Sometimes it’s hard to say things we'd like to—but leaving them unsaid can create regrets, especially because we don’t always know when we’ll come to the end of our lives. That’s why I liked this idea of writing a “last letter” to your loved ones even while you’re healthy.
Readers: One year ago today I lost my brother, Ken. This new post contains my one-year reflections. Like the first time I told the story, it’s written as a direct letter to him.
*** Dear Ken, I’d say that it’s hard to believe a year has passed, but the greater truth is that it’s hard to believe it happened at all. When I think of it now, as I do every day, my mind still runs to the same place of shock and disbelief. There were days during the year when I thought about it less than others, and maybe some days when I began to look forward. As today’s date approached, though, I reverted to that place of disbelief where everything feels suspended in time. Read More
If you didn't love your childhood, you probably don’t love the place where you grew up. Maybe you tried to get as far away as you could. Years later, maybe you realized it wasn’t the place that was so bad, it was just the experiences you had at the time. Or maybe your beliefs were confirmed: that place really was designed to produce misery, and if you have any say in the matter, you’ll never go back.
These thoughts were on my mind as the Delta Connection plane from Salt Lake City touched down in Bozeman, Montana. I felt jumpy and anxious on the short flight, as if I’d had too much coffee or not enough sleep. This being book tour season, both of those things were probably true, but they weren’t the only source of the discontent. See, I lived in Montana—the eastern, flat part—for several years as a child. I have very few happy memories from that time, and most of those involve playing video games or riding my bike around town by myself. They are memories of escapism, not of friends or community or anything that felt like “belonging.” Read More
Dear Ken,
It’s been nearly ten months since you went away. Still, every day I think of you, I miss you, and I wish we could get you back. I started making a list of memories we shared, and I’m trying to learn more about the parts of your life that were unfamiliar to me. I’m thinking of you more than usual this week, because my new book is out and I’m on the road every day. You and I didn’t really travel together that much, but whenever we did, it was a lot of fun. Looking back, I wish I’d taken you to Bangkok or Dubai. I remember one time when you were traveling in your army uniform and got upgraded on a short domestic flight. You texted me to say how excited you were. I laughed, because flying First Class on a short U.S. flight isn’t much to rejoice over. I used to send you photos of me jetting around the world on much nicer airlines, and you’d always reply with a thumbs-up or an enthusiastic comment. Read More
One of the things I have yet to come to terms with is: what are the consequences of losing my brother? That is, what will be different now that he's gone?
Obviously I am still grieving, and even still largely in shock. I wake up every day remembering him, disbelieving for a moment that he could possibly be gone. But these are short-term circumstances, not long-term consequences. The bottom line is that I don’t fully know what the loss entails for me and for everyone else who was close to him. In my case, I just have no doubt that my life will be different, not only now but always. Today is Ken's birthday. He would have been 32 years old. I probably would have texted him to say “Happy birthday, bro!” And to be honest, that’s probably all I would have done. I might have sent a bottle of whiskey or a copy of a new book I liked, but in most years I usually just called or wrote. He was always better at birthdays and other holidays than me or anyone else in the family. Read More
Dear Ken,
I met a guy who was a busy executive at a startup in Silicon Valley. His family, a wife and three young kids, lived several states away. He lived in a hotel during the week, worked every evening, and flew home every weekend before returning to the office on Monday morning. Not a very dedicated family guy, right?
On the contrary. When I asked him about living in two cities, he admitted it was sometimes a challenge. But then he talked about what the weekends were like. “We do everything together,” he said. “We go camping. We bake and cook. We play hard the whole weekend long. I know I have to go back on Monday, so I'm constantly thinking about how to squeeze as much time and as many experiences in as we can.”
His family had discussed the arrangement of him being away mid-week, and they re-evaluated it twice a year. So far, at least, it was working.
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If given the chance, what do people choose for their last reflections and comments? A veteran hospice chaplain gives an unflinching answer:
"They talk about the love they felt, and the love they gave. Often they talk about love they did not receive, or the love they did not know how to offer, the love they withheld, or maybe never felt for the ones they should have loved unconditionally. They talk about how they learned what love is, and what it is not. This is how we talk about the meaning of our lives. That is how we talk about the big spiritual questions of human existence."
Link: What People Talk About Before They Die
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Several times on the never-ending book tour, people came up to me with multiple copies of my book for signing. “My family doesn't understand me,” they said, “So I'm giving them your book.”
"Thanks," I always said ... although I worried a little about signing books for people who didn't necessarily want them. I learned to invent a specific inscription for these copies:
"To Barbara: I'm not sure you'll like this book, but your daughter isn't crazy."Read More
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After your big adventure, you're looking forward to the homecoming. The adventure was fun and challenging, but toward the end you're ready for something familiar. You find yourself daydreaming of friends, family, and the comforts of home. Then the big day finally arrives, when you say farewell to _____, your base of foreign surroundings for some time.When you return, people are happy to see you, and you're happy to see them ...
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