I miss my brother

My brother Lou and I were very close for most of his 60 years. Only two years apart in age with him being the elder of the two, we experienced growing up together, something all of us share only with our siblings. I devote an entire chapter to him in my book Anything is Possible and won't go into details again here. Suffice it to say, he was a musican who died with his music still in him.

I'll never forget the day he showed up at my office wide-eyed and scared. He had just been to see a dentist, something he had not done in years. "They're going to do a biopsy and think I have cancer of the mouth." He was scared. I did what I could to reassure him and then walked through the experience with him until he died less than a year later. By the time he was diagnosed, he was a stage four.

Lou died ten years ago and I still miss him. I miss him being here to walk with me through my health challenge. I miss being able to crochet a winter scarf for him. I miss his terrible sense of humor. I don't miss his anger at the world and can only imagine what he would be saying about our current political climate.

Lou had the doctor-recommended surgery, but decided to forgo chemotherapy or radiation. The cancer came back in a few months and we were in his doctor's office to hear the results of a new biopsy. The doctor gave Lou six months to live and didn't recommend further treatment. Lou put his arm around me, smiled, and whispered in my ear, "I'll be your angel after I die."

Before he died, we agreed that he would send me rainbows to let me know he was near. I've had many rainbows sent my way, ones I know are from him. We talk. I know when he is near and when he's off doing other things on the other side. But today, I miss my brother and had to tell someone and that someone is you.