Sydney B.

Photography by Jackson Covert

If you’re reading this, you have an army behind you. You just have to be willing to let them in.

My original idea of grief was that it was just like movie depictions where there was a clear 5-stage timeline - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I had hoped that I would be in the “acceptance” stage by the time I got around to writing this letter so that it could have a happy ending. I am here to tell you grief is not like the movies.

June 26, 2022. One phone call and three words - “Your brother died.” With that, my world as I knew it fell apart. My 23-year-old brother was found by my biological father in an abandoned shed, having died from a suspected drug overdose.

Immediately following the death of my brother, Thomas, I had been thrown into a world of funeral arrangements, a police investigation, and an overwhelming amount of family that I had not seen in years - including my biological father whom I had not seen in nearly 7 years. I had been so overwhelmed with emotions that I became numb.

This numbness lasted. I lived the rest of that summer on autopilot, trying so hard to hide any pain or sadness. I avoided processing emotions at all costs, so I continued to work through my summer internship and tried to socialize with friends as much as possible. 

I went into the first semester of my senior year with dread. For a while, I had the constant feeling of watching myself go through the motions of life with no light at the end of the tunnel. I was suffocating in a tangle of emotions that I did not want to face - and, frankly, could not face, either. I was scared of what would happen if I just let myself feel everything. Would I scare people away? Would I lose motivation in my last year of school? Would I ruin my future by letting sadness take over? 

A few weeks into the semester, the reality that the world keeps moving hit hard - I was stuck emotionally. Still, I kept pushing myself through the motions of “typical college life” to avoid missing out and looking back with regret. There were so many mornings that I woke up and did not want to get out of bed. I forced myself to stay involved, be social, and work hard in school - despite so many times that I just wanted to quit.

I cannot say that it got easier with time; the suffocating pain just hit less frequently. Finally, I started to let people in and let them be there for me. 

The sad reality was that I often did not discuss my family with a lot of people - even my closest friends. I felt the constant pressure of being as close to perfect in every way - academically, physically, and mentally. So, the idea of sharing that Thomas had a long battle with drug addiction and incarceration was something that I was ashamed of, but I now have a completely different outlook on it. I have also been ashamed of letting people know that I have struggled with anxiety and depression for as long as I can remember. Like so many, I have a tendency to want to be in control at all times, so the thought of putting my emotions onto someone else terrified me and, for a while, was something I was incapable of doing. Once I allowed myself to let my support system in, they were able to be there for me when I needed them the most, and I have slowly gotten more comfortable with opening up.

I was encouraged to join a Grief Group at my church but was initially incredibly reluctant and scared. However, it ended up being the exact thing I needed to start my journey of processing my grief surrounding the complicated death of my brother. Drug-related deaths often leave behind feelings of blame, guilt, and anger, all of which I felt very deeply. Although everyone in my Grief Group experienced different losses—and with them complicated webs of emotions—having individuals to relate to was freeing. 

I wanted to write this story with a happy ending or a meaningful lesson. In reality, sometimes there aren't always happy endings… but the lessons always come. If anything, this experience has taught me to give myself more grace, especially during difficult, stressful, confusing, and overwhelming times. I learned to lean on others—and not try to take on everything alone.

For those of you who don't know me, hi. My name is Sydney Bowlin. I am currently a senior at SMU, and I have the privilege of serving as a Co-President of IfYoureReadingThis @ SMU. In this role, I preach the importance of sharing personal stories to expand our on-campus network of support. Because of my role, prior to drafting this letter, I was already privy to the amount of courage it took to publish some of the most intimate details of your life for the entire student body to read. It was not until I was in the process of writing my own letter that I realized just how difficult it can be. To all the people who have already written letters, I have nothing but love and respect for you. Thank you - each of you inspired me, letter after letter, giving me the courage and support to share my own story. 

If I could go back in time and tell my brother something, it would be this: I am sorry, I miss you, and I love you. I am sorry for not being there when you needed someone. In a world that tricks you into feeling so alone, you were never alone. In the past, I blamed you for your actions that ultimately led to the end, but I now understand I should have blamed your addiction as a brain-altering disease. I wish I could have been there to help you fight, but now I promise I will fight for you. I will not let you be another statistic. Instead, you will forever be my big brother, guardian angel, a beautiful life, and my biggest reason to live. Until our big hug in heaven, I will try to make you proud every day. 

Although everyone’s struggles are different, no one is exempt - everyone has their own. Luckily, whether you know it or not, there is a support network around you. Although not everyone knows my kind of grief and I do not know theirs, these experiences make us more empathetic to others and more open to support.

I was told by someone close to me, “Just because his life ended, yours does not have to.” Life is far too short, and tomorrow truly is never guaranteed. I challenge you to just do what makes you happy. Find what sparks true passion in your life, and spend the rest of your life chasing it. We only get one life, so it is up to us to fill every day, minute, and second with as much joy, love, and purpose as we possibly can.

Despite the hardest battles and deepest pits, there is always someone who can help you fight or pull you out when you no longer have the strength to do it yourself. To every person who is fighting a battle, who is feeling as if the cards are stacked against them: let's build our army and fight our battles together.

Sydney B., Southern Methodist University

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