A while back, I put together a post that shared some of the words of wisdom friends and family shared with me after my younger brother, Michael, died on August 9th, 2023. My hope was that it would give some small measure of comfort to anyone who needed it. Unfortunately, I wasn’t on top of checking my websites for attacks and, after one rather nasty one, the post was lost in the process of restoring the site. All of which is to say that I’m going to try to re-post what I can remember from last time. Luckily, I shared quite a few of the things on Instagram, too, so I can pull them over here.

My brother, Mike, passed away last week. I thought maybe I wouldn’t share this news on Instagram because I like to keep things light around here.

Yeah, I know. Death doesn’t work like that.

Even though I’ve only been without my brother for a week, it’s clear that his loss is going to affect me, our family, and Mike’s friends in ways we can’t even imagine. Given how painful it’s been so far (those initial waves of grief that bring you to your knees and the deep sadness Albert György portrayed in his statue, Melancolie, where you can’t even lift your head and are staring at the empty hole that suddenly appeared inside you), I understand my desire to put up a “No Trespassing” sign for grief on IG and wherever else I can. But there’s no way I’ll be able to keep this loss separate from anything in my life. And, honestly, why would I want to? Mike’s very existence shaped who I am and his death will, too.

Mike always reminded me that the best way to honor those no longer with us is to live our lives to the fullest. The distance between that wonderful belief of his and the Melancolie bench where I’m sitting feels pretty far right now. But I can do what I can. Before Mike died, we’d accepted a neighbor’s invitation for a dinner and drinks party. I wasn’t sure what the “right” thing to do was, but I decided to go. Partly because I knew our hostess had lost her husband recently and she’d understand if I couldn’t make small talk and had to excuse myself.

I’m so glad we went because our neighbor shared that when her husband died, she made him a promise to do something she enjoyed every day, no matter how small. She had Jimmy Buffet playing over the speakers and I told her that Mike and I shared a love of the sun and water and Jimmy Buffett. So we stood basking in the warmth of the setting sun, with laughter and cheerful conversation surrounding us, and raised our glasses in a toast to her husband and my brother.

Speaking of Jimmy Buffett, if Tim and I ever get a boat, we plan to name it the “Tin Cup Chalice.” I always imagined listening to the song with my brother as we sailed around the Caribbean: “I wanna be there / Want to go back down and lie beside the sea there / With a tin cup for a chalice, fill it up with good red wine / And I’m a chewin’ on a honeysuckle vine.” Michael was incredibly creative and one of his most popular projects was the shark fin jacket he made for a Buffett concert back in the day.

From an Instagram post a week or so after Michael died: A friend shared this poem about losing a brother and I filed it away for some day because I’m still in the “looking-for-a-loophole” stage and nowhere near the acceptance stage. But…yesterday I took the girls to Six Flags because we’re trying to make the most of every minute we can before Lily moves into her dorm. And while I was 24 stories high in the air on the Wonder Woman “Lasso of Truth” ride, spinning in wide circles with the warmth of the sun on my face and the wind in my hair, I felt that grip Marie Howe describes of a “cherishing so deep” it left me speechless. “I am living. I remember you.”

Michael was known for living life on his own terms. That was sometimes a source of exasperation for me, his older sister, but he was so good-natured, it was impossible to stay mad. When we were going through the adoption process, we asked family and friends to create squares to make into a quilt for Lily. This is the square Michael made for her. I used it to create these cards to share at his memorial in Minnesota. My mom selected the quotation, perfect for Michael.

Uncle Mike and the kids.

A friend from Bainbridge Island shared the next two lovely thoughts with me:

“Grief, I say, come in. Sit down, I have tea. There is honey. This will take as long as it takes.”

~this hallowed wilderness

Michael in his happy place with his beloved VW Bug. One of his favorite pastimes was attending car shows and one of his proudest moments was winning an award for the work he did on the Bug.

The song “Let It Fall” by Over the Rhine was a huge comfort and became a bit of a theme song, not just for the tragic loss of Michael, but for all the smaller losses that came with a cross-country move and leaving Andrew in Seattle and sending Lily off to college.

This scene from “The Crown” was a surprising source of one of the best descriptions of grief I’ve come across. I know Prince Philip didn’t actually say this, but a writer wrote it and they knew what they were talking about.

Losing a sibling brings a unique type of grief and the article, “Coping With the Sudden Death of My Brother” by Marko Garafulic, helped a lot. Here’s an excerpt that resonated as I was faced with my own mortality in a new and overwhelming way.

There is one more piece of advice I got from my friend Jennifer, but I’m not going to share it here quite yet because it’s becoming the theme for one of the characters in my rowing novel. So, instead, I’ll leave you with a lovely message that former president Joe Biden shared in a letter he sent my friend Emily after her daughter, Hannah, died. “There will come a day, I promise you, when the thought of your son, or daughter, or your wife or your husband, brings a smile to your lips before it brings a tear to your eye. It will happen. My prayer for you is that day will come sooner than later.”

Please feel free to share any quotations, movies, songs, or other words of wisdom that have helped you heal in times of grief.