For Lennon-Wu, my BIG little brother...

After an unintentional drug overdose, 5 days in ICU, and 4 days in a hospice care center, my brother died. He was 31 years old. Below is the speech I shared earlier this week at his Celebration of Life service.

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I get a kick out of referring to myself as Lennon's little big sister. Despite having been born before my brother I, like many of you, was dwarfed by him. Even though he was 15 months younger than me, he was almost always bigger than me, or at least the same size. I remember my dad taking us to the state fair in West Virginia when we were kids. To get us both in for free, my dad lied and told the cashier at the gate that Lennon and I were twins. As he got older, his size meant that he could give outrageously big hugs. Often when he hugged me, he would kiss the top of my head. 

For most of our lives together Lennon and I did not get along. We were opposites in nearly every way. But a funny thing happens between brothers and sisters. Even when you can’t identify with each other, when your worlds are at odds, and you never call each other… despite ALL of it, no matter what, you know you love them. Even when you hate them, you still love them. It’s strange to love someone, yet not know how to be around them.

This past spring Lennon and I spoke on the phone about him coming to New Mexico to help my partner Eric and I, remodel our new house. For those of you who may not know, my brother was a talented carpenter. Given our history, Lennon and I were both weary of having to live AND work together for 4 weeks! After talking about the remodel, our conversation grew into a frank and honest review of some of our worst times together. For the first time in 20 years he and I were able to listen to each other, and empathize with each other. We cried together. We sat in silence together, each of us holding our phones to our own ears, knowing it was enough to be connected in this way despite the 2,000 miles between us. 

 

Me, Lennon, Jean, Lotus - the last time we were all together, xmas 2010

Last April my brother did come to New Mexico and he worked on my house all day, nearly every day for 4 weeks straight. He tore down walls, built new ones, ran electrical wiring, hung sheetrock, laid flooring… too much to mention here. Of all the things he did while working on my house, Lennon was most proud of the cabinets and shelving he built for my kitchen. He built everything from scratch, without plans or blue prints. All he had to go on were my sketches and rudimentary measurements. Many times he reminded me that I better be grateful, because there weren’t many other people he’d be willing to put himself through so much for.

It was very important to him to finish the cabinets before he left. The day Lennon flew back to Florida I had to be at work 5 hours before his flight took off. When I came home, Lennon was gone but as usual, he had to have the last word. With a pencil he had written wonderfully loving messages to my partner and I all over the top edges of the cabinetry boards – places that would soon be covered by countertops. He thanked us, wrote that he loved us, drew lots and lots of smiley faces, and left a small bird’s nest out for us, which he had found in our backyard that morning. And now, every time I go in my kitchen I am surrounded by Lennon’s talent and love. After 20 years of hardly talking, and only 8 months before his death, my brother and I were able to come together and create what is now my home. A funny thing happens between brothers and sisters… you love each other, no matter what!

In closing, I’d like to read a poem a friend shared with me…

Gone From My Sight

I am standing upon the seashore. A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze and starts for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength. I stand and watch her until at length she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone!"

"Gone Where?"

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me, not in her. And, just at that moment when someone at my side says, "there she is gone!" There are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout: “Here she comes!"

And that is dying.


- Anonymous

Buddhist Wheel of Life