My Brother's Bday in HEAVEN

Writing has always come naturally to me. But today, I found myself dragging my feet when it came to this post. I knew I wanted to write something on my blog about the anniversary of my brother’s death–because part of the reason why I love to write on blog so much is the shared human experience. Just as I experience ups and downs about my self-image, I also experience pain, grief, and loss. None the more poignant or heartbreaking than the loss of my 30-year-old brother, Kuldip, on February 1995.
As a baby, Kuldip was permanently attached to my hip. As ten years his senior, I took on the role of Second Mommy with ease. He was a curlyhead child with black-rimmed glasses, luminously intense black eyes, and an impish grin. He was mischevious and sensitive.

He was precious.

That was my Kuldip.
Poem: Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep, by Mary Elizabeth Frye

Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die
xoxo