When a loved one passes, someone has to go through their things and dispose of them. So my elderly father and I have this job, to sort, discard, donate, or give away my late brother's belongings. It's a hard chore, but at least therapeutic. For a little longer, you connect with your lost one, by touching his belongings, by glimpsing into the more private side.

My brother threw coins everywhere. At one time, he had jars available for easy tossing. But apparently, in recent years they were thrown into dresser drawers, night stands, a desktop, the kitchen counter, a table beside his TV chair. We're keeping track for probate reasons, as well as expenses.

We never realized how organized he was. You wouldn't guess it from what I've said so far, but he was very tidy about receipts, paying bills, important papers. We've found it all with ease. Even his collections were organized, at least up until the very end.

He was sick and getting worse.It was beginning to affect his ability to endure, to keep on track, to care about routine. If he didn't see the peanut butter jar, he opened a new one. He had 3 open, with hardly anything taken out of them. We're beginning to realize the depth of his suffering, and his determination to carry on without complaint or asking for help.

This work is tiring. It's tedious and emotionally draining. It's necessary work. Will it help us go on without him? When I look at the pictures on the wall, the photographs he kept, and the canned goods in the cupboard, or when I stand in the room where he died, I feel a connection. I miss you, Jack.
 

It is a hard, hard thing to say good-bye forever to a younger brother. The last 8 days have been the longest of my life. It seems like ages since we found out about my brother's heart attack, and yet it is still hard to believe it happened. We are all tired and worn out, although we've had plenty of sleep and haven't eaten quite well, thanks to my church friends.

It is a relief to be back at work, to have all the company gone, to have some time alone. It is therapeutic to go through my brother's papers, bills, etc., quietly and slowly. To touch his things, to see how organized he really was, despite his housekeeping skills, has helped us to hold onto him a little longer. Tomorrow my elderly father and I will go to clean the refrigerator and handle some of the less urgent, daily tasks, maybe even box up some of his collectibles.

We muddle through from day to day. Life goes on, but our grief remains.
 

My life, and my brothers' and father's, will never be the same again without Harry. He was larger than life. He would object to a memorial service or eulogies, although he had both. He had a wake another night, while all his old friends from high school gathered for hamburgers, beer, and stories.

I loved him as only you can love family. Flaws don't matter. It's the kind of love that just persists. He was a big-hearted person with a gruff exterior. He was generous to a fault, honest, fair, open-minded, forgiving, He'd go the second mile if you asked for one. No sacrifice was too great when it came to family. He was our hero. He was Mr. Christmas. All of our lives were better because of him--richer, fuller, more adventurous. He probably helped shape all of us into the people we are. The world really was a better place with him in it.

He will always live in our hearts; he will always influence us. His life really was a life worth celebrating.
 

My 59 year old brother passed away. It was shocking to us. We knew he was not well, we did not know how bad it was. He thought he was shielding us, I guess, from his misery. It doesn't help us now as we put the pieces together and know just how much he was suffering and for so long.
My father is in his 80's and he's not handling it well. His emotions are all over the place. Everything we say or do offends him. We're all at different stages in our grief. Some are too outspoken; some don't speak up until the boiling point hits. It's very tense. We love each other, but we aren't helping each other grieve. We're all at odds.
I guess we'll work it out. The bottom line is we've lost someone special and none of our lives will be the same. That we share.
 

Where would we be without hope?
Expect good things in 2012. This year could see your best poems or your completed novel. Or you could actually start to supplement or replace your income by selling your materials! You might produce the great American novel, or write a world classic.Don't worry about disappointment. Just look for the good things!