My brother loved St Patrick's Day. He was so full of life, so full of cheer. And the least judgmental person of his generation, and any generation really, that I've ever met. He died in 2009 at 25 years old. No one should die at that age. But I was lucky to have known him.
I was adopted. It's not the greatest love story, or luck story, but I was able to get out of a really bad situation. My brother was the first baby born after the adoption. He was my tie, my link. I adored the little baby born in a blizzard in February. His laughter made a lot of people smile. He made me welcome. I would likely never have even met him if I hadn't been adopted.
I feel privileged to have loved him, met him, to call him brother. To you, my brother. This one is for you. Cheers!
Thank you for believing in me and leaving behind such an incredible legacy of love, laughter, and life.