Take that Vulnerable Chance

By Chris Dunmire

Ever since 1996, each year the month of May arrives I find myself in a mixed state of emotions as I remember that year of many "deaths," in my life, most notably that of my older brother Tom, who died in a work-related accident at the young age of 29.

I recently confided to a friend that through Tom's death, I was given life. After apologizing for the cliché sound of my comment, I explained that his premature death was a wake up call to me. It made me realize how fragile life is. Tomorrow is no guarantee. If my own brother could be swallowed up by something that seemed so far off to me, so could I. So could anyone.

One of the most difficult things I had to come to terms with while dealing with my grief was knowing how many unexpressed feelings I still had in my heart towards Tom. They were the same ones I never shared with him because of our estranged relationship; because for the longest time our lives were on different paths, and the opportunity to connect on an emotional level hadn't arrived. The would've, should've, could'ves of our relationship still linger in my mind. When I see him in my dreams, I try to reconcile all of the lost years.

Realizing how my earlier emotional reservations later became a source of regret was a great lesson to me. I just hate that it took the loss of my brother to learn how important it is to tell the people in your life how much they mean to you while you still have the chance. How much you love them. How much you miss their little idiosyncrasies when they're not around.

Over the last few years I've practiced this "telling people." I've accepted that it's okay to be vulnerable. It's okay to show emotion and not be "strong" all of the time. It's okay to get all "mushy" around the people you love and tell them how grateful you are to have them in your life. Amazing things happen through this kind of sharing. And there is a certain peace in knowing that there won't be future regrets when you express what is in your heart today. •

© 2004, 2009 Chris Dunmire. All rights reserved.