From time to time, we all find ourselves using the word “closure”. I use it myself, but let’s get this straight, there really is no such thing!
There is a big difference in sitting by the bedside of a person who has lived out their life and getting that phone call that brings you to your knees when someone young dies out of the blue.
When it’s someone older, who has had long years on this earth, when they have left many memories, we 
have more to use as a weapon against grief. When someone young dies, they don’t leave as much for us to hold on to.
Most of us deal with the loss, and the empty space inside us, finally. It takes some of us longer than others. Then there are those just give in to the pain and change their outlooks on life.
That’s what happened to me when my brother was killed. He was one of a kind, someone who was mean and sweet at the same time. He was smart, he was hilarious, he was unpredictable, he was more alive than anyone I know. And yet, I got the call…my precious brother ..dead. DEAD!!
He didn’t just die. He was killed. It is irrelevant now who killed him, or why, or how. What is relevant is what it did to everyone who knew him and loved him.
It was THAT CALL. The kind of call where you cheerfully answer the phone, and your whole world starts spinning out of control.
My brother had a little ESP. I have always been the kind who would disappear, go down to the creek or 
somewhere quiet and just sit and think out my problems. I once slipped away in the rain and went down to a secluded creek bank. I just KNEW nobody would look for me there, but my brother could always find me!I had been having some hard times, and had been there, under a small shelter for about an hour, when I heard a truck.
I recognized that sound. It was my brother!! He always drove old Ford trucks, most of them he had put together himself. They would 
be several different colors, rusty, and dirty, but they would run like new. The front seat would always be filled with candy wrappers, drink cans, tools, and caps with such sayings as ‘Old Fart” written on them. The back would inevitably be loaded with tool boxes, chain saws, truck parts, boots, wood, and sometimes a dog or two.
This day, he had a Coke in his hand. He ambled toward me slowly, grinning like a possum. His hair was too long and stood out on each side of his head, under an Alabama cap. His hands were greasy and his clothes were covered in sawdust. My heart twisted..I loved him so much!! He smelled just like our Daddy! He walked over and sat beside me. He didn’t say a word.
We stared at the creek and the rain, not talking. He drank his Coke and I cried. He finally put his arm 
around my shoulders and said, “Sis, everything is gonna be all right. You are tough. You will get through this. I know I don’t say it much, but I love you.”
I bawled like a baby on my brother’s shoulder. When I had cried it all out, we went our separate ways. I didn’t think much about that time then, but now…….
I didn’t have my brother’s shoulder to cry on when he died. I have memories of seeing him on the ground, covered in a sheet. I have memories of seeing my Momma in shock, being held by others. I have memories of screaming his name and scraping my knee on the street beside where he lay. I remember a kind police officer holding me…….
He looked so young and small. He looked like a child. His hand was sticking out. Our Momma took hold of it. She said, “He is so little.”
My heart broke. Lots of time has passed since then, but it has stayed broken. There’s not enough Gorilla 
Glue in the world to fix this…
It’s a physical pain, stabbing me in the heart at the most unexpected times. That day, every one in our family changed, and there was never any closure. I always think, when I hear the word, that there is no such thing. Take it out of the dictionary! Call the Webster Company!! My brother is young, and he is gone. Closure? Pshaw!! No such thing….
