You tagged Amy Twitchell Bennett and Joseph Rasch
At a certain point in childhood, I realized that death comes for us all--parents and children, friends and lovers, sisters and brothers.
I try not to dwell on this fact too much. It's hard to live life fully, if you're preoccupied too much with death.
But death is inexorable, implacable. And sometimes its coalblack hand snuffs the life of someone you care about.
Someone you love.
On Tuesday, November 28, 2017, death took my brother Joe.
Joe was the baby of the family, the youngest of five children. He was only 8 years old when I left for university, so we didn't have the same kind of connection as children that I had with my sisters.
But as adults, we became good friends. We would talk on the phone frequently. Joe was one of the few people in my life with whom I felt I could talk about anything--money troubles, girl troubles, my mistakes, my dreams--and he would listen without judgment. I like to think that he felt he could do the same with me.
I admired Joe. He was skilled with his hands and good at building things. He bought and renovated several houses. Restored a Land Cruiser. Built his own still. The last time we talked, he told me about his plans to build cryptocurrency mines near solar farms, to convert excess capacity on the farms to cryptocurrency.
Joe bought and lived in our childhood home. It was always a pleasure to visit for the holidays, and see the new beautiful features he had added.
Joe was a kind man. He was generous with his money and his time, to both family and friends. For example, he once crawled under a neighbor's trailer--a nightmarish crawlspace full of rotting trash, catpoop, and spiders--to help fix a plumbing leak. His willingness to help, even under difficult circumstances, was also reflected in his choice of nursing as profession.
His kindness was also reflected in how he treated his son Jonah, on whom I saw him lavish great care and affection. (Though Jonah's an easy kid to love, as he inherited his father's intelligence, thoughtfulness, and calm demeanor.) I hope someday I can be as good a father.
It's still not fully real to me that he's gone. Sometimes I'll think about a business we might start together. Or I'll picture his smiling face at the last family reunion, and think about how nice it will be to see him at Christmas.
And then I'll remember he's gone, and start crying again.
I thought we'd get to be friends for another 30 years, at least.
And that I would get to exercise the privilege of the eldest child, and go first.
Damnit, Joe!
I love you.
I miss you so much.
Joseph Rasch Rachel Masse Jennifer Wilde Heather Cooper Marie Rasch
I try not to dwell on this fact too much. It's hard to live life fully, if you're preoccupied too much with death.
But death is inexorable, implacable. And sometimes its coalblack hand snuffs the life of someone you care about.
Someone you love.
On Tuesday, November 28, 2017, death took my brother Joe.
Joe was the baby of the family, the youngest of five children. He was only 8 years old when I left for university, so we didn't have the same kind of connection as children that I had with my sisters.
But as adults, we became good friends. We would talk on the phone frequently. Joe was one of the few people in my life with whom I felt I could talk about anything--money troubles, girl troubles, my mistakes, my dreams--and he would listen without judgment. I like to think that he felt he could do the same with me.
I admired Joe. He was skilled with his hands and good at building things. He bought and renovated several houses. Restored a Land Cruiser. Built his own still. The last time we talked, he told me about his plans to build cryptocurrency mines near solar farms, to convert excess capacity on the farms to cryptocurrency.
Joe bought and lived in our childhood home. It was always a pleasure to visit for the holidays, and see the new beautiful features he had added.
Joe was a kind man. He was generous with his money and his time, to both family and friends. For example, he once crawled under a neighbor's trailer--a nightmarish crawlspace full of rotting trash, catpoop, and spiders--to help fix a plumbing leak. His willingness to help, even under difficult circumstances, was also reflected in his choice of nursing as profession.
His kindness was also reflected in how he treated his son Jonah, on whom I saw him lavish great care and affection. (Though Jonah's an easy kid to love, as he inherited his father's intelligence, thoughtfulness, and calm demeanor.) I hope someday I can be as good a father.
It's still not fully real to me that he's gone. Sometimes I'll think about a business we might start together. Or I'll picture his smiling face at the last family reunion, and think about how nice it will be to see him at Christmas.
And then I'll remember he's gone, and start crying again.
I thought we'd get to be friends for another 30 years, at least.
And that I would get to exercise the privilege of the eldest child, and go first.
Damnit, Joe!
I love you.
I miss you so much.
Joseph Rasch Rachel Masse Jennifer Wilde Heather Cooper Marie Rasch