On Monday, September 5th, my brother was released from this world.
All of us were gathered around him: his 4 children, both of the women that he married in the course of his 44 years, my mother and myself. We held him in our love, with our hands, around our hearts.
We sang. We prayed. We bathed his beloved body in rose water as is the Baha’i custom, and we wrapped him in the silk shroud.
Dana, my beautiful, beloved, big brother has gone.
The boy who jumped from waterfalls, who rolled around hills, who swung rattlesnakes by their tale.
The boy who felt closer to me than my own life breath as I was a baby, the one who held my hand and pushed me down the mountain in the big wheel.
The kid who climbed coconut trees like he walked on land, who lived off of mangos in the summer with me as he built our river-floating bamboo rafts. Who was my buddy as we combed the reefs, played hide and seek in the bush, romped the streets on our bikes.