Saying Goodbye to My Brother

Often, when I share newsletters, I do so in a constructive, uplifting way, as people are motivated by the positive, reassuring ourselves that life is full of possibility and that the future holds appealing opportunities.

This is reinforced by society in that we tend to view life as linear, believing that things continually improve and that as we age, we gracefully enter our golden years. We imagine being surrounded by our accomplishments and our families, perhaps with many grandchildren, reflecting the abundance of our efforts.

As a realtor, it is easy and even expected to promote these ideas. Yet the truth is, life is often difficult and messy. And in the messiness, we tend to shy away from daring greatly, as the fall can be painful. Yet we cannot, in our safety, act as if we are going to live forever. It simply is not the case.

Over the years, I have known many people who have passed away far too young, often for reasons that were sudden and surprising. Recently, my stepbrother Bill did just that. He was younger than I, and although he had been ill for a long time, his passing was still hard to accept.

While visiting with Bill, I was reminded of something we all know, but do not always live by: nothing matters more than love. Transgressions and disagreements become trivial in the face of what we all ultimately share, our humanity and our mortality. When these are undeniable, we become honest with ourselves and express love openly and freely.

It had been a long time since I had seen Bill. He lived in Central Oregon and had followed a different path. We did not have much in common as adults. But what we did share was the love of the same father, many fun memories from our childhood and the ability to be daring.

In our youth, Bill and I were on similar paths, parties, rock concerts, fast cars and daring dangerous behavior. I ran into some bad experiences and walked away from it all, including the people involved — Bill among them. I chose a conservative path and it has been effective. I have many friends who are on it as well. Yet despite Bill staying in the danger, he also dared to love deeply. Not perfectly, not flawlessly but indelibly.

While with him at the hospital, Bill had many people visit or call to express their love, adults and children alike. So many people, pouring out their love for him. Despite his rough edges, people knew where they stood with Bill and clearly he stood on the side of love with many.

After seeing this, I began to think. Although the dangers of my youth were wise to walk away from, I began to see that daring, on a regular basis, gives one the confidence and momentum to love greatly.

One of Bill's hobbies was racing on one eighth mile circle track. Much safer than when we raced on the streets as teenagers, yet this daring still brought him the same feeling of being capable and fully alive. I believe this is why he was able to love so many.

Waiting for "someday" or drifting through familiar routines may feel safe, but it offers little when we reach the end and see we haven't deeply connected with others or even with ourselves. Daring greatly gives one an ability to feel free and the courage to love others deeply.

I realized that although dangerous behavior is to be avoided, daring people who love deeply are not. I then told Bill that I was sorry for not being more involved with him in his life. As I said these words, a thought came to me. Perhaps we both could have been an encouragement to each other. I could have influenced him to be more responsible and he could have influenced me to be more courageous. However, that time had passed. So I told him that I loved him and then said goodbye.

God Bless you Bill Wild. In your last day on earth, you taught me to live more boldly. I will love deeper and be more courageous because of you. And when I see you again, I will share all the adventures from this lesson. I love you.

Your brother,

Adrian