From grief to gratitude

A Thanksgiving tribute to my brother who taught me joy, humility and discipline

[Note: Thanksgiving is the time to be grateful and practice forgiveness. It’s easy to be grateful when circumstances are accommodating. But being grateful during dark times is challenging. For those who find it hard to be grateful, I wanted to share my journey from grief to gratitude. I wrote this around November 2022, right after my brother died.]

As much as people read about death or experience it through the passing of a parent, nothing prepares us for the sudden loss of a sibling, particularly one so close. I’ve learned through my two experiences now - my father and my brother - that people process death differently, and the path largely depends on the view of death held by both the person who died and the one who survived: are they afraid of death? Prepared for death? Do they welcome death?

Carl Jung said “death is an archetype” - an experience we all have that wants something from us. It seeks to generate behaviors - anger, fear, confusion, regret, doubt, reflection, gratitude and forgiveness. It demands a response that takes on different healing pathways. The journey from grief to gratitude is just like someone’s own journey with birth, adolescence, marriage and having children. It’s unique; it’s never linear; It’s never what we expect. My father lived a long life; his death was anticipated for years; He was the one who folded his last hand. It was heartbreaking but there was no jolt of despair that comes with a sudden death. My brother’s life was abruptly, and maybe cruelly, taken away from him. The reality is gut-wrenching because there is no time to contemplate a new reality. It is thrust upon you.

Since my brother died – I even find it hard to say those words – I’ve not been able to fully embrace the loss even though the day after he passed, I immediately knew I was to sit in gratitude. If not, then did I really believe in God? Did I really believe in His truth and the Bible? If I didn’t view my brother’s death as good news and a victory, as my younger sister Meliza wrote in a tribute song to our brother, was I a doubter of my faith? Ezra asked me that question on the evening of Friday, Oct. 21, 2022 - the fatal day, “Do you believe your brother is with Jesus?” He looked at me with all sincerity asking without saying any words, “Has Christianity just been a set of heuristics for you or do you fully embrace the Gospel?” Heuristics are rules-of-thumb that guide us in decision-making. For those who see Christianity as merely a set of guiding principles, they would be ill-prepared to handle death when emotion overrides rational thought. In fact, rationale barely exists in the initial part of the grieving process. The peace that surpasses all understanding is only afforded to those who trust in God.

I remember when I had to deliver the painful news to my mom. She was so delighted to see me that morning. In fact, chipper and upbeat. She seemed almost ready for some good news. Often I would visit her, sit her down, and I would reveal a pleasant surprise. She had many of these moments this year, given that she turned 80 in January and among the many ways to keep her happy was by making her feel like a child on Christmas morning for as many days as we could. I think she thought this was one of those times. This time, the surprise would be the most agonizing news ever in a lifetime. She broke down hysterically. Just as Robbi, my brother’s wife replays that nightmare evening she was last with my brother, I sometimes rehash my mom’s response, along with my three sisters whom I had to break the news to. The memory is hauntingly vivid as I could feel the shock, paralysis, and denial in their voices when they asked the same questions: “What? No! Are you sure?” I did that too when I received the news, except it wasn’t broken to me so gently. But is there really any way to receive such news? My mom immediately looked to God with confusion and anger, asking “Why? I prayed to you every day without fail to wrap my children and their spouses and their children with your Holy Mantle. You didn’t wrap my son. Where were you? Why?”

We are taught to allow people to feel pain; to be a sounding board; to say nothing but to allow them to process the bad news. All I could do was hug her. But when a mother is in pain, like my mom was, I knew I couldn’t allow her to hurt herself physiologically by sitting in mental anguish. All I could say was the devil wants you to sit in anger and question God. Don’t let him win. This outrage will hurt you physically because it will release hormones in your body that won’t allow you to think clearly. This is a reality, Mom. The devil knows this so turn to God for that is where Raul is right now. Was this denial? Did I fail to show compassion by denying my mom that moment of fury? Or did I show more compassion by leading her mind back to that place of restoration and trust so physiologically, the hormone oxytocin could be released to give her a sense of calm during overwhelming emotions of torture?

Refrain from anger

That same day, after the news broke, the many text messages, Facebook messages and emails began flowing in. I have yet to go on Facebook beyond getting photos. My brother was active there; He was my political ally and the one person who always liked or loved a post. Ironically, his absence would be more real in this virtual world. Denial? I don’t think so. It is denial if you don't move forward with the realities of life, such as going through the logistics of death – questions of what to do with the body, how to memorialize, and how to handle finances. It’s not denial if you don’t put yourself in situations that bring up memories you’re not ready to entertain. The one memory I wasn’t eager nor thought relevant to consider was the particulars of my brother’s death. He was struck by an intoxicated motorcycle driver. This person was driving another in a sidecar attached to the motorcycle and crashed into my brother who was on a scooter. My brother died immediately along with the two other men. It was OK to be angry about this, some said. A drunk driver takes away your brother’s life suddenly? How can one not be angry?

Popular psychology says anger can make a person feel powerful in the face of feeling powerless. Anger helps a person avoid being vulnerable or sad. People shouldn’t run away from anger but feel empowered by it. People should lean into the pain of anger, not only to give them control of the situation, but to help them move through grief and understand where that anger comes from. This is conventional wisdom. Sit in anger. Feel empowered by it. No thank you. A person can identify the root of their anger without wallowing in it for a few hours, much less a day.

God tells us to “refrain from anger” in Psalm 37:8. In James 1:19-20, James the brother of Jesus pacifies us by saying, “My dear brothers and sisters, take note of this: Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry because human anger does not produce the righteousness that God desires.” In Genesis 4:7 God asks Cain why he is “angry” and warns that if he does “not do well, sin is crouching at the door. Its desire is [for] you, but you must rule over it.” In the moment, I didn’t need scripture to tell me not to be angry. I had no anger actually. In fact, the only rational thought I had in my despair was - don’t be angry. I wanted to sit in gratitude and there was no way I would allow anger to take that away from me.

This seems stoic to some. Unfeeling to others. I sensed my older sister found my attitude to be either delusional fantasy or selfish denial or both. I wasn’t getting to the bottom of what had just gone down! I wasn’t asking the right questions about my brother’s death. She needed to know for her own sake, in my opinion, to find a dispositional explanation of the matter. Not even 24 hours after my brother’s death and my sister and I were fighting. We don’t heal in the same way when it comes to death. When my father died, she was hurt and angry because of the immediate logistical decisions I made regarding his finances. My father, whose death wasn’t sudden, prepared me for the aftermath by showing me where his passwords were and what bills needed to be paid. When he did go, my brother and I flew out to New Jersey, knowing we only had a few days to help organize his finances to help his widow, who didn’t speak very good English, manage his obligations. My sister was angered by our priorities as though we were nefariously trying to hide something from her. Death led to our estrangement for a few years.

Conspiracy theories

Death does demand action. It does call us to respond. When we don’t respond in the same way, death is the antagonist, ripping our hearts and bringing out the worst versions of ourselves toward one another. My father died in 2017. Five years later, I sit in grief once again for a strained relationship with my sister. This time, without my brother to console me as he did when my father passed. With my brother’s death, my sister said in a group text with me and our two other sisters that the news she received of our brother was delivered through a “biased” lens. Since I was the deliverer, it was clear she thought I was yet again hiding something from her. She wanted to know the details, which she has every right to know. I shared what I knew: He died immediately; it wasn’t pretty. But when she kept pressing, “What was the road like? Did he die in the ambulance or in the scene? Was he wearing a helmet?” I found the questions irrelevant and only opened the door for more questions to fester: Should we be upset that he didn’t wear a helmet? Is he partly to blame so we can be angry at him? Were the emergency technicians incompetent? Did it matter? In the end, why would we want to ruminate over these questions and blame my brother, the technicians or anyone? Maybe I was second-guessing why she needed to know and I was selfish for not trying to answer. But I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I also needed to process in my own way. That conversation was memorable, but a blur. I just wanted her to stop asking so the only response I had in me was: “Does it matter? He’s f’cking dead!” and hung up.

The very next morning, Saturday, my brother spoke to me and said, “Hey! Grab your bible, I want to show you something.” I opened up my bible to Isaiah and immediately thought, “Isaiah? Why not Corinthians or Galatians?” The books in the bible that Paul wrote are always uplifting because Paul is appealing to his followers to remain strong and stay true through the tribulations. They are inspiring words. I never thought of Isaiah as inspiring the way I thought of Paul’s books. But there in Isaiah 8:11 were the words I needed to read.

Fear God

The Lord spoke to me with his strong hand upon me, warning me not to follow the way of these people. He said: Do not call conspiracy everything that these people call conspiracy. Do not fear what they fear. And do not dread it. The Lord Almighty is the one you are to fear. He is the one you are to dread. And he will be a sanctuary, but for both houses of Israel he will be a stone that causes men to stumble and a rock that makes them fall.

The Lord Almighty is the one I am to fear. He is my sanctuary and the one who will be a stone that causes men to stumble! Whether my brother had a helmet on or whether he was a target of some greedy actors didn’t matter. If we fear that someone is keeping secrets from us, we will never move to gratitude. These were conspiracy theories - great secrets that people think are being kept from them. Do not fear them or entertain them. My brother was speaking to me loud and clear through the Bible. The psychology behind conspiracy theories is that people by nature want to be in control. In order to have control, they come up with a conspiracy to explain how such situations came to be. To this end, conspiracy theories are dispositional - “someone planned this” - because the theories attribute circumstances to some intentional motive. My brain had no emotional capacity to contemplate such conjectures. As it turns out, neither did my younger sister Meliza. That same morning, I went to see my mom and she was on the phone with my younger sister who was sharing the words of a song she had written for my brother. Her words, “I can question a thousand times why no motorcycle helmet was on; I can beat myself up wondering how in just one second it all went wrong. Or I can hold on to the sweetest memories since you’re now long gone.”

Raul was speaking to her too. For my sister, it was through poetry and song. What a relief that my sister and I were responding to death in the same way, with our eyes set on Jesus. So she and I, just as we did on Friday, chose to hold on to sweet memories and lift my mom up and pray for God to fill our hearts with joy because Raul was where he wanted to be, face to face with Jesus. We were not in denial and we were not carrying out a heuristic. Our worship and joy was unadulterated certainty in the truth that my brother had reached his destination. He spent two years designing an entire lifestyle to hasten the wedding between Jesus and the church. His book titled “WHY Simple Discipleship; To Hasten the Wedding” is meant to teach people how to be disciples and importantly how to spread the good news through one-on-one committed conversations. The faster we spread the word through one-on-one discipleship, the faster Jesus could be face-to-face with his bride, the people who make up his church. For my brother, that heaven-on-earth wedding wasn’t hastened, but he accelerated his own journey. I imagine he is in a better position to spread the word in a more powerful and profound way.

The nothingness fallacy

I know some people think, if this works for you, it's a good way to view his death. Believe it, if it helps you but there is no such thing as a new life. Nothing awaits us on the other side and that is reality. In fact, believing in the religious myth and fantasy of an afterlife is an obstacle to our ability to be truly compassionate, according to atheist Sam Harris, who said that religion is consoling and pays emotional dividends but the cost of religion is the loss of compassion. Religion is the “antithesis of teaching your children how to grieve” and it “dampens our compassion,” according to Harris, who adds through grieving, people can contemplate the brevity of life and from that emerges a moral clarity and energy to embrace the present. It brings a resolve to not suffer the small stuff; to make the best of our time here because we don’t know when our time is up. I have no problem with this rationale and positive way to view life. But if the highest good that comes out of death is that it helps us find moral clarity and a resolve to not sweat the small stuff, that’s a relatively small silver lining compared to the feeling of victorious joy for my brother who’s been promoted to see Jesus. To rest in this joy; to sit in this gratitude that countervails my grief and to celebrate where my brother is doesn’t dampen my compassion one bit. I still mourn, and just because this outward expression of my grief is acutely different than some does not negate the vast feeling of sorrow I have ever known.

In Ecclesiastes 7:4, it says “The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning.” In the house of mourning, compassion is just one emotion on display as I said in my eulogy for my brother during his California celebration:

“It sounds ironic to be anything but sad in a house of mourning. But I witnessed a lot of wisdom during my brother’s Memorial in Colorado - hosted by my brother’s children and wife Robbi. In the house of mourning – there is no pretense, everyone considers others and are gentle to one another, there’s a lot of mercy in the air, a lot of sincerity, authenticity; there’s no fear of what others think; And mainly there’s a lot of humility and forgiveness (even if it’s sometimes just kept in the heart). In the house of mourning, we are most wise because we are the most like Jesus.

How is this not compassion? Why is this fantasy to atheists? If nothingness on the other side is an acceptable mystery to them, how is nothingness not a fantasy in and of itself? Joy and compassion seem mutually exclusive to those who do not believe in God. It seems an outward display of suffering is warranted because the joy on display is a mystery. While God-aimed joy is a “peace that surpasses all understanding” for Christians, it is a conspiracy theory for non-believers because heaven is too good to be true therefore any motive to desire it must be selfish or stupid. For those who don’t outwardly show suffering for others, they look at Christians as taking the easy way out by saying it’s God’s plan. Somehow suffering and pity have to be on full display. Inherent in this demand is an utter failure or unwillingness to grasp Christianity. To atheists, it is inconceivable to believe in an omniscient, omnipotent God who defines the highest good while also allowing for death, destruction and decay. God didn’t have his Holy mantle around my brother that evening. Therefore how could we fantasize that he exists, let alone worship him? Yet this view expects God to bend a knee to us. Are we to expect God to make every day sunny and stop every person from drinking and driving recklessly so as to not cause death? Are we to jump out of planes without a parachute because we know God will catch us? If God intervened, wouldn’t that forfeit our free will and negate the consequences of our actions? If there was a God defined by atheists, we would have to redefine the human condition because we’d all have the superpower to never die despite the many poor choices we make. We would be living in the movie “Edge of Tomorrow” where we are in a continuous loop of living, crashing and then living again. Or we can live the way atheists do, pretending that nothing greets us on the other side; embrace a reality that life is short on earth so we are to be the best versions of ourselves for our progeny before our time is up. Yet something is missing from this way of life, namely who defines the “best version of ourselves”? Who saves us from ourselves?

Importantly, nothingness doesn’t really prepare us for death. Popular opinion says if death conjures up fear, don’t think of it. About 42% of the country is afraid of death so it stands to reason that nearly half the country is not preparing themselves or the people around them for that fatal day. My brother wasn’t afraid; he was prepared and he prepared those around him so we could sit in gratitude as we mourn. He didn’t fear death. His son Harrison even told me that his dad trained him well for the very possibility of death and if that day should come, “we should be jealous.” If we truly believe Jesus awaits us, then jealousy is the only variation of anger we should have. Mad envy that my brother beat me to the next phase, the next life.

The God-aimed spirit and flesh

Yes. My brother made it easy for us. He made death easy for those he left because he knew that beyond death in this world, there is renewed life alongside Jesus. How could we grieve endlessly for such a person, unless, of course, we are not convinced that he is with Jesus? And yet we grieve. We grieve because we are flesh and as C.S. Lewis wrote in “A Grief Observed'', if a mother loses a child, she may find comfort in her “God-aimed eternal spirit within her. But not her motherhood. The specifically-maternal happiness must be written off.” While she will always be a mother, she cannot do what mothers do: enjoy and take pride in a child’s successes or provide comfort in the face of hardship. Since we are flesh and spirit, we live in constant tension. To be human is to be a paradox. The Bible tells us that the spirit thirsts for something entirely different than our earthly bodies. In Galatians 5:17, “For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do.” So while our flesh grieves, our God-aimed eternal spirit does not.

Some people are not so lucky to have a God-aimed eternal spirit. Someone close to me said, “Glad it helps to be a Religious person in times like this. I am not and never been able to understand that people would say that my mom should be with Jesus, not with me, when I was 6 yrs old. That stuck with me!” I can’t imagine how difficult it would be for a six-year-old to comprehend the loss of a mother. It would be hard to comprehend for a teenager or young adult, much less a 1st grader. My mom broke down in hysterics and my brother had lived for 57 years, experienced much and left a lasting legacy that will impact generations. Taking a child from a mom is heart wrenching. But taking a parent away from a small child seems even more brutal. Is there any wonder people question the value of prayers offered to God?

Psalm 37:4-5 - “Delight yourself in the Lord and he will give you the desires of your heart.”

Romans 8:6 - “The mind of sinful man is death, but the mind controlled by the Spirit is life and peace.”

Psalm 37:5 “Depend on the Lord. Trust him, and he will take care of you.”

James 5:10 - “The prayer of a righteous man is powerful and effective.”

Prayers are effective? Trust him and he will take care of us? Being controlled by the Spirit gives us life? How can we depend on and trust the Lord? How is the death of a parent or child anywhere close to being a desire of our hearts? In other words: Why spend decades praying if in the end, all we get is just death? The atheists are right! God is just a terrible myth, and worse yet - a cruel joke. If I didn’t know Jesus, having people tell me that my parents were with God would make absolutely no sense. I might even be angry at this Jesus person who took my mother away. Even if I did know Jesus, if I allowed conspiracy theories to sit in my brain, prayers of protection would ring hollow. Religion would definitely sound like a fantasy. Doubt would persist.

Doubt and faith

Fortunately, I know full well that doubt is an insidious mental state. Allow it to fester long enough and grief wins over gratitude. Only my Jesus time casts it aside. This time, I read the book of Job. Job was blameless and upright, yet he lost all his wealth and family and was physically afflicted. In Job 10:18, he was in such despair he doubted God’s plan, asking, “Why then did you bring me out of the womb? I wish I had died before any eye saw me.” Despite his grief and suffering, Job remained faithful. In the end, he doubled his wealth and had 10 more children.

In what is referred to as the cry of dereliction, there is no one more faithful than Jesus, yet he doubts God’s plan in Matthew 27:46, he cries out: “My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?” Did God abandon him is a question many scholars like to ponder though it does seem like a distraction from the truth that his death accomplished salvation for all of us. That was God’s plan. There is a greater purpose for our lives that our torment knows not. As my mom’s grief led her to doubt God’s plan, Ezra assured my mom that my brother’s death was a catalyst to spread the word and exponentially do the work my brother set out to do. We don’t know for sure but faith gives us that peace that surpasses all understanding so we can put our doubt to rest even in the face of death.

On the third day, Sunday, my brother spoke to me again in the morning. I had been missing him and I couldn’t get myself to stop having bursts of tears. Grief wants attention and it sneaks up to us often and at unexpected times. I saw my brother sitting at the kitchen table reading his devotion and listening to worship music on his phone. I saw him with his arms crossed contemplating and thinking of just the right words to say to me or providing the right amount of humor. I heard him calling me on the phone saying “Hey Bam!” And then saying good-bye with, ”God bless your day!” I saw him laughing and flipping BBQ; I saw him with his earnest look asking, “Are you worthy?” I saw him singing at the piano, lost in song and worship. I teared up knowing I wouldn’t be able to sit with him in the mornings to learn something new. He knew I was his willing pupil, always ready to hear his words. He would always ask questions, probe about my faith and my Jesus time. I often was on the defense: “Yes. My Jesus time is great when I can fit it in. I’m busy, you know.” He would nod his head in sympathy. But then ask, “What’s it all for?” “Why are you so busy and to what end?” During this time lost in memory of my brother, I couldn’t answer the questions. I needed him there to answer them for me or guide me. I felt a heavy burden of grief this very morning. Then finally, I distinctly remember walking through my kitchen and my brother said, “Bam! Bam! Stop thinking of me that way!” I saw him in heaven cloaked in white smiling at me. Then true to form, he said, “Well. OK, just maybe a little.” Then he said, as he held a tiny violin, “If you could see what I see from here. So many people struggle. Your pain is nothing by comparison. Besides, are you thinking of your loss or celebrating my happiness? I have taught you so much. Now go on. You know what to do.”

It is a truism, isn’t it? That we rely on people to complement us. Aristotle said, “A good friend is one soul in two bodies.” Indeed, my brother was a soul mate. We believed in Christ; We shared the same politics. He would always bring me back from the edge of doubt. Now we are just one soul in one body.

Discipline

It was at that moment, I started becoming aware that I had to carry on with the qualities of my brother I admired. C.S. Lewis says death is like an amputation. What seemed the only way to grow back that part of me that was cut off was to emulate all the great qualities of my brother: all the talents and skills that made me feel whole. In this way, I can feel that he is with me.

That same morning, my brother led me to another Bible verse. This time, it was in the Index of Topics. The verse that caught my eye was Hebrews 12:11 - “No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.” Disciplined to what end? How am I being disciplined now? In what way should I discipline myself? Discipline myself in grief? When you think of discipline, you typically think of applying it to something. Make sure you do your hour workout, your Jesus time, etc. What was Raul telling me? Why discipline if it all leads to death ultimately? When I ask these questions, and I have asked them often these days, my heart grieves for my brother. He was always there to answer tough questions. But then he reminds me: “I am with you. Now go on. You know what to do.” Read and pray and you will hear Jesus. He is the one you need to listen to. I want to shout but I want to hear from you even if it’s in spirit! I’m afraid you will drift away like memories. Don’t tell me to speak to Jesus just yet. I want to speak to you.

My Jesus time is my time with my brother. Is there anything wrong with wanting to hear God’s words through my brother? Is this denial of reality? My brother leads me to open my bible. He is the reason I am drawing closer to Jesus. My brother is disciplining me right now to pray and read God’s word. He led me to Romans 8:5 - “Those who live according to the sinful nature have their minds set on what that nature desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires.” Again the question nags at me: Why do we pray?

We pray to discipline ourselves to live in the Spirit, not in the flesh. If we did, we would take to heart what it says in Philippians 1:21 - “To live is Christ, to die is gain.” This means we should emulate Christ in every way, especially in his humility. Jesus “humbled himself and became obedient to death.” Humility takes discipline. Living in the Spirit takes discipline. Trust takes discipline. We need discipline to learn and follow Jesus, “the author and perfecter of our faith.”

Faith is made perfect in his death. For me, his death makes all the difference in the world in shaping my trust in his story - in the Christian story. So powerful; so unique; so odd. So incomprehensible. So inconsistent with logic. So enduring. It is this faith and the hope I have within me that gives me gratitude. Gratitude for my brother’s journey, his blessings and his victory. I needed to discipline myself in embracing the God-aimed eternal spirit in me. I needed to humble myself to suffering as Jesus did to the cross. I needed to know Jesus more and more so I could be even a little like him. My brother was telling me: Discipline yourself in the spirit. “To live is Christ” as it says in Philippians. So Raul - How’s my Jesus time? I’ve never been closer thanks to you.

[This was written a couple weeks after my brother died. I decided to share to give me closure and for anyone else who has experienced death.] [Image source: Sam Schooler]