July 2nd, 1955, my brother, closest in age to me, was born, and on September 2000, his body, having died of pneumonia, was found in his Minneapolis apartment. I am tired of grieving. I miss my brothers. I miss my family; living in the place of my childhood is a daily reminder of what I no longer have or can experience. Is it an albatross-binding me or a gift?
I miss this brother, this wild and untamed force of nature. His laugh, humor, and approach to life were refreshing, although at times frustrating. His choice of lanes was the fast one, the no-pass zone; catch me if you can.
His life was remarkable, having died once before in 1980, flying through a windshield and lying unconscious in a Colorado hospital. He survived and told of his journey to the beyond, white lights, and meeting the"big hairy guy," who told him it was not his time and sent him back.
It was twenty years ago that the day he had been admitted to the hospital, we attended a memorial service celebrating his life. Was twenty years the magic number? Was that all the time he had? I remiss not wagering for more time on his behalf; little did I know my heart would keep aching for this long.
On this day, I celebrate him a little more. I look at pictures, recall the good times, and quiet my mind to hear his laughter. I remember his kindness and empathy and the way his deep brown eyes swaddled me. His presence in my life was profound.
Heaven is a little more raucous on this day, with the best draught being served in frosty glasses, and jokes continuing throughout the day.
I raise my glass in his memory and look to the heavens for signs of his presence. Indeed, the night sky will shine brighter this evening, the anniversary of his birth.
What a bright light Mark was. I spent many a night with him on the Boulder Mall and sat vigil as he lay in a Boulder hospital. A loving tribute Elise. From my heart to yours.
The world is definitely duller without him here, I think heaven a bit brighter. Your words brought tears to me. I miss him too