My brother died recently at the age of 53, so my family has spent the last few days navigating heartache, loss and details.
While his death was not completely unexpected, I don’t know if anyone can get a call like I did and not feel at least a little stunned. Deep breaths. Lots of deep breaths.
I wrote in his obituary that although he had struggles, it is good to remember that we all struggle in some way, and we are more than our struggles.
It’s also good to remember that life is measured in moments. Rarely do we comprehend the significance of moments in the moment, but we gain the clarity as we sift through photos and memories months, years and sometimes decades later. Things become less fuzzy. We begin to clearly see the ripples; the way one life bumps into another and the cascade of life-changing things that happen—all because one person was born and then crossed paths with other people.
So we go through life, collecting moments, some of which we forget until a photo or comment nudges our heart. Among the messiness, disappointments, highs and lows and in-betweens, we are constantly learning how to love. We forage alone and together to harvest meaning and significance from the memories—those we share with others and those that are fiercely our own.
I will miss my brother. I am grateful to see him so beautifully in his five children.
I long to better appreciate that life is measured in moments—ones I don’t want to miss.
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