Eulogy

Dear C---,

First things first: there's gonna be mushy stuff in here, and for once you can't pretend not to like it. So there.

So, where does one begin writing a eulogy for their little brother? Certainly not in their thirties, that's for sure. You were supposed to be a crochety old man by the time I had to do this. No, better yet, I was supposed to be gone for at least two years by the time this ever needed writing, because I am supposed to be two years ahead of you at everything. I guess life had other plans...

I still wake up every morning and remind myself that you are gone, and then spend all day forgetting. Like, even writing this, I was trying to remember some of the names and dates and times that only you and I know, and I kept wanting to sign into messenger and ask you about them. But I had to remind myself that you're gonna be offline for awhile.

I keep flashing back to our teen years, to the days of running wild in the streets with you. Poor Mom, working sixty to eighty hour weeks, didn't have a prayer of keeping us tied down. We did some really funny stuff, some inconceivably stupid stuff, with the occasional flash of wisdom to keep us alive. I remember spending day after day in our kitchen with our equally wild friends, playing spades or dominoes, depending on the audience. Didn't matter which one we played, nobody could beat us. We had that middle-sibling mind-meld thing going; we didn't have to cheat to know the other person's hand. Remember when T--- got so excited that one time when he had the double five, just at the right moment, to pull his score up with ours? He slammed the domino down on the table so hard the table broke in half, and you told him, “My mom is gonna kick your ass!” He was a big, barrel-chested man, and Mom is all of 4'11”, but you fully believed it. Actually, I did, too. Actually, so did T---.

I'm really gonna miss the fun we used to have. I'm going to miss a lot of things while you're gone. Your eyebrows, for one, and the constant urge I always had to pluck them. Your laugh, your sense of humor, and your wit. Your utter inability to whisper in the movie theater. The fact that you always, always said just what you meant, just how you felt, with no prevarication or hesitation. The fact that you felt things more deeply than anyone really knew. And your scar tattoo. Like the scar on A---'s eye, it was my stamp of ownership on my little brother, a reminder of me that you could never escape. Proof of life, as it were.

Mom always used to get mad at us for fighting. She said when we got older we were all each other would have. She worried so much that we would grow up and be glad to be rid of each other. She didn't understand that arguing like that was all part of our bonding. I've known a lot of siblings, and I am so proud to say that not very many are as close as we have always been, fistfights, scars, and all.

But your sisters were not the only people you loved. Your son M--- was more important to you than breathing. I remember the day he was born, you came to my apartment, floating in a cloud of euphoria. “I'm a dad! I have a son!” you kept repeating, over and over again. You had this big, goofy smile stuck to your face like superglue. In the nearly twelve years since, I have never seen you as happy as that day. Love and families are complicated, and your little family is no exception, but there can be no doubt of the depth of your love for your son. My heart breaks for all of the moments you will miss with him.

You were a father, and you were also a son. Mothers and sons have this pure, uncomplicated relationship, in a way daughters can only envy. When you were little, you told Mom that you were gonna be an astronaut when you grew up, so you could give her a ride in your rocket ship. I remember thinking, when I heard that story as a snotty teenager, 'Hey – can you leave her on the moon on your way back down?' Whenever one of us would complain to you about Mom, if you thought we were being too hard on her, you would defend her. We love Mom, too, of course. Of course! But we are daughters. There is nothing like a son's love for his mother, and you were no exception.

Fathers and sons, on the other hand, are as complicated as mothers and daughters. Even so, it was clear that you and your father deeply loved each other. He called you, “Last word C---,” because you always found a way to have the last word. But today the words belong to him; he sent me his memories to share:

“Son, I remember the day, the hour, the minute you were born. I got to hold you only a minute after birth, and I don't think I took my eyes off you for the next four months. Even from the time you were little, you had a smile that could make a person laugh when they were down. With that smile, from 2 years to thirty, you knew how to use it to make a day better. There will never be a day in my life I will not think about you, remember you, and cry about you, my son.”

The wisdom goes that men who treat their mothers well also treat their women well. It's also said that men with sisters make better boyfriends. Ya know, cuz we train ya. I only know from the outside, of course, but I think your love with I--- has made the truth of that clear. You kept her sort of a secret for a while. I think you thought we wouldn't understand; people dismiss online relationships as not real, and I think that's probably true for a lot of people. But not you two. Only real love could have made you so happy. Only real love could pull you out of the darkness, out of the sadness that you sometimes fell into. You spent all of your days talking to your love, all of your nights dreaming of her. You wrote her poetry, sang her songs, even. You were doing everything you could to cross an entire ocean and pull her into your arms, and I know that if you had the chance, you would have made it. And I know that you two would have proven everyone wrong about how people fall in love, and how they stay that way. “I've never been so happy and sad at the same time,” you told her in one of your poems that you wrote her about the miles between you two. She felt the same. And she wanted me to read some words from her, so here goes:

“A few days after I met you, I asked you how you calm yourself when you know hard times are coming. You first joked about it; you said you drank milk, and I laughed. Then you told me the following words:

“Well, I've always been naturally calm, for the most part, and, ok, remember, two things have no purpose in life. First is regret, the second is worry. Neither does anything productive. So just believe in yourself and do the best you can. That's what I tell myself in hard times, that easier times will come, and hard times should be appreciated, because without them we wouldn't know what easy is.”

You always managed to find the bright side in everything. You were a strong, kind, selfless person. In fact, I had told you numerous times that I have never met anyone nearly as kind as you. I truly believe that your heart is made of gold, C---. You made a HUGE impact on my life. I don't think you ever knew how huge. Your words gave me strength and will continue to do so.

Sweetie, I will always love you and never forget you. I promise you. BUT! Just wait until it's my time to come there, too. I will hunt you down and kick your ass – yes, the one you used to shake on camera – for leaving so damn early. And remember, don't do anything I would do.”

I really think she means to do that.

You had this wonderful sense of adventure, little brother. You could find the funny in every situation. You didn't have much, but you would offer whatever you had to someone in need – a heart of gold, as Ifi said. You felt everything deeply – love, sadness, empathy, joy. You were a treasure of a person, and you will be desperately missed.

But I know I will see you again. The bible makes that promise at Acts 24:15, where it says, “and I have hope toward God...that there is going to be a resurrection of both the righteous and the unrighteous.” If even the unrighteous will have a chance to live again, then I know, I believe with all of my cells, that I will see those eyebrows again someday. You believed that, too. We may not all agree in our family on how that is gonna happen, but one thing all of us are convinced of is that we WILL see you again. So, sleep sweet, my precious little brother. I will be there when you wake.

As the water rises up to overtake me,
I see you standing on the far shore,
waving me back to dry land.
It's not time for me to follow yet,
so I will watch the tides come in
all the days until you come back
with them.

(sung)

BROTHER GOODNIGHT,

SEE YOU SOON.

BROTHER GOODNIGHT,

BROTHER MOON.