering awkwardness that remained, which weighed heavily upon me for a time, after his death. I may not have given birth to him, yet I truly grieved the loss of this young man I had helped rear for years.
One night as I slept, I dreamt I was sitting at the intersection of John Scott and Sunset, waiting to make a left-hand turn toward Wintersville. It was a sunny day, the trees were green and the community college sat in the background. My window was down and as I sat there waiting to go a large, white car approached, coming from the opposite direction. As the car neared, I could see Brendan almost leaning out the driver’s side window and what looked like a child was standing in the passenger seat. It was obvious they were both excited to see me. The child shined so brilliantly I could only see two bare feet starting to kick as they drew close. Brendan appeared younger, like the age when we had met. His face glowed and he wore this huge grin and waved to me as they slowly passed. He was happily driving with not a care in the world.
I usually tell this story as a confirmation that Brendan found Jesus and is with him now, yet I believe the dream related so much more. Some might say it was just a dream, a way for my mind to process the guilt and pain, yet I know it was no ordinary dream. I believe for whatever the reason, what couldn’t be done in this life, God somehow allowed it to be done through a dream. As bizarre as it may seem, I know there is no longer a rift between Brendan and me, and although I still think of him and wish he was here, I know we will have an eternity to make up for the time we lost here in this life.
