I miss my brother Drew.
Now that the rush of the holidays and the adrenaline of turning a new calendar year are over, I am beginning to acutely feel the loss of my older brother who passed away in early December.
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My brother and I weren’t “call-each-other-every-day” close, which had much to do with the 12-year gap in age difference, but we were still close nonetheless.
And, while this may sound silly, I find myself missing the fact that he is in this world, with us. Because unfortunately, it was through his death that I discovered just how large of an impact he had on people. All kinds of people.
Yes, for sure, his children and grandchildren, but also us siblings of his and much further beyond his immediate family.
For a man who never held a prestigious title or a large bank account, the turnout at his funeral was large. And person after person spoke about Drew’s personal, intimate impact he had on them.
One friend of his, in a heartbreaking message, shared that Drew was the first person who ever helped her believe she was worthy of being loved … of being a best friend. It was very touching.
Before his death, I had known that my brother was beloved by many. But I hadn’t taken the time to get to know the unknown number of ways — little and big — that he helped people each and every day. It’s who he was.
In his obit, his three children wrote: “Drew will be remembered far and wide for standing up for the underdog, passionately and fiercely protecting and assisting anyone in need, and for living life on his own terms.”
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I wrote the rest of the obit, but none of it was as illustrative of my brother as that sentence is.
It’s fair to say that my brother and I lived life a little differently. But the more I’ve thought about him in the month since he passed, I’ve come to realize that my brother and I also had a lot in common.
For instance, after hearing dozens and dozens of stories from people whose lives he touched, I’ve come to realize that my brother was a pastor, too. No phony-baloney seminary education for him though. He picked up his pastoral chops by just living life the hard way.
Nonetheless, I’ve come to the conclusion that my brother was just as worthy of wearing a clerical collar as I am. Though he’ll never be officially recognized as such. And, of course, nor would he have wanted to be!
His only concern was the people around him … all the people around, him regardless of their differences.
Kind of reminds me of a certain religious leader who started just such a movement about 2,000 years ago. Amen.
The Trust Project
