Wednesday would have been my big brother’s 35th birthday. Our baby, Ervin, was born six weeks ago Thursday, which means that Luke died six weeks ago Friday.

Ervin was born on March 24. It was a scheduled c-section, so we knew the date for a couple of months, and I had been working toward that date and getting everything ready for his arrival for that same amount of time.

The morning finally came, and everything went really smoothly. My in-laws came to meet the little guy, and my middle brother’s family, then my parents and our oldest three kids. I was in a drug-induced haze, and happy to finally have met our baby.

Friday started out very quiet. T. pretty much slept all day in the fold-out couch thing. I held Ervin, fed him, got poked and prodded by the nurses.

We got a visit from my good friend and jewelry “sister”,Kari, and I got a little break from holding him while she oohed and aahed for a while. And when she had to go to a jewelry show, it was just T., Ervin, and myself in the quiet room again.

Then I talked to my mom on the phone. She told me that my oldest brother, Luke, had been hit by a truck in his work parking lot that afternoon and killed instantly. I fell apart. I don’t think I stopped crying the rest of the night. At least by that time, I was able to get out of the hospital bed and walk around a little bit, so when I felt a complete loss of control coming on, I could leave the room and walk the halls, or lock myself in the hall bathroom for a few minutes.

T.’s parents had planned to bring the big three to the hospital for another visit, and by the time T. called them to let them know what was going on, they were already on their way. I wanted to see the kids, but when they came in and saw me with my puffy, red eyes, it made them nervous. Especially Ivy. She stared at me and wouldn’t really come too close to me.

It’s hard to explain how it felt to be stuck in that hospital room while my family was in crisis. I am grateful to have been able to focus on Ervin, and have the nurses take care of me. But I also felt completely isolated. Our nurse that day, Kelly, was the best. I liked her before it all happened, because she was so sweet and caring. But after our pastor came to see us (shortly after we heard the news), he went out and told everyone at the nurse’s station what had happened. Kelly called my doctor and checked on me a lot that evening. She brought in a tray of sandwich fixings, cookies, pitchers of water and tea, and chips for us. I know that wasn’t just her, but she really took care of me and Ervin and T. until her shift ended. I was sorry to see her go.

I always wanted four kids because I had three brothers and I always thought that was the perfect number. Now there are only three of us.

Our family already went through this once. My first husband, Henry and Ivy’s father, died four and a half years ago. I thought that my family had reached our quota for tragedy like this. But now…my parents have eleven grandkids. Five of them have lost a father. They have all lost at least one uncle…four have lost two.

The memorial services for my husband and my brother were really similar. The pastors both talked about how God didn’t “take away” a good man. They said that God gave humans free will, and with free will, bad things happen. I don’t believe that “everything happens for a reason”. If that’s true, then I don’t think that it has to be a good reason. In fact, I think they can be pretty shitty reasons. But I do believe that life isn’t fair. My brother had big plans, and three kids, and a wonderful wife. And now they don’t have him anymore. My kids don’t have their fun, loving uncle. Ervin never even got to meet him. My brothers and I don’t have our oldest brother, and my parents don’t have their oldest son. Everybody loses.

We have to pass Luke’s work every time we go into town for a doctor’s appointment, to go shopping, whatever. Every time I pass one of those trucks, I wish it was Luke, giving me a little wave. But it never is.