My Letter to Brenan

Dear Brenan,

As we all know, I am much better with writing meaningful messages than I am at talking with a person, so here I sit writing you a letter so I can say the things I need to say. I am different from Mom and Jess (probably get this from Dad) in that I am not very comfortable in intimate situations and knowing what to say. Words seem better thought out and truer when I am able to write them down.

I’m not entirely sure what is going to happen to you, and to our family, from this point. I still wish for the day that we all wake up and suddenly your health starts to improve, your body gets stronger, and you are cancer free. I think about how that would be one of the few times in my life when I would literally jump for joy. Not many occasions call for such a physical emotional reaction of pure happiness, but you being cured and living to become an old, old man would certainly call for jumping, clapping, tears of relief, and possibly a cartwheel or two.

I am partly in a state of denial right now because I don’t want to face all the possibilities of the days to come. Or maybe it’s weeks to come? How about several months? How much time do I have with my big brother? No one seems to know, and I like to pretend that this is not even a question that needs to be asked. In my alternate world that I’ve created in my mind when things don’t seem to be going the way I want them to, I have lots of time with my brother. In my alternate world, you and Jess are planning to start a family. You are working to strengthen your body by training for a triathlon with me. I take you out on long, hilly bike rides and you show me how to improve my freestyle swim stroke. We plan a big family vacation – maybe a road trip like we did back in the old days in the blue Astro van. You have children and I have children and they are all best friends.

Maybe my alternate world dreams will come true, but maybe they won’t. Either way, I need to take every opportunity to share with you how I feel. To me, you are what every good man should be – a giver, a lover, a volunteer, a dream-chaser, a Christian, a good son, and a family man. You have always been a rock for me and for this family. While I was going through trying times, you were there for me, helping me any way you could. I know we have lived our lives differently and made different life choices. I hope that I did not do too much to make you ashamed of me or worry about me. If I could change anything, it would be that you and I understand each other a little better and that we learn from each other because I think we both have a lot to share.

Also, please know that you don’t need to worry about Mom, Dad, Jess, or me. We will always be family and take care of each other. I only wish I could take better care of you and wipe every hint of disease and pain from your body. I had disillusioned myself while training for the triathlon thinking that every step I took closer to that finish line would bring you that much closer to being cured. My inspiration throughout training and during the competition was an image of you standing at the finish line cheering me on and sweeping me into a huge bear hug as we both emerged victorious from this challenge. I’m not sure victory is ours this time but we will be strong, courageous, and proud as we continue our march onward.

I love you with all my heart, Brenan. I need you in my life to keep me in line – you encourage me to be an honest, good person and to always do the right thing. I want to make you proud. If you leave this world, you will be severely missed and a large hole will be left in all the hearts of everyone you have ever known. But also know that, most importantly, you have helped people – people like Jess to find true love, people like Mom and Dad to know what it’s like to have a son who makes them proud, people like me who wander off the beaten path every now and again but have a role model to redirect them. Thank you for everything you have done for all of us, and thank you for being the special man you have become.

With love,
Elisabeth