Nathan

Nathan, I can't believe you left us five months ago.  There is so much I wish I could say to you. I miss you.  You are so loved. Emma holds on to your pictures, she looks at them and it is unlike anything I've ever seen - grief on a two year old is horrific. 

The other night on the phone with Dad he said "you know what Nate would say" then proceeded to tell me exactly what you probably WOULD say.  Your voice always sounded just like his. For a moment, it was so comforting.  I just miss you so much. 

I miss seeing your shoes on our porch. I miss climbing with you. Taking the girls places with you. Eating ice cream on the couch and complaining. You always ate everything I made too, and you always seemed to like it.  I'm still mad your last birthday dinner wasn't perfect.  I should've done a practice run of that fucking corned beef. I don't know how to cook that shit. Sometimes I get in my car and I look at the passenger seat and it hits me that you'll never sit there again and I miss all of that. How having you around made me feel, how it made all of us feel - you are so loved and missed. 

You would've hated the service for you. Taps played. They did a gun salute. All of us were a fucking mess. Dad cried...so if that doesn't give you an order of magnitude for the grief, nothing can. 

The hearse rolling up with the American flag draped over the () inside was like a punch in the face...and then it just got worse from there. I wish you could have seen it, only to know what a perfect place you had in all of our lives, and the whole that is there in the wake of your absence.  

Calvin was there, little turd. You would've been so annoyed. People showed up for you though, because you mattered to all of us. Uncle Greg sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers. 

I put up this photo of you in the water from our trip to Santa Monica. 

It is a screenshot from the video I took for the girls. I'm glad I have it. I listen to it so I can hear your voice talking to Dad. Then I wonder how the fuck this all happened.  

I made the programs for your service. The same night I was making everything for Emma's birthday.  Is that fucked up I wanted you there to read it? What kind of impossible thought is that? I wanted the people at your service to be reminded how wonderful you were and remember you for that. Plus, you're a writer. How the hell can I do justice with words for a writers life...especially when it is as extraordinarily unique as yours? 

Mom was a dumpster fire shit show. If you were alive, you would've climbed into the coffin just to get the fuck away from her. 

Your crew from Aftermath felt the loss - they know how you had fought for them and protected them, they were so sweet to all of us. 

I made this and printed it as a giant poster at the service. You would've hated that it was shaped like a heart. 

Men who served with you flew out to the service.  John and Josh.  Josh felt it like I hadn't seen on anyone else. He said the Phil Collins song that you guys would play before your missions was playing on the radio as he was driving over.  We were singing it for a second, and I was thinking about how you told me that song didn't get played the day you guys got hit with the grenade. Fuck. It was nice to talk with him and feel connected to that part of your life that I had heard from you, but to hear it from their perspective was comforting to hear how they admired and liked you. Other guys who couldn't make it sent stories about you and photos that we had never seen. This is Dad's new favorite photo

I can't stand over your memorial in Dixon and think that anything makes sense. I fucked up last time I was there, Emma thought she was going to see you. Good fucking job, right?  I can't even say cemetery when I go to visit. I have to say memorial. What a priss. But you don't belong in a cemetery next to a bunch of guys that served in nam. Fuck. 

My mind doesn't have a firm grip of heaven. I know God is there.  I know you are there. I don't know anything else. Can I still pray for you? Do you see us down here? Are you okay?

I wonder if before you crossed over you saw your life flash before your eyes, and I wonder if you saw it...if you felt comforted, or loved in that moment. I'm sorry I couldn't find you in time.  Dad, Donald and I were looking for you and I'm sorry we couldn't find you and pull you back from the deep. 

You are so loved, my beloved brother. 

Death only hurts the living. I know you never would want any of us to feel this. To cling to your flannel shirt or anything like that. But we do. We all do in our own way. 

I hope heaven is where you have found your peace. I love you.