On January 24, 2024, my little brother Oscar shared his story here. At that time, he had just found out that several new tumors had been discovered. He was put on a new treatment, and we knew it was palliative. But we didn't know how quickly everything would happen.
Without Googling, I already knew too much from the beginning. I knew that he would be taken from us far too soon. But I hoped, hoped that research would advance and that when he got sick again, a new treatment would have been developed. But it hadn't.
Standing by and watching your little brother and best friend go through everything from surgery, radiation, chemotherapy, and side effects is impossible to explain. I lived with constant stress and worry that something would happen. My phone lay by my side around the clock. Ready if he needed me. I was with Oscar at almost every doctor's appointment, surgery, and radiation treatment. I tried to do everything to make his daily life easier, but I still felt inadequate. I couldn't make him get well or feel better. There were many times I wished it had been me who got sick instead, that those feelings would have been easier to accept than standing by completely helpless. And I have felt such guilt toward Oscar. That I could do fun things and whatever I wanted. That I was the one who got to live on, but he didn't. In the beginning, it was so bad that I couldn't do anything without feeling guilty.
There were many times I wished it had been me who got sick instead
In the midst of all this, I was pregnant and had my first son. It was hard to feel joy even though I had longed to become a mother. For how could I be happy and joyful when the worst that could happen had happened. But I think it became a bit of a lifesaver for me. I got to stay home and be on parental leave for over a year. We saw Oscar several times a week, talked every day, and went on trips together. And seeing how much he loved my son is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. But it is also a sorrow. My son will never have his own memories of his uncle. Only pictures and memories we create for him. That they will never eat ice cream together, play football, go to Stockholm and watch Hammarby. How do you explain to a child who is now 3.5 years old that we are going to the cemetery so you can eat ice cream with Oscar and that he is now in heaven? That every time he sees me sad, he asks if I miss Oscar and that such a little child has to comfort his mother.
We didn't even get three months together with Oscar after the last setback. It went incredibly fast. On the evening of April 5, 2024, cancer took him from us. He had just turned 29 and I 32. Someone said to me "losing a sibling is like losing a part of your body". I recognize that so well. The sibling relationship is one of the relationships that is expected to last the longest, siblings are supposed to grow old together. Now I have to learn to live without him, without a part of my body that I have had my whole life.
Some days are okay, other days I have to take them hour by hour or minute by minute. Some are a struggle just to get out of bed.
Some days are okay, other days I have to take them hour by hour or minute by minute. Some are a struggle just to get out of bed. I have crashed, started working, crashed again. And that is probably how it will always be. I will never accept what happened, but I feel a gratitude that we got 29 years together even though with all my heart I wished it had been more. And if I am to find anything positive in these years, it is that the illness brought us even closer together.
Finally. To you who stand by the side of the one who is grieving. There is no right or wrong. But please, do not pull away. You may not get an answer for hours, days, or weeks. If you get one at all. Do not say that the one who is grieving should reach out if they want help with something. I think very few people have the strength for it, I didn't. Come over, call, write. Offer to do things. Big or small. It can be difficult and the one who is grieving is not the same person as before, but needs you more than ever. We are now in our second year without Oscar and the grief is still just as tangible, even though the acute phase has subsided. Everyone else's life goes on and it is lonely. For here I stand, without the only little brother I had.
Take care of yourselves and each other.
/Emelie
