(no subject)
My brother called me late last night to let me know that someone we both knew had died. It wasn't unexpected news, but it was sooner than I was anticipating, so to speak.
Topher had a swift-spreading cancer that started in his chest and spread to his brain and eventually liver. He and his wife were both very active Christians; their faith was evident as he fought, but it took just about a year to kill him despite various treatments. He was about 32.
Topher was one of my brother's best friends growing up. (Yes, Topher. My father likes weird nicknames. No, I'm not going to tell you what mine is.) Since he had two younger siblings, one with enough energy to power a small country, he spent lots of his time at our house. My brother and Topher drifted apart as adolescents--their lives went in different directions--and the last time I saw Topher was at my brother's wedding, going on seven years ago. So, again, I am more sorry than sad.
But I remember him. The funny, merry, short! kid who was my other little brother, who would refuse to eat his carrots at dinner until I would threaten to kiss him; the third partner in some cutthroat summer games of Monopoly, played in our pajamas because we didn't have to get dressed for school; the young man with a guitar, following in his father's impressive footprints; the cheeky guy who insisted on joining our family portrait as a joke, and who was in it for several years running as a consequence. I'm sure he was annoying at times, but at this end of history I don't really remember. It doesn't matter.
Here's to you, Topher. I won't mourn you, because I know you are happy and safe, but I will remember you with a smile. Enjoy your rest, and I'll see you eventually.
Topher had a swift-spreading cancer that started in his chest and spread to his brain and eventually liver. He and his wife were both very active Christians; their faith was evident as he fought, but it took just about a year to kill him despite various treatments. He was about 32.
Topher was one of my brother's best friends growing up. (Yes, Topher. My father likes weird nicknames. No, I'm not going to tell you what mine is.) Since he had two younger siblings, one with enough energy to power a small country, he spent lots of his time at our house. My brother and Topher drifted apart as adolescents--their lives went in different directions--and the last time I saw Topher was at my brother's wedding, going on seven years ago. So, again, I am more sorry than sad.
But I remember him. The funny, merry, short! kid who was my other little brother, who would refuse to eat his carrots at dinner until I would threaten to kiss him; the third partner in some cutthroat summer games of Monopoly, played in our pajamas because we didn't have to get dressed for school; the young man with a guitar, following in his father's impressive footprints; the cheeky guy who insisted on joining our family portrait as a joke, and who was in it for several years running as a consequence. I'm sure he was annoying at times, but at this end of history I don't really remember. It doesn't matter.
Here's to you, Topher. I won't mourn you, because I know you are happy and safe, but I will remember you with a smile. Enjoy your rest, and I'll see you eventually.