I’m hurt…angry…and sad.
He was only 39 and approaching his 40th bearthday in just a little over a month.
What can I say, other than Cancer is a muthaphuckin’ beast that many of us cannot destroy.
I hate the C word.
It’s ugly…
It doesn’t care who you are…what you do…and what you can add to this world.
Cancer doesn’t care if you’re a good person…
Cancer doesn’t care if you’re a creative…
Cancer doesn’t care if you’re a parent…
Cancer doesn’t care if you’re loved by those who been in your presence.
Cancer doesn’t care that you honor family.
It’s a strange thing, grief. One minute you’re laughing at some funny Instagram reel, and the next, you’re completely overwhelmed by the thought that your brother isn’t here for you to show that reel to and laugh with you. Cancer took him recently, and I’ll never forget the last moments with him, as he took his last breath.
I already miss his voice, his laughter, and the way his smile would brighten up a room. I’ll miss the way he’d tease me about the smallest things, and the quiet way he always knew when I needed a shoulder to lean on.
Cancer is cruel. It strips away more than just the person. It takes the moments…the moments we were all supposed to create in the many years to come. Now, we all have beautiful memories.
Grief is such an unfair human emotion that is always inevitable, regardless of who or what we’re missing. But as Regina King said about the loss of her son, Grief is just love that has no place to go.
Another thing about grief is that it’s not a linear process. It’s more like a spiral—some days, or even hours, you’re doing okay. Other days or hours, you find yourself feeling that raw pain all over again. And that’s okay. Grief isn’t something you conquer. It’s something you live with. Something I’ve learned experiencing long-term grief of my youngest child since 2011.
I’m learning that it’s okay to miss my brother, that it’s okay to feel sad, and that it’s okay to still be healing. Because grief, love, and healing—they all coexist. And while I may never stop missing my brother, I carry his memory with me, allowing it to shape who I am today, as a creative and a well-loved human like he was.
To anyone else walking this path, I see you. I feel you. And though our losses may be different, our hearts are connected through the shared experience of missing someone we love deeply that left us from their losing battle with Cancer. Take it one day at a time, one moment at a time. And remember, it’s okay to laugh and smile, even as you grieve. It’s okay to live, even as you miss them.
For now, I’ll hold onto the memories—the good ones, the silly ones, and yes, even the painful ones—because they’re all a part of brother, and they’re all a part of me.
And to my brother, I miss you more than words can ever say. Until we meet again.
