A Letter to My Brother, Six Years After His Death

How cool is it when your brother's in the band? A picture from one of his many shows...

Dear Luke,

Six years. In some ways it seems like yesterday, in others, that life I had with you seems so far in the past it’s almost as if it never happened. I hope you’re OK and that this hasn’t been as horrible and traumatic for you as it’s been for me.

Would you be surprised by the life I’m living? I had to leave our house in Santa Barbara, and all of California, behind. There just wasn’t the joy there without you. I never really surfed again after you died, which has been such a huge loss (although I brought three of the surfboards with me when I left, including the one with the panther on the nose that was yours but you always let me ride)…I’ve never been happier than early mornings in the surf with you. Once I stopped surfing, there wasn’t a good reason to stay. And I was seeing my now-husband (he had been working your old job up in Alaska, which is how we met)…he had moved to Seattle and I was so sad and lonely in the house you and I had shared…I thought maybe it would be better to go. I made the right decision to go be with my husband, but I’m still not sure if leaving California was the right thing. It’s hard to know if I miss IT, or I miss the life I had there that no longer exists. Would I be happy going back? I don’t know.

I lived in Seattle with my soon-to-be husband for six months…but it was winter and so grey and I was so sad…my husband thought I might do better closer to mom and dad, and so that’s how we ended up back in Colorado.

I’m married now, as you can tell. I work a lot less. I have your dog Dexter…I think he still misses you. I snowboard instead of surf (and sometimes when I’m out alone I sit on the side of a run and cry, I want you there with me so bad.)

My husband’s great…you would love him. We’re trying to have a baby, but that’s not going so well. I keep thinking a birth, some life, some pure joy would help me not to hurt so bad from your death and the loss of that whole happy life as a California surfer girl…I mean, I want to have a baby for so many more reasons than that, but I can’t help thinking having something happy to share with people instead of being the one who’s had to bear so many hardships…

I like to think of you in some happy and peaceful place, with a Jeep and my dog Shaye who died the year before you did, she’s hanging out on the beach while you surf the perfect waves and you don’t have to struggle anymore…you don’t have to deal with all the heartbreak you dealt with in this life, all the trying to figure things out and how are you going to find a girl to love and are you going to be an architect or stay the free spirit who can’t resist heading up to Alaska every time spring comes around. You don’t have to deal with disappointments and you don’t have to be sad when people you love die and you get to be the golden 27-year-old who did exactly what he wanted to do with this life—you’ll be that man forever.

I felt for a long time that when you died, I died too. I don’t feel that way anymore. There’s my husband now, and mom and dad and our brother, and I have such amazing friends and I’m trying to figure out something good to do with all the many years I probably have left. I do know life will never be the same without you. I’m glad it was you and not me, that you haven’t had to go through what we all have since you died (although I’m sure you would have done it with much more grace and poise than I). I’m not afraid to die, because it means I’ll get to be with you.

I love you, and please come visit me like you visit other people. I haven’t had a single sign that you’re in some way still here.

With love beyond measure,

Kristen