David Frost

Loss of Twin, Brad Frost

Besides from being my brother-in-law and Brad’s twin brother, what’s your story?

I’m the father of three young children, a husband, the youngest of 3 siblings, a fraternal twin brother, a teacher & advisor in my work, a student of philosophy and life. I’m someone who cares deeply about respect, relationships, and love. I’m an uncle, a grandson, a co-worker, an ‘East-coaster’ who decided to move out west, a cancer survivor, a college grad, a person who misses those that were taken too soon.

I live in Northern Idaho in a log cabin and as I look out my window, I see a mama and baby moose laying down enjoying the foliage in our swamp. I’m most free when on my mountain bike or skis, and I am most happy with my family (extended and immediate) laughing immersed in their presence.

“My capacity to understand what was going on for my brother medically, physically, emotionally, and even theoretically was limited at best.”

Talk about your life before Brad died.

Prior to losing my twin brother Brad to cancer, my life could be described as beautiful, adventurous, and maybe somewhat effortless as things seemed to just fall into place. I myself behaved recklessly, and was often perceived as being carefree or maybe even naive to the ‘projected’ responsibilities of ‘what mattered.’ There was a fragrance of immortality bubbling from my ego, and my insecurities and fears that had been buried by my behavior - and through my career choice(s) - allowed me to live on without any need to truly look at or fix anything. I would consider myself a “Fortunate Fool” to most, and often filled that role quite well, continuing to polish the veneer.  

I loved the late night conversations, and my behavior later proved that I mostly just preferred the late nights, as I was often unable to hang with the conversations. My common beliefs about myself were often around me not being enough and having fear of somehow being abandoned. Because of this, I learned to mask my insecurities and faulty belief systems with gluttony and yuppy existentialism. I was a Nice Guy, who never knew how to say no.

Let’s talk about losing Brad. Can you share about your life leading up to his death as well as the day of?

Originally we believed that Brad’s back pain was a possible kidney infection or stone he needed to pass. I encouraged him to get it checked out, which he had by the time I offered that unsolicited advice. and I had no idea what was going on nor what was about to come.  Brad called and said, “I have been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer - renal cell carcinoma.”  

My mind and brain blocked off the information and I literally was unable to comprehend the severity of the situation at hand. I made some stupid fucking joke trying to further block the most shocking news I have ever heard - beyond a call I received a couple years prior, when I learned that my father was in a fatal car crash 

My capacity to understand what was going on for my brother medically, physically, emotionally, and even theoretically was limited at best. I remember visiting him just after he got diagnosed, and it dawned on me while standing in his kitchen, drinking a beer with Brad, his best friend Jeremy, and Dana, and I had a glimpse of and saw my brother's fear. And it clicked. For the first time I realized in my brain, my heart, my mind, and in my soul what stage 4 cancer felt like. I fucking lost it, I remember being held by Jeremy, who than began to cry just as hard, and soon it was a cuddle puddle. During that time, Mumford and Sons was playing ‘Timshel,’ ‘Sigh No More,’ and ‘Lover of the Light.’ These subconsciously collaborative numbers arrested us to this unrelenting fear and sadness and eminent grief that existed in that moment.

My relationship to music changed leading up to the loss of my brother, and my connection to time shifted as well. That is, they both changed dramatically. There were these unique phenomena that were happening almost daily, if not 2 times a day. Certain times on the clock or series of numbers showing up consistently. Music was blowing my mind, as it seemed my ability to listen and understand what was going on for Brad simply required me to listen to the music and Brad's message or energy was somehow ‘more’ available to me as I felt connected to his rhythm, regardless of the details. Reason and logic were not necessarily available to me during this time, and my decisions to connect or disconnect went on autopilot. My capacity to be myself, or the person that people relied on me to be - was clouded by this real and current nightmare, haunting us all daily, as good news was few and far between.

I would find myself sitting at my desk, gripped by the fear of what I could not control, and would end up in front of my boss, shamefully balling my eyes out without understanding or physiological control over my emotions. Often it would be understood and met with grace or a subtle invite to go home.

At home my life was a blur. It’s possible I was attempting to be present for my family because I had not captured any ability on how to do that for myself. I learned that the only thing that made me feel good was to be with my brother, and I was also battling the inconceivable notion and blocked potential of him actually dying (which was not an option in my mind/heart). Tormented by my disillusioned mind I had this ‘chariots of fire’ type of battlecry working to constantly keep the energy up and positive (at-least through my faded lenses), which often felt misunderstood or even inappropriate by my family/brother. Such was the way of my time leading up to the passing of my brother, this incredible paradox of emotions and sentiments with ignorance as my guide.

I remember being in Detroit during what would be Brad’s last day of work ever. He looked humbled and his words felt empty as his battle for social justice was now in someone else’s hand. Brad was willing to smile and to play the part about being excited for his “early retirement,” but it was the possibility that this was the first in a series of “lasts” that stole the thunder. We had plans to play golf the next day in honor of his ‘retirement’  and when Brad told me that he was in too much pain to play, I became a bit more sober to the potential of actually losing Brad to cancer. Sobriety though, was always short lived in my life and my stubbornness to believe that anything was over was beyond difficult to swallow.

The weeks leading up to January 22, 2017 were incredibly authentic, beautiful, heart-wrenching, gut-wrenching, enveloped, devoted, and transcendent. Brad was surrounded by loved ones from all his different paths in life, and I got a front row seat to see the love that everyone had for my brother. I got to see the effect he had on individuals, relationships, communities, and eventually got to see the effect he and Dana had on the city of Detroit itself.

I personally was connected and in tune with my wombmate Brad, I followed his schedule acutely to capture any possible time, need, request, adjustment, moment, laughter, glance, eye contact, breathe, available. I coped with it all the only way I knew how, and stayed on his schedule to the best of my ability through my alcohol consumption. I’m certain there were times where I felt far more there/present and connected than my mental capacity would let me.  

As Brad slowed down so did my consumption, so did the visitors, so did the joy. We were managing his pain and I shared the responsibility with my sisters to keep Brad as comfortable as possible with the use of liquid morphine - among some of the more useful drugs we had available.

Brad’s Heart was pounding in the days leading up to his death, and I remember it weakened to a speedy ripple, as his grip slipped from our hands with greater ease. He had incredible messages and insights and releases that allowed for him (in my mind) to go more gently.  Brad took his final breath in the middle of the day and his silence immediately began to fill the room.

I soon went upstairs to the rooftop of the loft to have a moment to myself. A moment later a Peregrine falcon landed approximately 7 feet from me. As we caught eyes, the bird then flew over the balcony to the building just across the way and landed yet again in clear sight. After a sincere goodbye, I remember feeling this sense of calm and awakening to the connection between the natural world and spiritual world. Knowing that my Brother was the bridge, helped me find the willingness to even consider crossing it - as I believe he had the moment the falcon flew East.

“I would find myself sitting at my desk, gripped by the fear of what I could not control.”

How about in the immediate days/weeks/months after? How did you react (good and/or bad)? How did you cope?

I never felt so alone in my life until I lost my twin brother. I closed myself off to my wife, I tried not to be cruel to my kids, and I chose to embrace my inner victim, and drank and smoked my worries away - often alone and, as my brother would, in the shadows. The drinking and smoking  and unabashed excuse to consume more because of this grief only created more baggage. More pain. And I actually became addicted to my sadness and to my grief. Literally. I could feel a significant chemical dump happen when I would get that intense tears, flooding sadness, and I found myself craving the gut wrenching heartbreaking sensations. I thought it was liberating and do believe there was a necessary relief. It also got me into a manipulated relationship around control.

On a more healthy note, I joined a team and signed up for the Spartan Beast Race in Montana, so I got in shape. I eventually joined a men’s group and began to do some interpersonal work on my emotions and my grief, and ultimately on my relationship with my victimhood.

My main coping mechanism was spending time on the phone, with anyone who would listen and then, mainly with my sister in-law, Dana, who in my mind was the only person who could truly appreciate my loss (and vice versa).

Can you talk about a specific low point or struggle? 

During the last month of my brother’s death I remember blaming him. In seeking for an answer or reason, I indirectly and directly blamed him for causing this cancer. Two of his most defensive behaviors were in question, and I was desperate to find a reason and to be able to point the finger at what, why, when, how. All my brother heard or felt was who. Brad made it clear that I hurt him greatly, which was terrible in and of itself, and to do it twice still fucks with me.  

After Brad passed, I essentially abandoned my wife, and pushed her to the brink of leaving me.  This was soon followed by my own battle/scare with cancer.

So after Brad died of cancer, you had your own diagnosis. Talk about a “What the Fuck?” moment. Can you tell me more about that?

Shortly after Brad’s passing, a dear friend of mine sent me an article about a Harvard study done regarding twins and their potential/percentages for getting cancer after their twin is diagnosed. This study suggested that there is a 30% chance for the non-diagnosed twin to get cancer, which may have been closer numbers for identical twins. Either way, it was an interesting (bullshit word) time to receive the article and to sow certain seeds into my consciousness. I, by no means, had any of intention of getting cancer and I clearly remember a moment of thinking, “well I suppose that is a possibility.”

This was difficult for my egocentric mind, that had moments of grandeur and immortality implanted deeply into my sense of homeostasis. As I went further into the deep end of my own pool of grief and loss, I truly started to drown my sadness with self indulgence and induced masked stress. The kind of indulgence and stress that will kill a man if he doesn’t change.  

My experience with my own cancer is filled with a sincere level of gratitude and appreciation for the opportunity to wake the fuck up. To literally shake away the stress and indulgence in order to be present with my family. I did well at being present for my own desires and needs, and I created a host of priorities, that in my estimation, helped in developing/creating cancer in my body. I recognize the arrogance of this statement, and also what I have since been exposed to and understand about what happiness is, I feel this urgency and responsibility to hold myself accountable as my body reveals the darkness within.

My youngest daughter was born January 26, 2018 - a year and 4 days after Brad died. March of that year I went in to the hospital due to some pain in my lower right abdomen quadrant and with my medical background I knew enough to know that this was most likely appendicitis. That afternoon I was operated on and my appendix was removed. It had confirmed the appendicitis and life was “good.” A week later, on a Tuesday, after picking up my eldest of 3 from kindergarten, I received a call asking if I could come in. When I agreed and asked when, their response was now. “Can you come in now?” they said. I thought little of it.

As I entered the foreign office I was handed this clipboard of paperwork and a couple occupied chairs were filled with a unique crowd of clients. As soon as I sat down with my soon-to-be six year old daughter, we were instantly welcomed by a nurse who said, “Ohh don’t worry about that paperwork now. We can get to that later. Come with me.”

I had my daughters hand in mine and felt like a king. Within 2 minutes the surgeon from the week prior - with whom I had minimal recognition of - invited me to sit down and proceeded to share the positive carcinoid that was present in my appendix. All my brain processed was positive, and I squeezed my daughter with delight.

The nurse gave a frightened look and I asked for the Doctor to say that again. He drew a diagram on the white board as I now squeezed my daughter with a grip of love prettified by fear. I got whatever details I could retain and tried to write them down, and I remember the doctor scheduling a follow up surgery to completely remove the cancer that was not contained in the appendix.

I shared my gratitude and appreciation to the doctor’s office and filled out whatever paperwork was mission critical, and walked with my daughter’s hand - clammy in mine - back to the car. I forgot most of everything that was said and called my friend Rob, who sent the initial article from Harvard well over a year before and said, “Man, those people at Harvard have done it again.” He laughed and asked “are you stoned again?”  I assured him I was not and then reported the information I just received.

In that moment, my daughter was clued in, and I began registering what had just happened. Rob expressed his fear and hope for me (and later admitted feeling a deep sense of sadness that I was going to die). From that phone call, I began down the road of my “bodies journey and diagnosis with cancer.” The type of language I used to disassociate myself with the disease. As a medical professional once said, “if there is a cancer to get, this is the one.” I ultimately was diagnosed with Goblet Cell Carcinoid and a 5.2 cm tumor. A rare genetic cancer within the endocrine system of the body. 

The Fear set in and it was another couple days before the process of communication began (with those that need to know vs. those that you want in your corner to know vs. those that depend on you and what is necessary for them to know). Then there was the responsibility and requirement of planning, not only for how to deal with the diagnosis - the next steps, the team of medical professionals, etc. - but also the what ifs - life management steps and getting my “if shit happens” plan in place. So naturally more stress, and then the fear feeding the stress, and then the scrutiny of every decision I make - every bite, sip, conversation. Plus I was still only a week out from a slightly major surgery with another one tentatively scheduled for 3 weeks from that initial doctor’s visit.

I’m a year and 6 months out with clean scans, and a lot of stories to tell. I know and believe that my walk with cancer has saved my marriage, given me the courage to live my life differently, and encouraged me to truly be my best/healthiest self.

“I know and believe that my walk with cancer has saved my marriage, given me the courage to live my life differently, and encouraged me to truly be my best/healthiest self.”

How did you manage to find joy in those moments - both your own diagnosis and the diagnosis and loss of Brad?

Only when I was in the moment, joy became possible.

How do you live life differently from before Brad’s death? Has your attitude about life shifted? Any unexpected changes?

I have woken up. I recognize the connection that was reflected to me the day my brother passed in everything - everywhere - all the time. I haven’t smoked pot in over a year, and am celebrating 3 months of sobriety. We had another child after Brad died, who may have saved my life, marriage, and soul. I believe in the choices I have, instead of the way life used to “happen to me.” I have navigated some deep-seeded beliefs about the victim I harbored inside myself for many years, overcame some serious ego issues, and am getting trained in neuroplasticity heart rhythm work that has created the access for freedom and joy.

If you could tell Brad anything now, what would you want him to know?

I have told him and do tell him and I truly believe that he does know. Beyond that, I will continue to tell him that it matters - his life, his work, his experience, his love. I would truly love nothing more than to simply listen and be given the chance to hear him share his perspective. I want to experience the joy of watching his joy of his nieces and nephews... I remember it beautifully and wish for their sake they could feel that everyday - which we try to do in our house.

I have told him of my regrets and sadness, of my fear and hurt. I have shared my experience with him and held myself accountable and I have felt him and his love, regrets, sadness, and hurt reciprocated within me.

What do you want others - those who haven’t experienced it yet or are early in the process - to know about grief?

You will be affected no matter what you do, the sooner you surrender, the easier enlightenment can be.

Your story is definitely your own and it is possible that no one could ever understand, or relate, especially if you don’t share what is going on for you. So take the time to slow down and allow what is happening to you be what you choose to have happen to you. If you did not choose what is happening to others around you, do what you can to feel good about how you showed up for yourself regardless of what is going on for everyone else.

How can a person best be there to support a loved one who is grieving?

Show up!

Honoring their life and yours, with respect to their relationship with the individual. Let go of what you cannot control & be humbled by the love you have to give. If you’re not taking care of yourself (legit not taking care of yourself), don’t try to be there for those who are grieving.  

Let them know your intentions, and depending on the situation (stability of the individual), clearly communicate what you are willing and able to do to help them. Giving concrete suggestions that can truly take something off their plate (again if that is at all in the cards).

What would you tell yourself if you could go back to the beginning of your pre-loss journey?

Hang On.  Vulnerability is a key ingredient.  It’s okay that you don’t know what the fuck to do.

Looking back, anything you would do differently?

Yes, and no.

What would you tell others who are going through something similar?

It will never be the same, you will never be the same, find the courage to embrace the change. No one will be able to understand your loss, especially if you do not. Communicate, feel, and challenge your beliefs always.

Any resources that were helpful for you that others might be able to utilize?

“LAUGHTER, is the only medicine” (My 4 year old niece)

Let’s talk about the guilt and shame. It seems unavoidable for some reason. Survival guilt, self care, etc. Do you experience that? In what way?

Yes, I went down the rabbit hole of why Brad and why not me. Peter Levine writes about the trauma responses we have in Waking the Tiger, Healing Trauma. Levine helps us understand that all responses are reflections of the trauma being trapped in the body, and unless we release them in effective ways, our behavior/tendencies/traumas will continue to manifest. The more I learned about the trauma response and the way animals naturally literally shake out trauma experiences, the more I recognized that we need to literally find a safe environment to be able to manifest a proper release of this toxicity that is capable of destroying our lives, and other’s lives. Shake it out, you don’t need to continuously re-suffer the same trauma over and over again. Get help/ask for help before it is too late.

What brings you joy now? 

Everything, even the things that drive me fucking crazy, I love that feeling and find joy in losing my shit from time to time. My body got cancer a year ago and I have found more joy through that experience than I would have ever imagined.

Because music has been such an important part of your journey, can you share a playlist of your top 10 songs?
Good Grief playlist here (“Fuck 10 songs”)

Anything else you’d like readers to know?

You are more powerful and capable than you may have ever been told, experienced, and if you’re willing, you can create this to be one of the most amazing and beautiful experiences of your life. 

There is a quote I like that is something like: “Happiness sometimes feels impossible to feel/achieve from within, and there is simply no other possible way to feel/access it.”