Memories

Yesterday was my birthday, and I realized with sadness that my brother didn’t make it to this age. I have surpassed my older brother in age. It feels wrong. Here I sit with a clean bill of health from my doctor, and my brother’s life was snatched away by cancer nearly two years ago. Our lives are fragile and our grief strong. His music and laughter have been silenced. And I wonder, why?

Looking back over the years and our childhood makes me smile. A lot of happy memories. I remember sitting together on the couch at 5:00 a.m., bursting with excitement and staring at the Christmas tree with presents shining beneath it. Playing hide n’ seek. Him in his Little League baseball suit, with effort and frustration teaching me to swing a bat. Giggling in the dark and being ssshed by our parents. Teaching me to ride his new two-wheeler bike, which I promptly rode into a ditch—screaming… Sliding down our hill on the toboggan, braking with my feet, resulting in snow covering his face and glasses. I’ll never forget his expression and how hard we laughed. Playing spies-- he was the “Man from Uncle,” and I was “Honey West.” Listening to him play his guitar until he became an accomplished guitarist, singer, and composer. I remember pride swelling up in my chest, bringing tears to my eyes every time I heard him perform. “That’s my brother!” I would proudly tell others. I witnessed the profound love he possessed for his wife and step-children. His love of family, friends, books, music, the desert, life… Sadly, I remember hugging his thin body ravaged with pain from the unrelenting, brutal cancer. The shock in his eyes while holding handfuls of his beautiful auburn hair after chemotherapy. His slow painful steps. The firm resolve of his bravery. He never lost his laughter. When he laughed, he would throw back his head, and from deep inside him, would erupt a wild and hilarious laugh. Anyone around him, even strangers, would join in with his laughter. I miss the sound. I remember his last wave good-bye as I set out to the airport, realizing that it was probably the last time I would see him alive. I miss my brother…

The consolation I possess is in my memories. He is always alive in my mind. At times, he is in my dreams, and when I awake, it is like he is just behind the veil of my subconscious. With my faith, I believe that someday we will be laughing together in heaven, and that I will be listening to his music and saying proudly, “That is my brother!”

Sharon Robinson