Some questions may never be answered......

Eight years ago, as the last hours of January became the first hours of February, my youngest brother chose to leave this world. He was young. He was amazingly handsome. He had a job allowing him to travel to exotic places. He had a beautiful house. He was surrounded by good friends. He had a brother and a sister who, along with their families, loved him with all their hearts. Yet, for whatever reason, none of this was enough.

As those of us who loved him held each other, we each wondered in our own ways what had happened. We searched our minds for clues. Maybe (this) was the reason? Maybe (that)? What could we have done? What should we have done? Those of us living miles away fretted that we should have stayed in closer touch -- should have watched more closely. Those living next door agonized over the dinner invitation he'd backed out of on the night of his death. Why didn't they insist he come -- they wondered. The ones who had greeted him on his morning run wondered why they hadn't noticed something was awry -- something that would end with him ending his stay on earth hours later.

At this point, I wish I could say that I don't think there was anything anyone could have done to prevent what happened, but I don't know if that is true. If I'd been more available -- more involved in his life, could it have helped? Would he then have felt safe to come to me and ask for whatever help he needed? Or just to talk? I'll never know. Why didn't he trust me (or his brother) with the knowledge of who he really was? Could he have possibly thought we'd reject him? Didn't he know us -- trust us -- better than that? That may be what hurts the most. The fact that he thought he couldn't be his true self with us. What a burden he must have carried.

I thought we had a special connection. Yet I had no inkling he was in such bad shape. That stunned me. Shouldn't there have been something inside warning me that he was in trouble? Why did I allow such distance to develop between us that I lost that knowing? Easy answer. I was lazy. I didn't try hard enough. It wasn't a priority. Sad.

In the days, weeks, months following his death, my other brother T. and I didn't know exactly how to mourn. I was surprised at the anger I felt. T. was surprised to find himself thinking of how much courage it must have taken to do something like that. What did we tell our children? What did we tell other family members and friends? How would our brother have wanted us to handle it? I hope we pleased him.

(you can hum the music from Twilight Zone here -- da da da da) In the days following his death, as I stumbled through my life trying to do the things I had to do, I gradually began feeling a strength. My brother's strength. Somehow I knew that he was with me and would be with me as long as I needed him. I grabbed hold of his presence and held on tightly.

I remember the day I let go. I felt a release as I set him free with love and joy. I think the feeling was as much his as mine. I realized that, in some way, I had been holding him from moving on. Oh, he's still here -- but in a different way.

So, today I'll remember the day we celebrated his life. I'll remember his friends and the experiences they shared with me. I'll remember hearing from his friends how important I was to him. I'll remember the laughter, the tears, the regrets, the wondering. And, I'll remember how, as one of his close friends was recounting an experience they'd shared, how I looked up and how the sky was filled with my brother's smile -- reaching from horizon to horizon. That familiar, ever-present smile of his.

And, today, I'll remember how much I love and miss him.