I'm having a hard time processing the loss of someone I know, as it's never happened to me before, aside from our miscarriage a few years back (which is admittedly different, especially with how early, early we were in our pregnancy.). I wrote this letter to help me out just a little bit.
I didn't know you well, Brian, but I consider you a brother. Not because I knew you well, but because you were a constant. Just as I don't know my brothers-in-law well, but I always know they'll be there, so I did with you. I knew you'd be there to celebrate joys, suffer alongside in stress and sorry, and pray in your very humble, beautifully simple way for us, and of course show up to hang out on Friday and Saturday nights. Your quiet company was always a constant and always welcome and I will miss it sorely. You were family.
I saw you blossom over the years, though, and never saw more joy and peace in you than I did just before and after your coming Home to Holy Mother Church.
My favorite memory of you is simply a montage of little scenes of you spending time with my precious little girls. About a year ago, you took Ellie's little chubby hand and let her lead you all over a farm yard and listened to her as she told you stories and took you on adventures. Any other adult would have given up after five minutes, but you just kept on going. And when I told Ellie it was time to let Uncle Brian sit down, you looked at me, blinked and said, "Why? We're going on adventures. Leave us alone." You loved that little girl and she loves you. Both our girls do. All children do, Brian. You were like Our Lord in so many ways, but in one of the ways that strikes me the most is that children flocked to you. Your joy and servanthood was undeniable, especially by the most loving in our community.
I need to tell you that when I told the girls of your passing, that Ellie curled up into my body and sobbed that she missed Uncle Brian and that you said you would swing with her when you finished mowing the lawn. I'm sorry you and she never got that chance. You will always have someone praying for you, as long as those little girls are alive. When you make it to Heaven, please remember them back.
My other favorite memory of you is at the a going away party, when I told you that I didn't end up making cheesy broccoli rice. You looked at me and asked why not. I said that it was hot and no one would eat it probably. And you picked up your dish and said that you had made green bean casserole and you didn't care if it was hot. Then we had a great discussion on how we could each eat entire Thanksgiving meals every single day and not get sick of the taste of those foods. Tonight, Brian, I'm making green bean casserole in your honor.
I loved watching you sit in the back of the church and pray, Brian. I loved watching you serve. You have the greatest servant's heart of anyone I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. And I'm so very thankful I told you that just a couple of weeks ago. You brushed off my compliment and said it was a blessing to you to do things like grill all day. I made sure to let you know that, even if it were, I admired your humility and servanthood nonetheless and then walked away covering my ears so you couldn't brush that off again.
I love that you held sentimental things in a place like I do. You rejoiced with me when I found an engraving from my grandfather to my grandmother in the back of something I was going to throw away. You shared with me about the old, old sewing machine you found that was your grandmother's and you were going to fix it up. And I love that we could carry on conversations about the quality of mixed drinks and good music. I love that you always, always made dozens of Easter eggs for the kids to hunt. I love that presents for loved ones for Christmas were found, in progress, in your apartment the night you passed away. You were always, always thinking of others.
May God welcome you into Heaven with a banquet fit for West Texas, my brother. You shall remain in my prayers and the prayers of our family. We love and miss you, dear friend.
So many tears. Beautifully written. I hope you gave a copy of this to his family. He will be missed.
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