Misremembered Eulogies

My brother passed away in March 2021, after battling the brain tumor he had been diagnosed with in 2014. Last month marked four years since his death. Aside from losing grandparents, his passing was the closest loss I had ever experienced. We were just one year and nine months apart and did everything together when we were young. Our relationship became more complicated as we got older, for reasons I won’t get into here.

Losing a younger brother in his thirties had a deep impact on me, even with the complications in our relationship. I had terrible insomnia for at least a year after he died, and it created a heavy strain on my relationship with my wife, who was pregnant with our daughter at the time. We struggled to show up for each other, and for a while neither of us believed our relationship would make it.

I carried a lot of guilt about living in Oregon and not spending more time with him. He had recently gone through a divorce, which brought him closer to our immediate family, but I wasn’t there much during that transition. And when his health declined so quickly around Christmas in 2020, I had no idea he would be gone within three months. Living a couple thousand miles away with a job, a two-year-old, and a pregnant wife made it very hard to just drop everything and go.

With all the anxiety and regret, I think I mentally checked out. I avoided processing a lot of what I was feeling. I’ve been embarrassed about that and have even misremembered important details from the days around his death and the months that followed.

For example, I remembered how I felt after speaking at his memorial, but not what I actually said. I had never done anything like that before, especially not for someone so close to me. I was filled with sadness and anxiety, wanting so badly to say the right thing and honor his life. But how does someone do that, especially when the relationship was complicated?

I remember feeling sick and nervous, standing in front of hundreds of family and friends, including his daughter. I wanted to be honest about my emotions and not pretend the relationship was perfect, while still being respectful and sincere. After that day, though, his daughter never spoke to me again and still hasn’t.

Whether because of that or the general stress I was feeling, I blocked out most of what I said in the eulogy. I fixated on a few lines that might have sounded too personal or critical and convinced myself that I had made a huge mistake. Even though I had read from a script that still sat on my desktop, I couldn’t bring myself to look. My grief and shame built a story that explained the distance and silence.

Recently, I have felt a new sense of calm and self-acceptance, which I credit in part to a fasting routine I started. Today, deep into a 72-hour fast, I finally opened that document. I read the eulogy with a clear mind for the first time since giving the speech. It was almost nothing like I remembered. It was not perfect, but I had been punishing myself for four years for something that did not deserve it. I gave a heartfelt speech through tears and clenched fists, trying to speak honestly about a brother I loved and missed. Even if it had been a mistake, I think it would have been understandable, maybe even forgivable.

I needed to forgive myself before I could reconnect my memory with the truth. More importantly, I needed to forgive myself so I could begin to forgive the family members who may still be trying to navigate their own pain. Grief is incredibly complex. It can take much more time, effort, patience, and courage than I ever expected. I never wanted to learn that lesson, but it has meaning, and I know this will not be the last time I face a great loss. Love you, brother.