A dear friend suggested that for the introductory blog post for Garret’s Promise, I consider telling
the story of what it’s like having Garret for a little brother. So here I go…I would like to start off by saying that Garret was never little! In fact, he was always larger than life in every way imaginable. Being only 17 months older, I don’t remember my life without him.
Growing up with Garret meant something was always happening, and I mean always… Whether he was dialing 911 because my mom wouldn’t let him go on a playdate or the time he invited the entire football team over for dinner last minute because the hosting family had to cancel and did not even mutter a word to our mom. He was constantly keeping us on our toes — and quite frankly, he still is. Whenever we think Garret’s Promise round pen construction is over, the land beneath it shifts unexpectedly, or there’s a new hole in the roof causing a leak. We’re getting there, but we know Garret has his hands in this pot.
Being Garret’s older sister is much like what I imagine air traffic control feels like. Close call landings here, weather disturbances there, unruly passengers causing an emergency in flight every now and then. He could have been saving a friend in a car crash with just his arm or raising hell through Briarcliff, but we always knew what Garret was up to, eventually, at least. Although he was really good at making trouble, he was also really good at making me feel loved.
Garret was my built-in best friend. We loved eating cookies & cream ice cream together, singing in the car together, torturing our mom together, watching literally anything together, and getting on each other’s single last nerve. In our natural habitat, we were two yentas blasting 2000s rap music driving around Briarcliff with Coldstone, and annoying the living daylights out of each other. We were siblings, but we were best friends.
There’s another side of being Garret’s sister that I don’t often talk about. Being Garret’s sister also came with a total and complete feeling of helplessness. From when he was grounded across the hall and we couldn’t talk, or the many quiet drives home from wherever he got into trouble, I was beside him wondering if something just wasn’t being understood properly. Because I also knew that moments of pure joy for Garret were usually on the beach, eating ice cream, blasting rap music, but especially in our mother’s arms.
Being Garret’s older sister meant I watched as he surrounded himself with an ever-expanding group of new people entering his entire life because he was truly loveable while experiencing his simultaneously growing distant from his existing connections And, to sit beside him, connected at the core, knowing there was absolutely nothing I could do to mend it, whether enabling him or cutting him off, was especially harrowing during the times he was pushing me away.
But one thing I’m learning as I begin to just barely approach accepting his passing is that his flame was far too bright for this earthly world we’re living in. There is no connection I have experienced quite like one with a horse, and it moves me so deeply as to believe that if a connection like that is possible, then there is no doubt Garret and I are still connected. There’s no way red-tailed hawks coincidentally appear when they do, or songs come on just when I can’t put into words the deep sorrow I feel, or the fact that I now get to dedicate my life to those who need help, and all in his honor.
So Garret……..
You are truly larger than life. They talk a lot about guilt in grief, and I never thought that was me until one day, nearly two years after your passing, it dawned on me that I have felt guilt since the day you died. From the second I learned you passed away, I collapsed. I collapsed, knowing I would never see you again, but furthermore, knowing I would never see you in pain again. I’ve come to understand that you are helping more people out there than you could down here. And you’ve started by helping me love myself for the first time in my life. I so wish you, Grandma & Grandpa, and Nanny were here to see me. I have carried tremendous guilt for this same thought: how could I say “I love myself for the first time ever” when my brother died? I think I’m coming to understand that you led me to horses and Spirit’s Promise, which has saved my life in so many ways. You’ve put me on a path where I’m licensed and loved in a life-altering career change. You’ve led me in and out of relationships that show me what true love is, and you’ve
shown me that it all starts with loving myself. I wish we could hang out like old times, just being stupid and innocent, but I now know new memories are being created in the hawks, the horses, and the people. You’re guiding me along the way to helping people in impactful ways. So for that, I thank you. And I must lay down this guilt as it’s become a handicap.
I miss and love you tremendously.
Love, Sissy
