The first day of spring should be a day of joy. But, for me, it's a mixed bag. You see March 20th was my younger brother's birthday. If he had lived Bruce would be 46 years old today. Even though it's been many years since his sudden death in a car accident I still think of him on this day. He was a playmate, a co-conspirator in the childhood escapades of the Wright 5, and he often got in trouble with me when our mother thought one of us was bothering the baby.
I don't have a sister or a daughter. I grew up with four brothers. So quite often when I think about my brothers I also think about my sons. I spent last night tracking our son Spencer's flights. His first plane took off from Dallas and went to London. Then the second flight was from London to Mumbai. Hopefully, he is safe in Mumbai now and is on his way to Pune with Meesha to meet her family. I started thinking of Bruce as I was watching the progress of Spencer's flight on the computer screen.
Bruce has missed out on so much. So many life experiences, new inventions, and time with family. When I think of the adventure that Spencer is on I cannot help but be happy for him. I am thrilled that he has found a best friend that he cares deeply about. Thrilled for all that is to come in the future for the two of them. It just feels strange to celebrate on this day.
I keep reminding myself that my little brother is now part of that cloud of witnesses that Paul talks about. And perhaps he is aware of all that is going on for us. Perhaps he knows about all of the nephews he was never able to meet. And that he is part of that crowd waiting for the rest of us to get to the finish line. At least I choose to think about it that way...because it gives me comfort to know that he is still a part of my life...no matter how long he's been gone.