Just Brothers

My brother passed away on July 12th. Over 9 years ago now. I still can’t believe that.

He was my little brother, but he was one of my very best friends. I can’t believe it’s been 9 years since I’ve had a conversation with you. I wish I could message you right now, just to say “what’s up.” Or send you a link. Or laugh about something weird we found online.

I wish I could show you Lavish Made. You’d love it. All the retro stuff we used to geek out about… it’s baked into the whole thing. I think about that a lot.

I miss your laugh. I miss our conversations. I miss knowing you were just there.

We had that kind of bond where we didn’t even need to talk sometimes. I just knew what you needed. At the hospital, I could read your face: if you wanted Mom to take a break, or if you needed something to drink... I just did it. I was a good PA, huh?

I miss waking up at 3 a.m. because you wanted a pizza pocket.

We used to spend countless hours in the hospital talking about life and the universe, and all those late-night conversations about parallel worlds. I think we both loved the idea that maybe there were other versions of us out there. Versions where you weren’t sick. Where we were just brothers. Without IVs. Without beeping machines. Just living.

Today I’m in Chicago, chasing around three wild boys while the girls go off to celebrate Ellie’s birthday. And even though it's chaotic, even though I’m tired, I’m reminded how lucky I am to have this little family. How lucky I am to be here. And still... grief doesn’t really leave. It just changes shape. It moves a little to the side.

There’s this strange tension between the ache of loss and the joy of being here. Sometimes I’ll see a smile on one of my kids' faces, or hear their laughter, and it brings me back to when you and I were little. Laughing. Yelling. Playing. Fighting. Forgiving.

I hope they get to have the things we didn’t always get.
And I hope they get to keep some of the things we did.

I'm sorry life did what it did to you. You didn’t deserve that.

I was just talking to Rusty... you held him once, before the cancer got too bad. He was so little then. And now, somehow, we’re having conversations about life and sadness and how feelings come and go like the wind. He said it doesn’t feel okay, but we can feel it, and let it pass. You’d love Rusty. He’s so into video games. We just went to Godzilla Fest.

I miss you a ton. And I wish you could be here.

It wasn’t fair. And it’s still sad.
Some days, if I let my mind wander too far, I can spiral deep into it.

But today, I’m going to let myself feel this sadness... and that’s okay. Then I’ll let it pass. Like a soft breeze across my skin on a summer day.

And I’ll go watch these kiddos laugh and do silly, fun things.

And maybe, in one of those universes we talked about, you’re still here.
And we’re just brothers.

I love you Josh.