I tried not to make it about me at all. I know I shouldn’t write about it because some will think it’s not my story.
But today, as you stand in a Rockville Courthouse across from my sister, I am sad.
When I was 10 you showed up.
You played with me. No one else really played with me.
You were my coach. 8th grade basketball. You taught me some tough lessons with a gentle hand.
You introduced me to music I would have never otherwise loved. You and me at my first rock show-how cool was that?
You didn’t talk much, but when you said anything to me- it carried a lot of weight.
I loved having you around.
I loved concerts.
I loved hearing you tease, “of course you are ugly and stupid and dateless” because I knew really you were just mad at me for thinking those things about myself.
I knew you never thought I was ugly or stupid.
I loved that we got eachother-even if we only spoke about it sometimes.
I may never see you again, because I am her sister.
For one year I have watched her struggle.
I have watched her grow.
I have seen her do things you might have never thought she could do.
I have (I hope) helped her heal and begin her new life.
I know she has become a person who will not mind when I say:
I miss you and I love you.
I will miss you whenever Hootie sings country.
I will miss you at concerts.
I will miss you when there is no longer Budweiser beer at the party.
I will miss you when my boys want to fish and I don’t know who will teach them.
I will miss calling you Uncle to my kids.
I will cherish my after-marathon email that told me you were proud-more than I ever did before, and that was a lot.
I know she will not mind when I say, “I will miss you, brother. And I wish you well.”
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