I have three life-long friends. I use the term "life-long" almost literally. I didn't know them coming out of the womb, but in terms of a man's lifetime, we've been companions virtually my entire existence. For the rest of my lifetime, they'll be my friends.
Two of these friends now have lost their fathers. That pains me. Pains me in the sense that I look on these three as if they are my brothers, because really, they're as close to brothers as I'm ever going to get. They're the ones who have been there always, and in terms of "life-long," they always will be there. So when one of them loses a parent, it feels as if my brother has lost something deep and meaningful to him.
I'm not found of death, and I don't know of too people many who are. But I've tried this year to make sense of death, to make something positive come from it.
Now, as one more of my "brothers" is experiencing a loss, I'm trying to make sense. Trying to show my respect. I reach out. I make myself available. I do all the things good people do when someone dies. But I'm also trying to look at the loss in different terms. I'm trying to realize that I have these brothers who I care so much about. Who I hate to see hurt. Who I've shared more memories with than possibly any people I know other than my family of blood origins.
I'm trying to use death to reinforce that these "brothers" mean the world to me. I don't say it enough. I don't show it enough. I don't display it enough, but they do. We don't share everything in common, and I imagine in many ways, they find a great deal about me that they'd just as soon not have to put up with. But you know what? They do anyway. They might not approve of everything I do or say or believe in, but they accept me for what I am, as I do of them.
That's what brothers do. I'm lucky to have them.
Two of these friends now have lost their fathers. That pains me. Pains me in the sense that I look on these three as if they are my brothers, because really, they're as close to brothers as I'm ever going to get. They're the ones who have been there always, and in terms of "life-long," they always will be there. So when one of them loses a parent, it feels as if my brother has lost something deep and meaningful to him.
I'm not found of death, and I don't know of too people many who are. But I've tried this year to make sense of death, to make something positive come from it.
Now, as one more of my "brothers" is experiencing a loss, I'm trying to make sense. Trying to show my respect. I reach out. I make myself available. I do all the things good people do when someone dies. But I'm also trying to look at the loss in different terms. I'm trying to realize that I have these brothers who I care so much about. Who I hate to see hurt. Who I've shared more memories with than possibly any people I know other than my family of blood origins.
I'm trying to use death to reinforce that these "brothers" mean the world to me. I don't say it enough. I don't show it enough. I don't display it enough, but they do. We don't share everything in common, and I imagine in many ways, they find a great deal about me that they'd just as soon not have to put up with. But you know what? They do anyway. They might not approve of everything I do or say or believe in, but they accept me for what I am, as I do of them.
That's what brothers do. I'm lucky to have them.
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