It has been a Year…

This week marks a year since my brother, my best friend, passed away. I was with him in his final moments when his breathing stopped. He left this earth to go and be with Jesus. I know he believed. He told me more than once he would be glad to be a street sweeper in heaven, just as long as he made it in.

I miss him. I miss him calling to check on me. I miss him telling stories about the days I can’t remember, the days when my father was still living. I even miss the hard times he gave me about everything from being bald to selling a truck to the ranch that needed some work done on it (in fairness, I didn’t know things were broken). I miss having my older brother commiserate with me about our gene pool. We both had small bladders from our mother, nasal drainage from our father, and a tendency to lose our tempers which probably came from both families. 

I miss him telling me he loved me, and I miss telling him I loved him. I miss laughing together at the funny things that happened in our childhood and on the ranch. I miss his acceptance that I was a little brother first and preacher second.

I wish we could sit at our great-grandmother’s table at the ranch house and tell stories back and forth one more time. I wish I had a chance to ask him questions about the old days, about Daddy, and about which gun was best. I wish one more time we could ride out through the pasture and feel that feeling that is beyond words, the feeling of heritage, of tending the land like our father, our grandfather, and our great-grandfather before us. 

My brother shows up in my dreams sometimes. I dream he looks at the things I have done at the ranch and asks me, “Have you lost your mind?”  I dream we are children, sleeping again on the bunk beds in the old house, waiting for Mama to come in for the third time to tell us to get out of bed or we are going to miss the bus. And I dream he and Mama are sending me messages from heaven. If you know how to interpret dreams, do not bother to contact me. I already know what each of these dreams means.

My sister passed nine months before my brother. I am the last of three children of my parents.   No one else now remembers watching the lightning go down the lightning conductors and sparking to the ground in the Old House. No one else remembers staying warm by the gas oven in that Old House with no heat. No one else remembers taking a bath in the old bathroom off the porch and then running to your bedroom. No one else remembers the afternoon horseback rides the three of us would take in Aunt Iris’ pasture behind the house. No one remembers but me.

Some days I want to call him and tell him about my troubles. I knew he was always for me. If I was ever under attack, I knew all I had to do was make a phone call, and he would be at my house in a few hours (after several stops – remember the small bladders), armed to the teeth, ready for battle. Other days when I have to make a big decision involving the ranch, I want to call him and ask him if I am on the right track. My brother was always more cautious by nature; I am more urgent. That is why we made a good team. I would push him; he would rein me in.

It would have been so wonderful if my brother had lived to see my grandson grow up. He was the grandfather figure for our cousin’s grandchildren; I wish he could see them growing up, the rambunctious rascals that they are. It would be wonderful for him to finally add on to his house, enjoy more days of retirement, and go to many more gun shows.

It has been a year now, and my grief is nowhere close to being done. I’ve learned to live with missing my brother, but that doesn’t mean the pain is gone. Our wise old country preacher cousin once said, “It is a lie that time heals all wounds; time helps you adjust to load in the saddle.”  He was right. 

During this year, Jesus has been gracious to me. I’ve had moments to weep and moments to smile. Jesus has walked beside me and never left me alone. This is what he means when he says, I will walk with you through the valley of the shadow of death. It feels like Jesus’ arm is around my shoulder, and he is saying, “I know you miss him. But I am with you, and Steve is with me. Do not let your heart be troubled.”

I miss you, brother. Even after a year.