The Passing of My Brother

My little brother passed away this week. He was only 32. The death was unexpected, and we have yet to know precisely why. The most challenging part for me so far has been needing to see others acknowledge his death. Social media is abuzz with posts commenting about his identity and impact on his community. None of it is negative; they all speak of how my brother has touched this world through his radical joy and fierce love. Why this hurts is complicated. One element is my parents weren't consulted before the news of his passing was shared and the tributes started. We have yet to see his body, and there is something still not real about him being gone.

My main issue, however, is I don't want him to be gone. My sister described it as still having that unreasonable thought that if we go to the morgue to see him, we could just shake him awake. He can't be gone. He can't. He had too many more things to do, joy to spread, and love to share. My brother was a painter, a poet, and a dancer. But more than anything, he was a servant who would take the shirt off his back for a person in need. His servanthood is a trait he shares with all my siblings. As a young child, he would walk to random strangers in our church and adopt them for the service. He would connect with anyone he met, doing whatever he could to make them feel comfortable in their skin. Sadly, this trait was not as organic but developed through a great deal of struggle in his personal life. You see, others did not always accept my brother, and he sometimes struggled to accept himself. My most cherished memories with my brother will always be playing pretend. We created worlds together. The latest media often inspired our stories: Digimon, Lord of the Rings, and Avatar: The Last Airbender. But, we always added our own ingredients to our tales, organically discovering what made for interesting characters, engaging plots, and breathtaking moments. Each stick we found in the backyard represented a different weapon, which, in turn, would reveal a new character to add to our world. We lived in these worlds at times, protected from the outside and reaching whatever height our imagination unveiled.

We did not just leave our pretend games in the backyard; instead, we channeled our imagination into adult life. I am the Storyteller, and my brother was the Thespian. During his very last days, he served as a counselor at a performing arts camp and cultivated the imaginations of those around him. Pretend was an internal fire, one that helped inspire the joy and love he shared with others. The very afternoon before his death, he watched the kids he counseled perform. The joy he had for those young actors was infectious. We had never seen my brother more happy.

Now my brother is no more. He has left me and my heart is broken. My only refuge is that I can still visit him in my imagination. He will be sprinkled about in the worlds I build and characters I create. There is no substitute for the real thing, but I will make it my mission to carry my brother with me throughout my life; and just like it was in real life, if I can accomplish that goal, everyone he touches will be all the more blessed.