By Madelyn Tullos, Online Editor-in-Chief
A photo captures a moment. A picture frame holds it in place. Within its borders, time cannot move. Memories live quietly behind the glass, preserving smiles, voices and faces exactly as they once were. But the glass that protects them is fragile. Hanging on a single nail, a frame can fall without warning. Sometimes gravity is not the only force at work. A small shift, an unnoticed change, and the balance is lost. For Sydney Brunner’s family, the moment captured in one photograph would become the last of its kind. In the images that remain, her younger brother Lincoln is frozen forever at three and a half years old.
A picture is worth a thousand words. But five words lay heavy on her conscience. “Sydney, can you watch Lincoln?” This request from her mom has replayed in her mind for years. At six years old, Sydney and others played with her younger brother for the afternoon. Since then, she has played this day over and over to find answers. Despite the consistent analysis, she cannot pinpoint the moment Lincoln drifted away. No one saw him leave. No one knew he had made his way outside. On one of the hottest days in Arkansas, no one knew little Lincoln decided the parked car was his napping destination. He shut the door and fell into a deep sleep that never ended. And no one knew until it was too late.
“Where’s Lincoln?” Sydney’s mom questioned.
This immediately sent the entire family into a frantic search. Being new to the Bentonville area, they had no one to call. They dispersed, calling his name in hopes that this hide and seek nightmare would end.
No answer.
Sydney cannot erase the next image from her mind.
It was too late.
The sound of sirens grew closer and closer in the next moments. Lincoln was rushed to the hospital. Sydney had seen the last of her little brother.
For a while she experienced an emotional disconnect. “It was hard for me to shed tears at first because I was just so shocked,” Sydney said. She quickly aided the needs of those around her instead of handling her own. Her lack of emotion was no indication that she was not grieving. At such a young age, it is nearly impossible to come to terms with loss of that magnitude. To anyone on the outside, this situation could be chalked up to a freak accident, but all Sydney was filled with was guilt. This cloud followed her for years.
“I beat myself up for so long because I thought it was all my fault,” Sydney admitted. She was weighed down with guilt she was never meant to bear.
“Sydney, can you watch Lincoln?”
“Hey Sydney, can you watch Lincoln?”
“Sydney…watch Lincoln.”
It became the theme song of her nightmares. The only problem was, it wasn’t a dream she could wake up from. Lincoln was gone and, in her mind, it was all her fault.
In the months that followed, Sydney began asking the same question over and over: Why would God let this happen? A good God would not let such a tragedy wreck her family. He would not allow judgments from others to paint the narrative for far too long. A God of grace and mercy would never have taken Lincoln from them. These questions and doubts led her into a darkness she could not escape.
Sydney had a front row seat to her parents’ grief while trying to learn to grieve herself. “Watching my parents go through heartache was one of the hardest things to watch as a kid,” Sydney said. She watched as her mom lost joy in the simple things. The piano laid untouched. The sweet melody that once filled their home was muted for a time. Watching that grief pushed Sydney deeper into her own darkness. “No one thought I was coming out of the dark spot I fell in.” Sydney said.
In the years following Lincoln’s passing, Sydney’s mom got pregnant with a baby boy and they welcomed Quinton into the Brunner family. “He literally looked like Lincoln from the very start,” Sydney said. The distinct similarities between this little blonde boy and Lincoln left Sydney with mixed emotions. She was ecstatic to hear her family was growing, but resentment crept in as she convinced herself that this new addition might replace Lincoln.
It reached a point that there didn’t seem to be hope for Sydney. Grief was a long and hard journey that has been going on for over 13 years. “Back then I wouldn’t have said He was a good God,” Sydney said. “You don’t just take people away.”
“But seeing the way I am now I have a clear depiction of how the Lord can take someone whose desires were so far from him, to now my desire is Him.” She recognized that she will never have all of the answers. Her confidence rests in the truth that the Lord has a plan for everyone’s life. “I’m not going to have the answer to every single question that I have,” Sydney said. “That is where faith comes in.”
Sydney has carried sorrow and grief. She has been overwhelmed with questions and doubts. Over time she recognized that being consumed by these thoughts was getting her nowhere. She understood that she could live her whole life beating herself up and being angry with God, but that she would miss out on a fruitful life trusting in Him.
“Even through the hardest times and even through the most painful moments, He is still a good God and His plan is still good,” Sydney affirmed. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, the promise of heaven has shaped the way Sydney grieves.
“The little boy that my six year old self was like best friends with…I get to see him again in heaven one day,” Sydney said. And she clings to this truth daily.
Lincoln Andrew Brunner — Nov. 21, 2008–Aug. 4, 2012 — is etched into a soccer ball-shaped tombstone. On the anniversary of his passing hot wheels cars are placed instead of flowers and balloons are lifted to the sky.
Aug 4 is not an easy day to remember. It is a day defined by loss. It is tainted with tears, painted with pain and stitched with sorrow. Visiting Lincoln’s grave is no easy feat. “I don’t like the idea of visiting death,” Sydney stated. “I like to remember him as dancing with Jesus in heaven.”
Over time, Sydney began to understand something she had once struggled to believe: God was not distant from her pain. Now, when she speaks to others facing tragedy, Sydney offers the same encouragement she once needed to hear. She warns against letting grief create distance from God.
“The worst thing you can do to yourself is push away the One who holds the plan,” Sydney encouraged. “Be in so much communication with God.”
“Lincoln Andrew was a sweet and very happy little boy,” Sydney’s mom described. “He had the brightest blonde hair that bounced when he ran, beautiful blue eyes, and a laugh that was contagious.” These blonde locks and piercing eyes are captured under plexiglass. The corners of the frame are held closely by his loving mother, Sandy, in every family photo taken.
“God has so graciously given us peace and joy where there once was only pain and sorrow,” Sandy said. “He has given us the ability to look past our grief and see His goodness and His love.”
13 years have passed, but Lincoln’s memory remains present with the Brunner family. Each year as the family gathers for the annual family photo, Lincoln is still there. Year after year, the same blonde hair and bright smile sits preserved beneath the glass.
“Although we only have the same pictures and the same memories year after year, we are so grateful to have them,” Sandy said. “Today we look at pictures to see his smile and beautiful face and videos to hear his sweet voice. Those are gifts to us, and we don’t ever want to take them for granted.”
The photograph may freeze Lincoln at three and a half years old, but the Brunner family’s faith reminds them that the story does not end there. For now, his smile lives behind the glass, waiting for the day the family will see it again.
