On October 24, 2024, a month away from the first death anniversary of my oldest brother I took out my journal and penned these words. I promised myself today I wouldn't cry. But I lied. I promised myself today that I would remember you as you lived not as you died. But I didn't. I promised myself today that I would think happy thoughts and laugh when thinking of you. But I couldn't. I promised myself that when I got in the car I wouldn't think about all the times you were seated next to me and we laughed about a story our younger brother told us from the back seat. But I didn't. I promised myself that today I would accept your pure desire to vacate your body temple to live in an immortal one. But I can't. From the place where you now dwell you know all things. You knew leaving the physical realm would give you peace and leave me with grief. You knew that I would shed endless tears but you knew that my inner capacity for resilience would one day, in time, suddenly surface and I would see you as you now see yourself. Happy, whole, complete, worry-free, healed, and totally void of the cares of this world.
Soar high, big brother. I know you hate seeing the tears, but you wouldn't trade your current existence for one second in the physical realm. My love for you is endless and without borders. I miss you every second of every day. So today, I promise myself to wait for the sudden moment when thoughts of you will "bring a smile to my face before bringing a tear to my eye." I love you brother I did the best I could. I would do it again for you if I could. Rest well big brother. I love you forever and always.
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