One of my clearest, early memories of you was the morning after I dislocated my elbow 'surfing' in the wagon. I was five (six?) and my arm was in a sling and I was coming down the stairs to turn on Saturday morning cartoons. You were downstairs already and you saw me coming and you jumped up and fluffed all the pillows on the couch and helped me get up and get comfortable. I remember being rather shocked, and feeling special, and realizing for the first time in my life that brothers are unspeakably awesome.
And when I got cancer 20 years later you did the same thing on a much grander, adult scale. You invited me to your home and fixed up a room for me. You lifted me in and out of bed and got up with me in the middle of the night when I needed help. You stayed up late (so late!) talking through and analyzing things with me and making sure I knew you were there for me no matter what. You watched out for the people I couldn't watch out for anymore. You bought me a phone and paid the bill. You never lost sight of the fact that while I was somewhat crippled (literally and figuratively) by everything that I was still me and still capable. You understood when I struggled and challenged me (so carefully) to overcome and not just give in. (Often by shamelessly using your adorable daughter to get me to do things for my own good.) You coaxed me outside into the fresh air and coaxed me into being a better me. And you were always willing to talk and to listen. And, as you ever have, you just understood. This post doesn't begin to scratch the surface of what you gave me during that time so maybe I'll just say...
Thank you for getting me,
Sam
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