On February 9th, 2010, my dear younger brother Paul died. He was fighting prostate cancer, but we all thought he had a good chance to defeat it. However painful it is now, I would not trade one second of our time together, or the wealth of memories shared with my younger brother. Here is what I wrote…
Not a day goes by that you are not in my heart and in my thoughts. But since last Tuesday, those thoughts and love have taken a different turn just as you have stepped off the path we shared together to follow a new journey. I miss you.
At a time like this, my mind is full of memories: sweet chicklets ™ so fat in our mouths we couldn’t close them; a fishing expedition for a red satin bathing suit; wobbling out to the back yard ice rink (you were a terrible skater, but your heart was in it); birthdays and Christmas and endless summer holidays. Do you remember the Beatles? And dances in Camlachie? How rich my life has been to share those memories and days with you.
There were long telephone conversations, teasing and debates ranging from current events to what’s for dinner. There were weddings, children and grandchildren born, picnics, holidays, and shared losses as we said goodbye to those we had loved together. All the events, from ordinary to special, that give life it’s precious meaning.
There are those who would say that a life has meaning only if one has made a fortune, or invented some revolutionary technology, created great art, or devoted one’s life to charitable works. But no, that is not right. Each life, yours, has so much meaning.
Your wit, sometimes as sharp as a butcher’s blade, other times as subtle as an August afternoon breeze, challenging me, making me laugh or cry. Your fingers flying over the frets and strings, your passion for music infectious. You made that guitar sing, and I was there to enjoy it. Poetry, songs and words that still echo in my heart. You could have been a rock star, but you chose instead to share your gifts with those you loved best. What an honour. Your compassion, your kindness and care for all those in your circle of family and friends, even when you were so sick yourself. This is what gives life, your life, so much meaning and depth, and joy.
The world is an emptier place without you. I miss you. Your loving sister, Wendy.
I originally published this on February 15th, 2010, but I think Paul deserves a permanent place here.