I had on matching socks so I knew it would be a bad day.

When I was little at some point you told me that mismatched socks are good luck. And I held onto that forever. And Tuesday it proved to be true.

I was sitting at your bedside looking at these stupid black socks. I saw you staring at them too.

I can’t believe I had on matching socks.

I heard your pain. I’ve never heard pain before. Did you know pain has a sound?

I saw your pain. I’ve seen pain before but not this kind. This was hard. This was struggle. This was immense suffer.

I felt your pain. I thought I would walk in and be the beaming ray of sunshine. But I walked in and it hurt. It hurt. Like a 10 hurt. You know how they always ask you in the hospital… what’s your pain 1-10? That was a 10. But I don’t think 10 began to describe the hurt you were in.

You asked me for stories and my mind went blank. Nothing else in my life mattered up to this point except for how much I love you. Not one thing sounded cool or exciting or memorable. And what did I come up with… the time I used a squatty-potty in Thailand. I’m sorry that was the last story I told you. I’m sure you think that is hilarious though.

And then I closed my eyes. And I saw you clearly with legs again. Legs that would swing dance. Legs that would pin me down and tickle me until I cried. Legs that would farm. Legs that would simply move. And I wanted so badly to open my eyes and that be my reality again, that felt selfish of me, but I wanted that to be your reality again.

And when I opened my eyes I heard your pain slow down. I saw your pain let loose. I felt you start to let go. You told me with your eyes that momma had to leave now. I know, I felt that. I tried but the stubbornness runs deep in this family.

My reality spun all around me and time seemed to slow. I kept watching the clock’s second hand move with each labored breath you took. Your soul was not in your body anymore. And then there were those stupid black socks, your eyes followed them in the room.

As time trickled away and you spun further from me I started to feel waves.

Waves of peace that crashed into massive waves of sad that would steady out into waves of joy. Then there were the tsunami waves, these walls of pain and suffering. My body is so tired from swimming out of those. And then those fun waves that you splash in when you’re little, remember those Kirk, we would boogie board through them in Duck? Those are my favorite waves because it feels like for a second you are here too.

I sat down to write you this letter three times now and man it sounded aggressively depressing every time I started, so I promised myself it would have some of those peaceful waves, happy waves and fun waves in it too. But the thing about grief is, you cannot ignore those waves of sad or the tsunami waves either, because when you resist the current it will suck you under. And if there’s one thing I know about suffering, it’s that only you can decide to not be pulled under.

Let’s talk about the moon.

You wanted me to get a tattoo done by you. Here you are on massive amounts of pain killers asking to tattoo me, it sounds insane written out doesn’t it? But I gratefully agreed, you really milked the cancer card, you know that? Yeah… you know that. I had no idea what I would get, I closed my eyes and saw a moon. The moon has always spoke to me, it gives me peace, clarity, surrender to the fact that I am small but made for great. The moon is a cycle, it grows and disappears again and again. But at this moment it made me feel connection, to you. The waning moon is a time of rebuilding, surrender and healing.

When I walked out and saw the waning crescent moon over the tops of the mountains I was overwhelmed with complete serenity. That was on purpose. Your surrender, your healing, your connection is written on my arm forever.

And then the call came…

I didn’t cry when we got the call. We had just left the room, finally convinced mom to take a shower and a breather and that’s when you finally let go. I think a part of me stayed in that room with you because if I close my eyes I can see you lay down to rest, if I close my eyes I can see your chest fall down and not come back up. And that felt like peace to me. You surrendering to the rest and letting go, that felt like peace because when you let go, you got your legs back, I just know it. I told you before I left the room that I still believe in miracles, and I thought that meant you would pull back through to earth, but I know now that you are the miracle.

Six years of cancer treatments, and you still were the light of the room, that’s a miracle. Two beautiful baby girls… and I know I am a little bias but come on…. the most beautiful red headed angels you have ever seen, right?!

Every time I look at those two I hear the word miracle whispered to me. For years, through the grace of your own strength you fed people nourishing food from your farm, that’s a miracle. You healed other people while you were healing through massage, that is a miracle. You taught me what purpose in life actually means, I’ll save that for another letter. Kirk, You are the miracle.

And a part of me still says it’s unfair that you – the miracle, left us too damn early. And I’m really pissed off about that. But I know the time you served here on earth was up, your cycle was done – Birthday to birthday you made a serious impact on this earth in many states, a couple of countries, and in so many hearts.

Oh yeah… your birthday! You were with us that day weren’t you?! Not a single tear shed that day, I think you were forcing us to have fun… mission accomplished. An entire wave of happy and fun that day and it felt good. That morning I thought, why am I happy? I need to be crying, I should be mourning, I felt guilty for being happy the day after my brother left this earth. And then I got a text, a photo of a bourbon shot, and I remember you saying, “sad people get thrown in the pool.” You wanted us to celebrate, you wanted us to have a party and you were at the party weren’t you? I dropped the guilt and celebrated your life, because it truly was a miraculous life!

My guilt for feeling happy isn’t serving me or you. It feels weird to be happy in the hardest moments of my life, but that’s just me and that’s who you were too. Happy and love lives in our core, in our roots. Being the light of the room is a gift and I do not get to dim that light just because life really sucks sometimes, right? You didn’t dim for a second, hilarious up until the final day.

You never stop mourning a loss, you never stop grieving a death, you can’t turn off the big scary waves. You let them come.

You give into the happy on the days it lights up, that’s you I know, telling me to catch my breath.

You flow with the massive waves of sadness, let the drops of sad fall…. did you know that’s what our adorable nephew calls tears, drops of sad. That is exactly what they are, I feel the sadness pouring out of me.

Sometimes you’ll hit angry waves and those can be the harshest of all, thrash around in those too. Surrender to every wave of grief because resistance pulls you back under. I’ve been really, really pissed off at god. Really, really pissed off that you didn’t believe you would be more than dust. God can handle that anger, and so can you.

And then you keep swimming, because I know you would be really pissed off if I drowned in drops of sad.

Peace washes over me at the sight of crescent moons that you are leaving everywhere for me, when the peace comes I choose to just be, to listen, because if I close my eyes tight enough I think I can hear you and I know I can feel you.

I miss you so much big brother. I miss you so much that my heart physically hurts on some days. A piece of me feels missing; but my light feels brighter, my heart feels more open than ever, and your memory now guides me through life. I love you.

P.s. I promise I won’t match my socks again.