My Brother, Mark

My brother Mark died in 2003 from a brain embolism. It was sudden and tragic. He was 47 years old, counting the days until he could retire at 55 from his railroad job. Mark played bass, had a beautiful baritone singing voice, and his green eyes twinkled when he laughed.

Born 15 months apart, we spent all of our time together until we started school, as happens as kids find new friends and create their own identity. Then I married young, had babies right away, and our paths continued on toward different destinations.

I’m currently finalizing my second book of poetry, in which you will find this poem about my brother Mark. He would turn 70 today, July 24. May you all find comfort in the sweet memories of your loved ones who are no longer here with us.

What I Miss the Most

His death gutted me.

Fifteen months younger,
we weren’t close,
different influences,
points of view.

As kids, Dad used him
as a decoy to cheat while
I consoled Mom,
unwitting foes
holding adult secrets.

A few weeks before he died,
he crashed my high school
reunion, green eyes teasing
as he pointed to his name tag
that read, “Elaine’s brother.”

Maybe today we’d be friends.
I’ve changed, and he might
have softened, too.

That’s what I miss the most,
wondering who we’d be now.