When my brother Peter and I were kids, we would camp in the backyard (the best way, since there was a bathroom just inside), and Dad would tell us stories of the Lone Ranger, and about Captain John Carter, who got mysteriously transported to Mars. And then, when Pete and I got older, he would start the tale and then turn it over to us. We would round robin the most amazing stories. (At least, we thought they were.)
Peter and I would also play Star Wars action figures. We never stuck to the movie stories. Our Star Wars aliens landed on Earth, where they could interact with our Adventure People (who were conveniently all the same size). Sometimes they fought, sometimes they joined forces. I always wanted a romance. Peter always had to have car/spaceship chases.
I am a writer because of my Dad, my Mom, and my brother. I am the person I am, good or bad, because of my brother. I accidentally broke his arm and he never ratted me out. (I confessed on my own; I’ve never handled guilt very well.) He was the R2D2 to my C3Po, the Eomer to my Eowyn, and the Pinky to my Brain. (Only much smarter.)
Today we gathered, friends and family, to celebrate Peter’s life, and mourn that he left us too soon. Peter was a wonderful father, husband and son. He was my brother, maybe a better one than I deserved, but the type of guy who didn’t measure people that way.
He was part of my story, and you are my friends and readers and I want to let you know about this latest plot twist. The story goes on, and so do we.
So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. — 2 Corinthians 4:18