27 February 2018
I miss you just about every day.
I can see you’re doing well in those other universes where they had things figured out sooner than here in ours. And I can easily see what a joyous and brilliant life you could have led in our world.
I mourn for a humanity who are denied your wit and your charm and your enthusiasm and your talents. It hurts a lot less these days, and it’s been manageable for decades, but there are times when you reemerge and elicit a chuckle or a tear. To this day I still steal your jokes, and there still isn’t a damned thing you can do about it!
In many of the best ways, you remind me of our grandmother Bernice, with your shared abilities to see through blizzards of crap and get at the priceless kernel of truth concealed within. Neither one of you could tolerate the notion of shit on the mind and sugar on the tongue; you said what you thought and you didn’t apologize for it.
You’re a great guy, Bro! I love you, and I never told you enough. I guess we never really can say it enough to anyone.
Fondly and gratefully yours,
Older, taller, and better looking
update 210228: Singin’ Truck Driver would be 62 today had he not been done in by primitive twentieth century medicine. It is reported that the paean above elicited tears from both my sister and my Mom, as well as explicit thanks from our oldest brother, who may not volunteer the datum, but likely would not deny an emotional response himself.