Time marches on with laughter

Time marches on and brings me to this photo.  Over the course of my 11 years since the "accident" as I call it, many things have happened in my life.  Not only did I get married and have 2 children, my sister and my brother both had 2 children of their own as well. My niece Kaylie is still hiding in her mother's belly in this picture!  I'm there in the back holding my daughter Sydney standing behind my mom, seated in front.  The reason for this photo is to remind myself that as I sat in that hospital bed 11 years ago and cried for a life lost, I never realized how much I would be able to find to love in my "new life".  These people here, with the exception of my youngest brother who is not present in this photo (he will be an entire story in itself), gave me my life back.  They have no idea that with each tear that fell as I sat feeling sorry for myself, the "tissues" they each gave me brought me slowly back to life.
 My first "tissue" came from my oldest brother, Bill (2nd from the left).  To this day, I'm sure he has no idea that a single picture HE took, which may surface one day on this for all to see, gave me back my sense of humor in only a few short days after surgery.  Humor as you will soon learn, gets me through my roughest days.
 With almost 4 years between the two of us, I knew Bill and I didn't always look at things the same way.  He always had a "calm under pressure" influence on me.  He was outgoing, popular, and "cool".  I felt "cool" because I was his little sister.  He spoke Shakespeare while I spoke Dr. Seuss.  He wrote Lit papers 2 hours before they were due and pulled "A"s.  It took me weeks to get mine done and then I  barely passed. He protected us like a big brother should when we were younger and continued doing so those during some of those lonely days I sat in the hospital. 
 Bill tried to ignore the term "visiting hours" on most days and although he did end up having to leave, when time came for visitors the next day, he was right there, waiting.  Sometimes we didn't talk.  Sometimes the medication I was on was so strong I could barely stay awake.  And sometimes, we just sat. 
 But then there were the moments that "serious" was scary.  When quiet moments ushered in reflection and decisions and for two kids, facing that reality and the past wasn't something either of us wanted to deal with.  And so, when words weren't there to find and the silence was too much to bear, he handed me a "tissue" and we laughed. 
 In those few days of just the two of us sitting together in that hospital room, I learned that my brother was in my life to make me keep a light-heartedness about circumstances in which we have no control.  I also learned in time that no matter the distance or silent phone calls, or the days we go without speaking to each other as our lives continue to move forward, we would always have a closeness that words could not describe.  He taught me that serious could also be funny and even today, as I stare at my scars that take me back to those days, I think about those "tissues" he gave me and without even knowing it, he is right there reminding me to laugh again!
Love you big brother...
"The person who can bring the spirit of laughter into a room is indeed blessed."