As I sat alone in my car tonight, waiting for one of my children’s activities to finish up, I found myself searching online for articles relating to coping with a siblings’ terminal illness. Of only about four articles that appeared, three of those dealt with children who have a sibling fighting cancer. Once again, I’m brought back to the stark lack of resources for siblings, children or adult, facing the loss of their brother or sister. So, I decided to write the article I wish I had.

Twenty-five years ago this coming April, my big brother was murdered. Seven years ago this coming June, I buried my two and a half month old son. Five years ago this coming June, my other big brother was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. It was one of the biggest shocks of my life, learning that my almost thirty-five year old brother’s intestinal distress was actually advanced cancer. At the beginning of the journey, there was so much hope. Hope that the chemo, that left my strong six foot five brother, skinny and bald and with permanent neuropathy, would cure him. Hope that the radiation would take out anything remaining. Hope that the experimental drugs would be miraculous for him. After four and a half years, my hope is waning. Now that the cancer has spread not only to his lungs and liver but also to his ribs and hips and glutes, I find myself wondering how much longer he has.

My husband and I were just able to fly out to Wisconsin to spend time with him and his family, complete with sneaking in a Packer’s game at Lambeau field. It was one of the best times I think we’ve had together. Sure, we have differing opinions on things, things that maybe I would do differently or what not. Those things don’t matter when you know your time is limited. I wonder how different so many of my relationships would be if I had realized sooner, I don’t need to convince others of my point of view or “change them”. I just love my brother, exactly for who he is and he does the same for me.

I just read a statistic that said one third of adult sibling relationships are rivalrous or more or less non-existant. This is so sad to me. My brother and I aren’t the ones who text or talk daily but we can tell each other anything. We might not see each other super frequently, but when we do I love to tease and banter with him, which I can’t do with too many people. I guess what I’m saying is, I do feel close to my brother, despite what traditional notions of “closeness” might entail. Even if you don’t feel a sense of closeness to any one of your siblings, the thought of them not being on this earth anymore would leave you with a sense of loss, I’m willing to bet. Siblings many times, share a childhood and an upbringing no one else could quite understand, be that good or bad. Siblings have your back even if they drive you crazy.

On my flight home from that Wisconsin trip, I just kept thinking about how lonely it will feel being the only Tomlin sibling left. We are supposed to walk into the future together, take care of aging parents together, raise our children together. The youngest sibling isn’t supposed to be the first one to experience the milestone birthdays or witness our kids growing up into young adults. You and John were supposed to pave the way. I just kept thinking about how I need to keep you alive in the life of your daughter, in the lives of your niece and nephews.

To cope over the last four years, I’ve worked really hard on not looking too far ahead at the future, but taking things one treatment, once scan at a time. This was something my son’s life taught me. And I’ve done really well until this year, when your doctor said you might only have six months to live. I don’t know God’s timing, and I still don’t rule out a miracle, but more and more it becomes harder not to go too far into the future. Elisabeth Elliot wrote “Once more, I see that there cannot be love without suffering.” To go along with that, Dietrich Bonhoeffer penned, ” The joy of God has gone through the poverty of the manger and the agony of the cross, that is why it is invincible, irrefutable. It does not deny the anguish, when it is there, but finds God in the midst of it.”

I pray that in these times, these times full of anguish and uncertainty, that God would be in the midst of it. No, that God would make Himself so obvious and so tangible to us, it would be a witness to others of how He sees us in our grief and in our pain. Even when we feel alone and invisible, God understands and He sees, even if no one else does.

I want to write this small bit about my brother and I will share it with him as well, because so often we don’t tell the people we love, what we love about them, until it’s too late.

Pat, you have the gift of boldly speaking truth, no matter the cost, no matter what it makes people think of you. You do it without shaking in your boots or sweating bullets; it seems second nature to you. You’ve always been tall and strong but the last four and a half years have shown me even more what a warrior spirit you have. Chemo, surgery, radiation, experimental drugs, diets and fasting, You’ve persisted. You’ve continued to provide for your family and get up each day not knowing how you’ll be feeling, but still living. Still planning. Still hoping. Still fighting. Pat, you can come across tough and in many ways, you are, as I just described. However, you have the softest heart. You drove me crazy as a kid, but I always knew who had my back. I know you’ll keep fighting until there’s nothing left to give, but now, I have your back. Always.