To Honor My Brother

Ever since he was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 1992, I never wanted to write these words. I didn’t want to write a tribute to my brother. I just wanted him here with us.

I am 18 months older, so in every conscious memory I have, I am Josh’s sister. Treasured by our family, my brother stayed close to the boys he grew up with, added friends and teammates from college, and, with his beloved wife and kids, built a most beautiful life — a blend of coziness at home and travel across the seas — and so many devoted friendships. We are all better for loving Josh. There are many lessons he taught me in his too-short time.

A small, curly-haired Josh sat next to me at the dinner table when we were very little and told me that it was dumb to wait til after dinner to have dessert or always have breakfast in the morning and dinner at night. He did not feel compelled to follow rules that didn’t make sense, and he was on the idea that time is an illusion. Rules were made to be tested or broken. At some point on a vacation, to test his theory, l let my kids have ice cream for dinner. The earth kept spinning. Josh’s Lesson #1 is that letting go of rules makes life more fun, loose, and like a vacation. He would love it if we put that in motion whenever possible.

Next, you should try to do as many things at once as you can. Especially, see all the people you love. Go to all the places you dream of. Of course, a plan with Josh had to be subject to extreme and last-minute change because while he really did have every intention of making it to lunch with you at 12:30, it would gradually become apparent that at least three other people, in at least three other places, were also expecting to see him, at the exact same time. He believed sincerely that he was going to get to all the things, see all the friends and be everywhere all at once. Now, I see the wisdom of what he was attempting to pull off. Think how unlikely it is that the sun, moon, and stars would ever align, but while my brother was sailing away, the universe served up an eclipse after an earthquake, a storm, and a rainbow. Very little shook his will. Josh’s Lesson #2 is to say yes to every invitation, take the changes in weather in stride, and just do your best to get there.

A third one for now is a hard one for me but important if you loved Josh. Sometimes, the most love you can feel doesn’t have any words. You just feel it and that has to be enough. With me, and many who were very close to him, my brother was not the biggest talker. He reserved most of his words for Abby, Ben, and Lilah because they were his home base and his happiness. In recent weeks and months, he rolled his eyes to say, “Just chill” or “Come on,” or I’m not really even sure, but it was ok. Josh’s Lesson #3 is you can feel love without words.

I am lucky because I knew him as a mischievous little boy, a competitive athlete, the life of the party, and an ambitious entrepreneur just starting out. He battled cancer with a stubborn bravery that baffled, inspired, and defied a lot of odds. But what defined my brother was love. Being a son, a brother, a cousin, an uncle, and a friend. Most of all being Abby’s husband and Ben and Lilah’s dad.

The poet Rilke wrote, “A person isn’t who they are during the last conversation you had with them – they’re who they’ve been throughout your whole relationship.” Whether your relationship was short or long,  however often you saw him, how you felt about Josh was how he felt about you, too. I am so grateful to be known as Josh’s sister. I am grateful for his peace and will seek comfort in knowing so many people are holding his memory, together. May we find a cure so that somebody else’s brother, son, dad, husband, or friend doesn’t need to know how I feel.

Opinions expressed within this story belong solely to the author and do not reflect the views or opinions of the National Brain Tumor Society.