Dear Ben

My brother has been courageously and gracefully battling cancer for the past almost two years. Cancer is taking his body and he is now living the last days of his life.

I've written several letters to him over the past weeks.  None of which he's seen.  Mostly they're for me, as a way of getting my grief out so that I can press forward.

Tonight I share one with you.

I love you B.

Always.

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Ben and I

Dear Ben,

I was only 2 1/2 when you were born, so I don't really remember Mom and Dad bringing you home from the hospital.  I don't even remember Mom being pregnant with you.  The most important thing I can say is that I don't ever remember being without you.

You have been as constant in my life as Mom and Dad.  Someone I've taken for granted.  For the first years of my life I shared a room with you.  Even when our two sisters came along we still shared a room.  All four of us in that tiny little two bedroom twin home.

I still remember laying on the top bunk looking down at you on the floor.  Camille was below me on the bottom bunk, Emily across the room in her crib.  You on the floor in a navy blue sleeping bag.  You were the only boy and it seemed appropriate for you to get the floor if anyone did.

In Mom and Dad's defense I don't know how long you slept on the floor.  Maybe it was just a couple of nights, maybe it was months before the next set of bunk beds was installed in the room and you got a place of your own.  I don't remember.

I just remember hanging over the top rail of the bed and visiting with you so far down on the floor.  Your smile would flash in the darkness and miraculously our whispers didn't keep the little girls awake.  And we didn't care that we were all packed in like sardines, 'cause we were happy and we were loved, and life was an adventure.

The summer when I turned 10 and you were 7, Mom and Dad sold the twin home and we moved in with some cousins for a while.  We were so thrilled to get our own bedroom, just the two of us.  But something changed and we started fighting a lot.  I even remember drawing a line down the middle of the room, which was actually okay 'cause the floor was cement.  But one day I got so mad that I threw something of yours on the floor and shattered it.  To this day, over 20 years later, I still feel horrible about that.  After that we found ourselves once again sharing a room with the girls on two sets of bunk beds.

And oddly it was more comfortable being back together.  Our fighting settled down and we were back in our little cocoon.

When Mom and Dad bought a house a year later we finally each got our own room.  How strange and glorious that felt to me after only ever having roommates.  I loved it.

You were in the room next to me and we had the whole big basement to ourselves.

But some nights it wasn't so great being alone.  If I was sick or scared no one was there to help or comfort me.  Sometimes I'd yell your name to go get Mom for me, but after so many years of sharing rooms you'd become the world's deepest sleeper and you wouldn't wake up forever.  I'd be so mad at you by the time I got your attention, banging on the wall between our rooms and yelling your name.  Then you'd come in  bleary-eyed and gruff and say, "WHAT?" in a supremely irritated way.  And I'd yell at you to go get Mom, I was sick.

Because of you I've never been alone.  I always had someone with me throughout life's adventures.  Even when I went away to college I'd still call and we'd talk, or you'd come stay a weekend with me.  Even after I was married you'd come hang out, show us your latest car, tell us about your big dreams.

I can't ever remember a time without you.

And I don't want to.

~ Aspen