Letter to My Brother

Dear Brother,

I don’t know how to begin, because there’s so much in my heart—so many things I wish I could still say to you.

I still remember my visit last year—sitting together on local patios, lost in deep conversations, sharing memories and secrets, and wandering the streets of the Old City until midnight.

That evening, after the first day of the funeral, I went out alone to a patio in the Old City. With a heavy heart and deep pain, I felt your presence. I wished we could be together again, sharing conversations and memories—but this time, everything was different.

You left this world during a moment that was meant to bring healing. I still don’t fully understand why—your absence is a quiet hollow in my chest, a question that pulses through me like waves crashing in the dark.

Was it your time?

Was there more you wanted to do?

Could anything have changed the outcome?

These questions echo in the brakes and rustling bills, in the tightness that clamps around my ribs.

But more than anything… I want you to know:

I love you. I always have. I always will.

If you’re still near—in spirit, in memory, in the breath I draw when morning light slips across our childhood lawn—I hope you feel my love reaching for you.

If there’s anything unresolved between us—things unspoken, things misunderstood—I ask you to forgive me. And I forgive you. From the part of me that aches, but also longs to heal.

You taught me that love remains, even in silence—like the way the sky holds onto the last pink after the sun skips away. As I move forward, I carry that lesson in how I breathe, how I hold others: gently, tenderly.

Thank you for being my brother. Thank you for your laughter, your presence, the imperfect beauty of us. I carry you now—not in pain, but alive in my blood, in my bones, in every quiet moment I pause to remember.

With all my love,

Dana (my name our mother didn’t give me)

P.S. Have you lost someone close to your heart lately? —a sibling, a parent, or a dear friend—try writing them a letter in your own words. I promise, it can be deeply healing. Sending you blessings.