Twenty years. Holy crap. Twenty years since I saw your face, since I stood next to you, since I heard your voice. Twenty years doesn’t seem possible, especially when I still feel like I’m 30. I think of you all the time. I see my kids, your nieces and nephews, do things and hear them say things and I wish you were here to be a part of it. I wish you were here to laugh with me and tell stories together from when we were growing up. I wish you were here to make me laugh like only you could, even when times were tough. I wish you were here for advice, help, fun. When we lose someone, so often we think about the “what if”. I do this too. What if you were still here? Would my kids have more cousins? Would they have a crazy uncle who spoiled them rotten? Would you go crazy with me at their games? Would you and I collaborate in our careers? You had such an amazing way with words, Mike. You motivated people and inspired people. I feel purposeful when I am doing the same. I would like to think we would have some sort of grand project going together. It’s funny, when you’re younger, the way you view the world. I knew we were similar in our features, but, as an adult, I realize we had more than that in common. We have very similar personalities. I find that our personalities are a blessing from both of our parents. One thing you had that stood out though was the way you could make mom laugh. Anyone who knew you can vouch for that. There was something about what you could say and how you could say it that would just catch her off guard. She would laugh so hard that she couldn’t breathe and would begin to wheeze. This always made the rest of us laugh even harder. I’m not sure I ever thanked you for all the laughs. Thank you. I could use more of those in my life right now. For some reason, teenagers are super sensitive, can’t take a joke, and do not find me as hilarious as I truly am. You would laugh with me… and at me for that matter. It was all good though. Imagine growing up in our house without a thick skin? Yikes!

How do you truly put into words what it’s like to lose your brother when you are 27 years old? How do you put into words how you never stop, over all twenty of those years since, wondering how life would be different, better, with you still in it. I have always taken comfort in knowing that I get those memories to keep. I talk about them even if it’s not as funny to my kids. They can be a tough crowd, kids. I get to keep the best parts of you in my heart. I also get to keep your friends. Thank God for that too!

I remember very clearly when I was in first grade at E. Pole Elementary and you were in 5th. I hated going to school. I missed mom. I remember you having to come down from your classroom to sit with me and help me when I was upset. You hugged me and cheered me up. You were the BEST big brother. Later, when we were awful teenagers, you weren’t so nice to me all the time, but, when it came down to it and I needed you, you still were always there for me. I have no doubt you hear me still today, asking for your help from time to time. That’s what big brothers do. They torture you and steal the remote and push you out of the front seat of the car to sit shotgun. Then they threaten the guy who comes to take you out on a date. They make sure you take advil after you’ve been drinking. They keep you smiling and laughing and joking, always.

There isn’t always a way to form coherent thoughts when you miss someone. Maybe none of this makes sense to the reader. However, my guess is it does make sense to someone else grieving. The one it makes sense to is the one for whom I am writing. It is the one I am hoping to give hope. It is the one that I want to know they are not alone. It is all of the things I have needed and the things that helped. The grief changes, but it never goes away. I am living proof we can love life after experiencing loss and that we can still thrive while simultaneously missing that person. If you get it, you get it. Best brother ever… miss you Mike, even 20 years later.