It has been three years since we lost my dear brother, Dennis. And
though typically the anniversary of that loss doesn't overtly weigh on
my mind, I know that it seeps into my subconscious every year and makes
me reflect on that difficult time. (If nothing else, Super Bowl Sunday
always jogs my memory about that particular weekend.) I also haven't
made a particular practice of marking the actual day that Dennis passed
away, but throughout the year I do quite often think about the two weeks
that I was able to spend with him leading up to his last day.
Anyone
who has had the all-too-rare opportunity of being at the side of a
loved one in their last days is likely to share that it was at once the
most painful and yet most beautiful thing that they have ever
experienced, which is of course a curious paradox. But that paradox was
certainly present for me, and those two weeks with Dennis are a time
that I will always cherish. Above all, I am eternally grateful that I
was able to pass through this difficult and poignant rite of passage
with him in the close company of his family. There can be no doubt that
this time drew the five of us closer together in a way that I know would
have made Dennis very happy.
Losing a sibling
relatively early in life tends to put a fine point on one's own
mortality. But what I've strived to learn from losing Dennis is to not
fear the end, which may come to any one of us at any time. But rather to
strive to embrace every beautiful moment that we do have on this earth
and in this life, and the dear people that help make up those moments.
To appreciate the many powerful and joyful events that can bless our
lives. Today I am remembering an untold number of such events and
"adventures" that life allowed me to experience with a beloved brother.
God speed Dennis.
