I’m a Grief Expert. My Brother’s Sudden Death Taught Me a New Lesson

One night a few months ago, I received a late-night call. It’s the type that gives you the chills before you answer because instinctively you know it’s not good news… And it wasn’t.
My nephew contacted me to say that his father—my brother, Matt—had just died in a car accident. I was in shock and disbelief.
Matt was 14 months older than me. Our lives were pretty much intertwined growing up; many people thought we were twins. We competed in all things, occasionally fought with each other, and laughed a whole lot.
We also endured and survived the deaths of our mom when we were 9 and 10; and dad at 12 and 13.
I am the founder and CEO of Comfort Zone Camp, a national nonprofit bereavement organization for kids and teens.
For over 25 years, I’ve been helping kids, teens, families and business leaders understand how to address grief from the loss of a loved one, including strategies on building resilience and developing coping skills. My passion for this work is rooted in my own experiences as a child.
Despite my background, there’s no sheltering me from grief again.
People respond to their loss in different ways—and as a grief expert, I’m no exception. I immediately found myself in “operations” mode, which enabled me to detach from the emotion of the situation and address the needs of others.
First, I broke the news to my husband and then, called my kids, my other brother, Danny, my many cousins, my close friends and Matt’s close friends.
As more details emerged and plans were made, I recontacted this same list to give updates. I cleared my schedule and made travel plans for my family.
I was focused on being supportive to all who might need me, including my sister-in-law, Sherry, and nephews, Derek, Chad and Blake.
I hadn’t been back to Michigan for many years. Going back is always a mixed bag of emotions since I was born and raised there, but don’t have a home to go back to.
My heart broke seeing Matt’s family, knowing the grief journey that awaited them. I loved seeing my cousins and childhood friends, who surrounded me and others with love and support. I was grateful they got to spend some time with my young adult kids.
We shared stories of Matt and tried to process together what the loss meant to each of us and our family as a whole. We were all aware there was a new empty chair at the table.
As we got closer to the funeral home visitation and funeral, emotions got elevated for everyone. A long lost and tricky relative surfaced after seeing the news on someone’s Facebook and added even more stress to the situation.
I was dreading seeing Matt in a casket. It made it all very real. After catching my breath and my emotions, I quickly reverted back to making small talk with family and friends and compartmentalizing my grief. I wasn’t ready to tap into my own grief just yet.
New emotions hit me as I realized that I didn’t know a lot about Matt’s adult life. Meeting his work colleagues and watching a beautiful slideshow filled with his own family memories, which I hadn’t ever seen before, felt like a gut punch.
I recognized how loved he was as a husband, dad, boss and mentor and felt both pride and sadness that I hadn’t experienced many of these moments with him.
Standing as tall as we could against grief as kids, Matt and I navigated life together, amid the coldness of a neglectful stepmother, and the absence of parental guidance and unconditional love, while also trying to be kids.
Through silent nods and whispers, we also tried our best to shield our younger brother from the cruel reality we were living—from the lack of meals to our stepmother’s regular threats to leave us.
In college, Matt and I both went to Michigan State. We lived in the same dorm and I was his Euchre partner in tournaments. Matt and I graduated at the same time and with the same major. I have a fond memory of him and I chasing each other across the stage when they finally called our names, we were inseparable.
However, as adults, we largely went our separate ways. There was a quiet respect that we both were okay. I moved to Virginia while he stayed in Michigan. We both married, had kids and created a family unit that we ourselves didn’t have. We both have great kids, loving spouses and successful careers.
Considering how we grew up, I was always deeply proud of and happy for the both of us.
Once I returned home after the funeral, there were and continue to be times when I reach for the phone to call Matt, only to remember he’s not here anymore. I start noticing things that he and I would have texted about—songs, people and issues that only he and I would appreciate.
I became very aware that my siblings are now down to two.
Losing a sibling is devastating and I found that processing this new reality wasn’t a one-and-done experience—it would take time. Losing Matt feels like there is a vacancy in my life—one that no one else can fill.
Alas, death and loss have found me again as an adult, and even though I’m feeling grief, I find myself co-existing with being okay and grieving at the same time.
My own lessons to the kids, teens and parents that I work with are always resonating in my head: Being okay is a choice, whatever you are feeling is valid, and understand that grief is a journey.
Also, sharing my feelings, talking with family and close friends, and even writing this, are some of the ways I’m processing my brother’s death.
Pausing to answer hard questions and feeling my feelings helps me heal and ensure grief doesn’t come out sideways: In words, emotions or physical health.
But this grief, no matter how heartbreaking, is different for me this time around. I’m now surrounded by unconditional love from my husband and two young adult children. This time, I have three people who are highly focused on me being okay.
Occasionally, the realization of how loved and supported I am now washes over me. It catches me a bit off guard and I reflect (and get teary-eyed) on how blessed I am.
I wish every grieving child had access to this. I’m reminded why my work and Comfort Zone Camp’s mission is so important.
Grief doesn’t have an expiration date or a timeline, but avoiding it isn’t healthy. Now that the funeral is long over and there aren’t any logistics to be done, I allow the memories to come and allow myself time to sit with it. I reflect, stay still and cry.
Life without Matt is a strange place that I’m only beginning to understand. My heart aches over the loss of my brother but I also know two things can be true: 1) grief stinks and 2) I will survive this too.
Lynne Hughes is the founder and CEO of Comfort Zone Camp, a national nonprofit bereavement camp for grieving children and families. Since its inception in 1998, CZC has helped over 25,000 grieving children. Lynne is an esteemed thought leader and speaker on grief and author of: “You Are Not Alone: Teens Talk About Life After the Loss of a Loved One”.
All views expressed are the author’s own.
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