April 29th, 2016
My dad wrote:
"Our lives were never the same once you entered them, and they'll never be the same now that you're gone."
It was for my brother's obituary. My mom loved the words; we all did. That sentence is etched on the back of Mike's headstone.
My brother's been gone for 24 years, as of today. When he died, he was five months shy of his 24th birthday.
That numerical oddity put me in mind of "the day," back in January 1994: the first day that I was ever older than my older brother.
No parent should ever have to bury their child, true, but everyone knows that. There are support groups for them, whole shelves of books.
No little brother should ever have to become an only child, either, but I don't think people think about that. It was hard to go from "following in the footsteps" to "blazing the trail," with no notice, with no one noticing.
Mike was already there when I showed up; I came into his life, not the other way around. So I don't know about the first half of what Dad wrote.
But the second half of those words Mom loved so much? Those, I can promise you, were the truest words I've ever read in my life.
RIP, big bro. I still miss you.
Michael John Schryver, Jr. 09/27/68 - 04/29/92
