I saw my brother

I saw Craig today. He was wearing a grey shirt and black work out pants, and moved between workout equipment with the casual familiarity of a 'frequent flyer'. With head cocked slightly sideways, he looked down at the weights, picked them up and sat down to begin bicep curls. ...only he didn't

It was just a guy.

A random stranger who from a distance looked like Craig. I remember watching him as if watching Craig, seeing Craig-how he moved, how he lifted, how he was likely that seasoned guy moving confidently through Denver's Forza gym.

We'd work out together when home for the holidays in Stillwater. Cycling classes, weight lifting, pull up challenges, running around the cross country track, it was always so clear that we were siblings and that we loved being around each other. It's such a shame we won't be able to do that again, that we will never look across the gym, catch eyes, and make a cocky smirk at each other.

How I wished that random guy wasn't just a look-alike, but Craig--charming, energetic, fit, Craig. Seeing this young man work out accentuated the pain and sadness that Craig ACTUALLY passed away. Craig--the man who worked out religiously, took care of himself as best he could, and had an eye on the future--passed away. While so many wreck their bodies and seemingly take their lives for granted, poor Craig was cut short at the prime of his life. I often hear the common not-so-comfort food of "we all die in the end" or some variation therein as if it doesn't really matter when we pass away. Truth is, we don't all die at 32. (We don't even die at 65. That isn't considered a "full" life in terms of averages.) In the law of averages, folks who die in their thirties don't make up the fattest part of the bell curve but fall closer to the tails. Hence, average life expectancies in the 70's, when more and more make it to their 80s or 90s. Sure, nothing is guaranteed in life. But, dying at 32 isn't normal or part of the 'natural' plan, and it isn't fair to Craig to suggest that it is.

I stretched, keeping this young man in my peripheral vision. It's an unresolvable tension of wanting so badly for Craig and Mom to surface, and knowing that I have a lifetime left without them. There is no real solution to that longing other than time, and the promise from everyone else who have suffered losses before me that it somehow gets better. I believe them and know that it will "get better" (whatever that means), but, right now, I'm still that sister wishing she really saw her brother, and could say "hi" with something more in return than just a memory and a simple vision of how he was.

~E