The Day My Brother Died and My Faith Did Too
Matthew 11:28
“Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and i will give you rest”
The Hurt I Buried So Deep It Almost Took Me Out
I owe you honesty.
It took me nearly three weeks to write this blog. And not because I didn’t want to, but because God dragged something out of me that I had buried so deep I didn’t even know it was still alive. I’m writing this in real time, with my hands shaking and my heart still sore.
Three weeks ago, my older sister came to visit. I haven’t seen her in YEARS. She lives on the other side of the state, ten years older than me, different mom, same dad, yes, the dad I’ve been talking about in my last few blogs.
We decided it was time. Time to sit down. Time to talk. Time to stop pretending the past didn’t happen.
We laughed. We cried. We yelled, not at each other, but at the insanity of how family can treat their own blood.
Somewhere in the middle of all that, God ripped open a wound I thought I had already healed.
I realized I still hadn’t forgiven my dad.
Not for what he did to me as a child because I had already given that to Jesus.
But for something deeper. Something darker. Something I swore I would never let resurface.
The loss of my little brother. Tyler.
The one person who felt like home. The one person who loved without conditions. The one person who made this world feel less cruel.
The Day My Life Split in Half
Before I get to Tyler’s death, I need to tell you where I was in life.
I moved out of my mom and stepdad’s house right after junior year. I was 18, angry at the world, confused, desperate to escape. I met a guy, moved to Casper, WY, and finished my senior year there. I married him right after graduation. His name is Sam, and yes, we have the same name. I was in love with the idea of being in love and I think he was too.
We moved back in 2013. Life felt fun, godless, reckless. I got pregnant around Christmas of 2013. And we welcomed a beautiful baby girl on July 9th, 2014. I was excited. Terrified. Trying to be a mom while drowning in postpartum depression and a husband who wasn’t really present. I had no idea what I was doing.
But I was surviving.
Until July 31st, 2014.
I will never forget where I was standing. My grandpa holding my newborn daughter. My mom’s voice on the phone.
The words she said still ring in my ears today:
“Tyler was killed today.”
I don’t remember much after that. Just the panic. The shock. The way my soul felt like it left my body. I rushed to the ranch. I left my three-week-old daughter with my in-laws because childhood trauma had trained me to “keep the peace” even when it made no sense.
Tyler was 16. Killed in a car accident. A man fell asleep at the wheel and crossed the median.
Was I mad at the man? Yes. But I was angrier at God.
I hated Him.
Why would a loving God take the sweetest soul I had ever known?
Tyler was love. He defended the weak. He made s’mores with me all summer. He was the kind of kid you wanted in your corner.
And suddenly he was gone.
Where My Dad Comes In
For the two years before Tyler died, he lived with our real dad. I didn’t understand why. I didn’t ask questions.
But when it came time to plan the funeral, everything inside me snapped.
My dad and his wife treated my mom, the woman who never left our side, like she didn’t exist. Like she wasn’t Tyler’s mother. Like she hadn’t raised him for sixteen years.
I remember my mom saying:
“Let’s change the funeral home music to Tyler music. I have the Johnny Cash album in my car.”
We used to blast that album together. Tyler, Mom, and I, and we would sing it at the top of our lungs.
That’s when my dad’s wife said:
“Oh, that’s okay, I have a bunch of Tyler’s favorite music in my car right now.”
She had known him for what? Maybe two years. My mom had known him his entire life.
This woman walked around the funeral making everything about her. My heart broke for my mom. My blood boiled.
Then my dad got to ride in the horse and carriage with Tyler’s casket.
My mom didn’t. And that is a hurt I know she still carries.
I lost my brother. But my mom, she lost her son.
The Words That Sent Me Into an Eight-Year Spiral
Outside the funeral home, my dad pulled me aside and said:
“It is time to come clean Sammy.”
Come clean about what? About the truth I told? About the abuse?
People at the funeral, people who hadn’t seen me since the Christmas before I told on my dad, came up to me while I was mourning the loss of my brother saying:
“Be the bigger person.” “Make things right with your dad.” “Forgive him.” “Move on.” “Admit you were wrong even if you weren’t.”
It destroyed me.
Those words sent me into the darkest, most godless eight years of my life.
I felt invisible. Unwanted. Unheard. Unloved.
I carried that bitterness like a second skin.
The Car That Broke Me
When it came time to disperse Tyler’s belongings, all I wanted was a piece of his clothing.
But Tyler had a car — a 1974 orange Ford Ranchero.
He loved that car. He worked for it. He earned it. He and our stepdad Ron spent countless hours fixing it up.
Ron is our dad. He raised us. He taught us everything. He loved us.
That car was their thing. Their bond. Their pride.
My mom asked for the car because she knew what it meant to Ron.
But my real dad. The man who was barely around, denied her.
I will never forget the look on Ron’s face.
It gutted me. It enraged me. It made me hate my dad more than I already did.
It was like, you can hurt me all you want, but now you have hurt the one man who does everything out of love.
I cursed at God. I screamed at Him. I didn’t understand why He kept giving my dad grace.
Why does God give grace to people who hurt us?
I didn’t understand it then.
But I do now.
The Breakthrough
That story, the car, the funeral, the betrayal. I buried that for nearly twelve years.
And three weeks ago, sitting with my sister, it came out.
It wrecked me.
I cried for days. I shook. I felt sick. I felt like I was 8 years old again. I felt angry at God all over again.
But then something happened.
I finally gave it to Jesus.
Not halfway. Not with conditions. Not with clenched fists.
I handed Him the whole thing.
And the hatred I had for my dad and his wife?
Gone.
Not because what they did was okay. Not because they deserve forgiveness. But because I deserve peace.
Forgiveness doesn’t make the wrong right. It makes the heart free.
To the Woman Who Is Hurting
If you’re reading this and someone has hurt you so deeply you don’t even recognize yourself anymore.
You are not alone.
If you’re angry at God, I was too. If you hate someone you’re “supposed” to love, I did too. If you buried something so deep you’re scared to touch it, I lived there for years.
But Jesus met me in the darkest place of my life.
He will meet you in yours.
Those burdens you’re carrying? They were never meant for you.
He carried them on the cross. For you. For your peace. For your freedom.
Give your heart to Jesus.
Because your heart is all He asks for.
And He knows exactly how to heal it.
Jesus, Here’s My Broken Heart
Jesus, I’m coming to You with the kind of pain that makes a woman shake.The kind of hurt that steals breath.The kind of memories that feel like they happened yesterday.
You saw every moment I buried. You saw every tear I swallowed. You saw every scream I never let out.
And You didn’t run.
So tonight, Jesus, I hand You the anger I carried like armor. I hand You the bitterness that poisoned me. I hand You the grief that almost took me out.
Take it. Rip it out of me. Replace it with Your peace, the kind that doesn’t make sense, the kind that only comes from You.
And for the woman reading this who feels like she’s drowning in her own story, wrap her in Your arms. Show her she’s not crazy. She’s not alone. She’s not too broken for You.
Jesus, heal the places she’s terrified to touch. Break the chains she’s convinced will never fall off. Give her the courage to hand You the thing she’s been carrying for far too long.
Thank You for being the God who walks into graves and pulls out the living. Thank You for being the God who meets us in the rage, the ruin, and the wreckage.
My heart is Yours, Jesus. And hers can be too.
In You Holy Name,
Amen.
