General Flash Fiction posted February 12, 2011 |
losing a brother
A Letter to Jeff
by Connie C
My Sweet Jeff,
I can't believe it's been a whole year. I miss my little brother so much. I will never understand why you had to leave us so soon. I know God sent you to us for a reason; and perhaps he had his reasons for taking you from us so soon, but that part will always be a mystery to me.
We had such great times together, starting from the moment you were born. I was a teenager then, so in some ways, you were like a son to me. I drove you around with me in the family car when I was with girlfriends, and everyone always thought you were so cute.
A few times when I was supposed to run errands for Mom and then come straight home, I picked up my girlfriend along the way; and we drove up and down the town's main drag. You were with me and threatened to tell Mom and Dad if I didn't buy you an ice cream. You already had a business head at the tender age of four!
One of my fondest memories is you, as a teenager, and I sitting at the piano in Mom and Dad's living room while you played and I sang. I hope you're playing for the angels in heaven right now. You were so musically gifted.
When you were nineteen, you shared with me that you were gay. I was the first you told because we were the closest. Mom and Dad were not accepting at first. Because you were gay, you and I often frequented our local diner where we checked out all the cute waiters. Even though married, I had such fun eyeing them with you.
This past year has been tough on Mom and Dad who keep going over how they should have accepted you sooner for being gay. It was hard for them, but now I know if you were to miraculously come home, they would accept you with open arms and many tears of regret. I share in their hurt, as their youngest child, only twenty-five, has left them.
Well, Jeff, I had to write this letter on the anniversary of your death to somehow still feel that I could communicate with you. I do miss and love my little brother very much. It breaks my heart that we couldn't have had a long lifetime of memories to share.
You were our special angel; I will love you forever.
Your loving sister,
Cathy
*****************************************************************************************
It is 1989, the one-year anniversary since Jeff died of HIV-related illness. For weeks, I have wrestled with how to honor or memorialize my brother on this first anniversary. I decided to write him a letter. Through a flood of tears, I have written it but now wonder what I should do with it. I obviously cannot mail it to him.
I then remember I have kept somewhere a small red Bible that was Jeff's. I decide to put the letter in that Bible, which I find after searching through my bookshelves. It is somewhat worn from the use that I know he gave it; he was always so much better at reading the Bible and going to church than I.
As I remove it from the shelf, it opens automatically to a page where a single photograph falls to the floor. In the photograph are Jeff and I. He is four, and I am eighteen. With big smiles, we are spread out on my bed on our stomachs, propped up on our elbows, with our heads resting on the palms of our hands. Jeff, with his little freckled face, is posing just like his big sister. I seem to recall that picture was taken a few days before I left for college. At the time I was both excited about going away to college and sad at leaving my little brother.
I rub my finger softly over this somewhat-faded Polaroid photograph, recalling so many happy memories and feeling my eyes well with tears once again. After gazing at the picture for some time and remembering what a precious little boy Jeff was, I tuck the picture and my letter into the Bible, placing it back on the shelf.
As I walk away, I begin to wonder if finding just that one picture of Jeff and me was God's way, or Jeff's way, of letting me know I was just as special to him as he was to me. I like to think so.
The Letter--flash fiction contest entry
My Sweet Jeff,
I can't believe it's been a whole year. I miss my little brother so much. I will never understand why you had to leave us so soon. I know God sent you to us for a reason; and perhaps he had his reasons for taking you from us so soon, but that part will always be a mystery to me.
We had such great times together, starting from the moment you were born. I was a teenager then, so in some ways, you were like a son to me. I drove you around with me in the family car when I was with girlfriends, and everyone always thought you were so cute.
A few times when I was supposed to run errands for Mom and then come straight home, I picked up my girlfriend along the way; and we drove up and down the town's main drag. You were with me and threatened to tell Mom and Dad if I didn't buy you an ice cream. You already had a business head at the tender age of four!
One of my fondest memories is you, as a teenager, and I sitting at the piano in Mom and Dad's living room while you played and I sang. I hope you're playing for the angels in heaven right now. You were so musically gifted.
When you were nineteen, you shared with me that you were gay. I was the first you told because we were the closest. Mom and Dad were not accepting at first. Because you were gay, you and I often frequented our local diner where we checked out all the cute waiters. Even though married, I had such fun eyeing them with you.
This past year has been tough on Mom and Dad who keep going over how they should have accepted you sooner for being gay. It was hard for them, but now I know if you were to miraculously come home, they would accept you with open arms and many tears of regret. I share in their hurt, as their youngest child, only twenty-five, has left them.
Well, Jeff, I had to write this letter on the anniversary of your death to somehow still feel that I could communicate with you. I do miss and love my little brother very much. It breaks my heart that we couldn't have had a long lifetime of memories to share.
You were our special angel; I will love you forever.
Your loving sister,
Cathy
*****************************************************************************************
It is 1989, the one-year anniversary since Jeff died of HIV-related illness. For weeks, I have wrestled with how to honor or memorialize my brother on this first anniversary. I decided to write him a letter. Through a flood of tears, I have written it but now wonder what I should do with it. I obviously cannot mail it to him.
I then remember I have kept somewhere a small red Bible that was Jeff's. I decide to put the letter in that Bible, which I find after searching through my bookshelves. It is somewhat worn from the use that I know he gave it; he was always so much better at reading the Bible and going to church than I.
As I remove it from the shelf, it opens automatically to a page where a single photograph falls to the floor. In the photograph are Jeff and I. He is four, and I am eighteen. With big smiles, we are spread out on my bed on our stomachs, propped up on our elbows, with our heads resting on the palms of our hands. Jeff, with his little freckled face, is posing just like his big sister. I seem to recall that picture was taken a few days before I left for college. At the time I was both excited about going away to college and sad at leaving my little brother.
I rub my finger softly over this somewhat-faded Polaroid photograph, recalling so many happy memories and feeling my eyes well with tears once again. After gazing at the picture for some time and remembering what a precious little boy Jeff was, I tuck the picture and my letter into the Bible, placing it back on the shelf.
As I walk away, I begin to wonder if finding just that one picture of Jeff and me was God's way, or Jeff's way, of letting me know I was just as special to him as he was to me. I like to think so.
I can't believe it's been a whole year. I miss my little brother so much. I will never understand why you had to leave us so soon. I know God sent you to us for a reason; and perhaps he had his reasons for taking you from us so soon, but that part will always be a mystery to me.
We had such great times together, starting from the moment you were born. I was a teenager then, so in some ways, you were like a son to me. I drove you around with me in the family car when I was with girlfriends, and everyone always thought you were so cute.
A few times when I was supposed to run errands for Mom and then come straight home, I picked up my girlfriend along the way; and we drove up and down the town's main drag. You were with me and threatened to tell Mom and Dad if I didn't buy you an ice cream. You already had a business head at the tender age of four!
One of my fondest memories is you, as a teenager, and I sitting at the piano in Mom and Dad's living room while you played and I sang. I hope you're playing for the angels in heaven right now. You were so musically gifted.
When you were nineteen, you shared with me that you were gay. I was the first you told because we were the closest. Mom and Dad were not accepting at first. Because you were gay, you and I often frequented our local diner where we checked out all the cute waiters. Even though married, I had such fun eyeing them with you.
This past year has been tough on Mom and Dad who keep going over how they should have accepted you sooner for being gay. It was hard for them, but now I know if you were to miraculously come home, they would accept you with open arms and many tears of regret. I share in their hurt, as their youngest child, only twenty-five, has left them.
Well, Jeff, I had to write this letter on the anniversary of your death to somehow still feel that I could communicate with you. I do miss and love my little brother very much. It breaks my heart that we couldn't have had a long lifetime of memories to share.
You were our special angel; I will love you forever.
Your loving sister,
Cathy
*****************************************************************************************
It is 1989, the one-year anniversary since Jeff died of HIV-related illness. For weeks, I have wrestled with how to honor or memorialize my brother on this first anniversary. I decided to write him a letter. Through a flood of tears, I have written it but now wonder what I should do with it. I obviously cannot mail it to him.
I then remember I have kept somewhere a small red Bible that was Jeff's. I decide to put the letter in that Bible, which I find after searching through my bookshelves. It is somewhat worn from the use that I know he gave it; he was always so much better at reading the Bible and going to church than I.
As I remove it from the shelf, it opens automatically to a page where a single photograph falls to the floor. In the photograph are Jeff and I. He is four, and I am eighteen. With big smiles, we are spread out on my bed on our stomachs, propped up on our elbows, with our heads resting on the palms of our hands. Jeff, with his little freckled face, is posing just like his big sister. I seem to recall that picture was taken a few days before I left for college. At the time I was both excited about going away to college and sad at leaving my little brother.
I rub my finger softly over this somewhat-faded Polaroid photograph, recalling so many happy memories and feeling my eyes well with tears once again. After gazing at the picture for some time and remembering what a precious little boy Jeff was, I tuck the picture and my letter into the Bible, placing it back on the shelf.
As I walk away, I begin to wonder if finding just that one picture of Jeff and me was God's way, or Jeff's way, of letting me know I was just as special to him as he was to me. I like to think so.
Thank you to Glass i for the lovely photo. Word count is 752.
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