Today is Patrick’s birthday. He would have been 88 years old, a nice round number full of curves and circles, an Oldsmobile number, a number never reached.

Even as I prepare to bury my brother – more accurately, eulogize him, for he’s to be cremated and scattered – I think of my dad. (This brother is not a sibling related to Patrick in any way – you all know that story already.)

I shall share the lessons I learned from Patrick’s passing with my brother’s kin, and be there to offer what little comfort I can.

I am thankful for the memories I have, and try to draw them forward whenever the sadness re-emerges. I wish I’d done more before he died, but one can’t change the past so regrets are futile.

Mostly, I appreciate those later years when Patrick and I reconnected.

Happy birthday, Pat.