The emails I’ve received since my brother David’s unexpected death last summer often begin with some variation on the same kind of sentiment: “I’m so sorry to hear about your brother’s passing.” Many go on to arrive at a request, such as “Can you serve on this review board, chair this search, assess this department?” As my inbox filled up over the past months, I found these messages difficult to answer.
My brother and I were extremely close: we could convey our thoughts with just a glance, sometimes immediately bursting into uncontrollable laughter. Now I’m faced with an immense void that I am still learning to cope with. Even when I think I’m OK, I find myself more absentminded than usual: I arrive at meetings too early or too late or in some cases forget them altogether. Soon before writing this piece, I started to make coffee, left the kitchen and forgot what I’d begun. I had neglected to put water in the stove-top coffeepot, melting the coffeepot into a smelly, sticky mess.
When the academic year resumed in full force, I was clear about my situation with my chair, colleagues, advisees, board members, collaborators and friends. I even published an op-ed on the loss of my brother. But openness has not kept me from feeling fragile. And as the requests for work as usual began to pile up, I found myself feeling more and more overwhelmed and even angry.
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