My normal February column would talk about Valentine’s Day; the Hallmark holiday where we spend three times the amount on flowers and gorge on candy, all in the name of love. This year is different. This February marks a year since my brother Dennis’s death; a lost fight with cancer. I parked my car outside of the house he lived and died in, it was -1 and the doorway was buried in snow. The house has a lot of fire damage, boards still cover the front window, and the cold outside I’m guessing is matched with the cold inside. I won’t be back inside the house until spring. I’ve hired someone to shovel off the roof and a path won’t exist until spring. A house is only a home if someone is living in it.

This past December for my mother’s birthday we did our annual trip to the casino so that she could spin the wheel for a chance at a prize. I’m normally a card player but that day we were there too early for cards so there I sat at the one armed bandits hoping my pennies would turn into dollars. At some point I noticed how I was sitting, the same way my brother would sit when he played, at that moment my eyes held tears as I thought, “Dennis would really love to be here.” I got up from my chair and walked around, watching those around me and in spirit I could hear his laugh and his comments to me that were always with a bit of sarcasm.

I don’t grieve well. I grieve my father which any reader of this column knows all too well. I grieve my grandparents, often thinking how things they did or said have affected me years after they passed. My grandmother Lahti taught me how to be respectful often with just a small lecture, no beatings needed, just a frown of disappointment when I would step out of line. I grieve my cousin Shelley, who was a few months older than me. Her oldest son is an amazing young man; she’d be so proud of him and I’m sure she already was. So grieving is part of my life, daily life, as I’m sure it is with many others. The grief I have for my brother I feel at the strangest times, like at the casino, or simply standing in line at the grocery store.

At his funeral I gave a speech, (sorry if I’ve mentioned this before), but the speech wasn’t for me, our mother or those in attendance; it was for his youngest daughter. I told her that she had two choices in her life, a life now without her father. The first choice was to simply use it to be reckless, to misbehave, and to not live up to her potential. The second option that I talked about I related to my own father’s death, and that I took the road of trying to make him proud and that I truly hoped she would take that path as well. I miss my brother, and I’m sure that I always will. When it’s all said and done I hope Dennis’s life is viewed as one with laughter and tears; but mostly laughter. Also I hope it teaches all of us to live life to the fullest because it can end at anytime.

Editor’s note:?Brian Foreman can be reached at foremanbrian4@gmail.com