Saying Goodbye to my Brother

As a blogger, you want to write about happy things, and you hesitate to share when something really tragic or sad happens.  That's where I've been the last couple of days.

Relationships of respect form with other bloggers, and you feel like you at least in part, know them...and you always appreciate them, but when it comes to something intensely personal that affects you to your very core, you're not sure how to say it, or even if you should.

I got a call from my aunt letting me know they'd found my half-brother dead, and that foul play was suspected. He was healthy, and full of life and happy.  To him there was no such thing as a stranger.  His four children, all grown, are mourning. I talked to the youngest last night on the telephone: she was overcome with the sorrow that comes from unexpectedly losing your dad.

My brother and I lost our father, many years ago when my mom was nine months along, carrying me.  Everyone says my brother was a lot like our dad.  He looked just like him, acted a lot like him, and he shared his name.  For those who knew and loved my dad, getting the phone call brings it all back for them and they are mourning times two (old wounds are easier to open than you might suspect). Senseless tragedy in a family is hard to grasp when it's even one time, senseless tragedy times two should just not come to pass. 

I didn't know my half-brother very well.  His mother remarried and had more children and those were the sisters with whom he grew up.  The few times in life we visited though, his love of life and his family were always evident, and seeing him, talking to him, having him tell me he loved me, was always like having a small piece of my dad back too.  Every time I saw my brother it was a gift, and even though those visits weren't near often enough, I'm going to miss him.