My older brother died a few weeks ago, and I've come to the belated realization that I admired him more than anyone. The story of his life isn't mine to tell, but he inspired me in so many ways, and suddenly, he's gone. It was only as adults that we connected in a healthy way. I was so proud of him and what he accomplished with his life, of all the obstacles he overcame and the ways he grew as a person, of his many talents, of the community he built, of his openness and humility and love for what he did. I'm lucky to have had him in my life for any length of time at all, and it aches to know he is no longer out there living life to the fullest.

The reality of his death solidifies as the weeks pass. He was the only member of my birth family I still communicated with. He was the only one who knew I was leaving the country for somewhere I felt I could build a future. I miss our conversations. I miss our sibling bond and the unspoken understanding it brought to every interaction. I'm sad I won't hear about his successes and misadventures as he enters the busy summer season. The life he was leading, the goals he pursued, are now a figment of my mind's eye that will fade and dissolve with acceptance, but my memories of him will always be there: the sound of his voice, comforting and singular, our long conversations, his enthusiasm for life, all the little moments. I will miss you forever, brother.