My Story

So what is "my story"? Well, for those of you who know me well, you already know the story, but you may not know my deep struggles. Sorry if some of this is a repeat. On Oct. 10, 2008 my mom called me to see if I had talked to my brother that week. When I said that I hadn't she said she would go check on him over her lunch break. We hung up and something(which I firmly believe was the Holy Spirit) prompted me to call her back and tell her that I would go check on him. I wasn't sure where I was going since Brent was housesitting for some friends. I eventually found the right house. When no one answered the door, I went around back to find a sliding glass door. I opened the door to discover that it was blocked by a golf club. I could see Brent laying on the sofa. The door was open just a few inches. I called his name and yelled his name. I looked at his arms and could see these marks that resembled black and blue marks. I couldn't imagine what he had done to himself. My heart is racing as I replay this in my mind and tears are filling my eyes. I later learned that these "marks" are termed levidity. It's what happens to the body after it dies and the blood stops flowing and settles. At any rate, this is when panic started to set in with his unresponse and so I called 911. It was while I was on the phone with them that I just took the back door and ripped it open. I later learned that I broke the golf club. I rushed to his side to discover that he was gone. It still amazes me that I did not collapse or pass out or literally have a heart attack from what I found. The 911 operator questioned me how I knew he was dead. As if what I saw wasn't confirmation enough, I reached out my hand to touch his cold body. Shock had taken over. Police arrived and questioned me. I urged them to have someone get to my mom's work since I couldn't possibly tell her this news on the phone. Before I knew it, my mom pulled up. I will never forget the first thing out of her mouth to the police officer - "Is he dead?" Upon hearing the answer, yes, she fell to the ground and wailed. I rushed to her side. She apologized that I found him. I am so thankful that it was not her who found him. God protected my mother's heart that day. He, unfortunately, left me with images that I will never forget and that seem to "haunt" me.
I replay the events of that day, although not as often as I once did. In the beginning I questioned God where He was in the midst of all of this. Now when I replay everything in my mind, I see angels above the living room where I found my brother and know exactly where He was. He was there the whole time, upholding me with His righteous right hand.