This is a tough one.
Acceptance is more than acknowledgement. It is allowing a presence in our minds, in our hearts, in our lives. It is the weaving of truths into ourselves. I don’t have to like something to accept it, but it does become part of who I am.
I accept that my brother Mike died this April.
I accept that it wasn’t an accident.
I accept that he had been hurting, emotionally, for a really long time.
I accept that I may never know what he was truly feeling and thinking in his last days.
I accept that I can no longer contact him, despite the fact that his messages are still on my phone.
I accept that that the rest of us need each other now, in ways deeper and more different than we can imagine.
These thoughts are who I am, where I am. For better or worse, they have become a part of me.
I’d like to think that acceptance is the best way, and that we need to create room for all things in the universe as part of our selves. That our minds should approach the world with open arms.
I also think there are ideas best kept away. There are patterns of belief which seek to destroy us, rather than make us whole. There are ideas which are, quite simply, not true. And those things I turn away at the door.
I do not accept that Mike made a decision in clarity, of sound mind.
I do not accept that he wanted to be without his wife and children.
I do not accept that anyone is to blame.
Acceptance any of these things would require me to believe they are true. And, knowing my brother, I simply don’t. Mike was a great guy who was a good dad. Who told his family every day he loved them. Who would sometimes text me lines from the movie Airplane because, well, c’mon. Airplane.
I’m still picking up the pieces. I’m still trying to figure out exactly the size and shape of the hole he left behind. And perhaps, as time moves on, as I learn more, I will come to different understandings and different acceptances.
Until then, I have come to acceptance of where I am.
Of where he his.