Oh boy, where do I start? Even sitting down to write this, I struggle to find the words. The long and the short of it is… I miss you. Three years later and I still have days where I wake up and forget that you’re gone. The phone rings and it still sometimes breaks my heart that it’s not your name on the caller ID. Oh how I used to complain about how much you called. Especially at the end. At least we still have a message with your voice…

It was hard sometimes to hear you on the phone and even harder a lot of the time to wait for you to get out what you had to say. I’ve become more patient. I wish I was then. We had our good days and our bad days for sure. Some days, I’d annoy you like nobody’s business and then other days it was your turn. And then there were days where we had a lot of fun together. We played monopoly and you’d kick my butt. Then we’d play Yahtzee… And you’d kick my butt. Oh and those days when we played Trouble… And you kicked my butt… You really didn’t want to let me win, did ya? But it was fun. Genuinely fun.

Nothing beats the days when we dyed eggs together, though. Mom loved that day. We were getting along great. I wish I could remember it better. All I can really remember was that your tremors made it impossible for you to get the eggs in and out of the dye, so I helped you. You’d tell me what colors you wanted and I’d dye the eggs for you. You’d let me know when they had been in long enough. Sometimes I’d even pull them out right after you told me.

Art was always your thing, never mine. I really wish you would have had the chance to finish your lighthouse lamp. That was looking really cool. I would have loved to see it with a light inside. How did you get all the art ability? You did it all, really.

Baseball.

Football.

You earned ribbons and trophies showing horses. You were such a talented artist. You played in the band at school. I really only wanted to be in band to be like my big brothers, you know.

We had nothing in common, yet we have a lot in common. Mom often tells me when I sound just like you did. You really taught me a lot. I’m sure you didn’t realize it; I didn’t either. You taught me how to curse like a sailor (I’m sure mom and dad wish I didn’t pick that up). You taught me the need for patience, and what it looks like to not have patience. You taught me to be open and kind to others, even when they won’t even return a simple “hello.” I think of you every time I pass someone on the sidewalk. You always used to say hello to everyone you came across, whether you knew them or not. I’m still a tad too shy for that, but I at least give them a smile.

We all miss you. By the time this “letter” goes live online, me, mom, your past friends/workers, and our brother… We’ll be meeting up again to have some eggnog shakes in your honor. We’ll be thinking of you, like we quite frequently do.

Oh, by the way… Your boys are doing fine. They miss you too.

Merry Christmas, Paul.