Happy birthday brother. I wish you were here to celebrate with us. I'm really trying to make today a celebration of everything you were for almost 30 years, but it's hard for me to do that right now without mourning everything I've lost. The boys miss you so much, and this is so impossible to explain. Jakey told me at the cemetery this morning that he just wants to hug you, and when Andrew reminded him that your soul is gone, and all that is left is your shell, Jakey said "Can I just hug his shell?" Andrew jumped right on board with that plan, and wanted to know why I couldn't make that happen. They just want you back, any part of you that they could hold on to, and so do I. I keep hoping I'm going to wake up and this is going to turn out to be some long, terrible nightmare.
Today is a hard day, because it's your birthday; but truthfully every day that you aren't here is a hard day, so maybe it's not all that different. I'm having a difficult time coming up with anything new to say, so I'm going to leave the letter I read to you at your funeral. Everything is the same, only now, I miss you more. I love you bro.
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Dear Greg,
I keep finding myself wishing that you were here. You were always so good in a crisis. Of course if you were here, there wouldn’t be a crisis. But you could have gotten us through this.
One of my favorite memories that I have of you was at my wedding. It was before the ceremony, and things were falling apart. Danielle was crying, mom and Jade were trying to calm her down, there was a problem with the photographers, Dad was celebrating a little early, people were arguing… and then there was you. You came over with a drink, sat down with me, and said “What’s everyone freaking out about? They’re acting like there’s a wedding or something going on today!” And we sat in the sun, drinking and talking about nothing, and I felt completely peaceful with this chaos swirling all around us. You were a rock. And now I feel like I have a hole in my heart.
You and I never agreed on much. Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that we came from the same parents. We could argue and debate for hours, and because we were both blessed with dad’s stubborn streak, we often did. But one thing I always respected about you is that you listened to me. Even when you didn’t agree, even when you thought you never would agree, you still listened. And as much as I may have disagreed with some of the things you had to say, I have to admit it is pretty admirable how well you could stick to your guns. You were not a person who caved to pressure, in any circumstances, and not many people can say that. You were always true to yourself. You didn’t feel that need to be liked, the way so many people do- you weren’t changing for anyone, and if you felt something needed to be said, you said it, regardless of the consequences. A lot of times that made me angry. Sometimes it hurt. But I could trust you to tell me the truth.
That is why a compliment meant so much more to me coming from you than it would have meant coming from just about anyone else in my life. I really doubt you had any idea how much I loved having your praise or approval. When I ran the marathon a few months ago, I had so many people congratulating me and saying how proud or impressed they were. I never expected that from you. But when I got that message from you late that night, I must have read it five or six times. And it’s not just now that you are gone- even then it meant more to me than what anyone else had to say.
My boys adored you. They idolized you. You taught them so many things, wrestling moves and take downs, all that boy stuff that their mom just isn’t very good at. They loved watching you work on your car, your snowmobile, and playing with all your big boy toys. You were always so good at letting Andrew “help”, and making sure that Jacob was included. At different times, they have both bragged to me about how “manly” you are. And honestly, until a few months ago I thought that those kinds of things were what your relationship with them revolved around. Then one day I was passing by a room upstairs and saw you and Jacob curled up on the bed, cuddling. You were reading him stories, and he was asking you all kinds of questions, and you didn’t even seem to mind that he was interrupting you every three words you read to him. I stood out in the hallway watching you for a very long time, I don’t know if you knew that. That’s another memory that I am holding very close to my heart these days. I hope you know how much they love you.
I was so surprised yesterday by the number of people who I didn’t know, people that didn’t know me, but they knew my boys’ names. Over and over again I heard how Andrew and Jacob were all you ever talked about, and so all these people who were strangers to me came to know my sons through you. While I never doubted that you loved them, the depth of that love caught me off guard. It both warmed my heart, and broke it, because it really drove home how much my kids have lost. I promise that I will not let them forget. I am determined to keep every happy memory they have of you alive. My dream is that as your daughter grows, my boys will be able to share you with her, in the same way that you shared my boys with so many people in your life. I want so badly for her to know you as they did.
I was so excited when I found out that you were going to be a parent. Not just because I wanted to be an aunt, but because it gave us something in common. And while I knew from day one that we probably would not agree on many things, at least we were going to be part of the same club. I was so excited for you, to know the joy of having a child. And while I was thrilled to hold her for the first time, it’s the first time that I watched you hold Charlee Rae that I will never forget. I was so proud of you. And I could see our kids growing up together over the years, and us having that connection through our children. And now just 2 ½ months later, you’re gone. You’re just gone, and it’s so unfair.
I have worried about you for as long as I can remember. I was your big sister, you were my little brother, and I felt an instinctual need to protect you. You “fearlessly lived life to the fullest”. We both know what that means. It drove me crazy. I was so scared for you so many times in the last twenty-nine years. But at the same time, with all you have been through, and all you have survived, at some point you started to seem invincible. I still worried, but in the back of my mind I always knew that no matter what happened, you would probably come out on top. Maybe you thought you were invincible too. When Dad called me Wednesday night to tell me you had been hurt, I jumped out of bed right away and told him that I would meet him at the hospital. He said I didn’t have to come, and to be honest I didn’t want to come, I was exhausted- but I needed to come. I needed to see you. I needed to know that you were okay. And then I would probably yell at you, again, but then least I could go home and go to sleep knowing that you were okay. Rushing to the hospital, I tried to prepare myself for the worst case scenarios: Were you wearing a helmet? What if you had gotten another brain injury? How long would the recovery take? What about broken bones, or if God forbid you had broken your back again? My mind never went to that place where I was never going to see you, or hug you, or hear your voice again. It just didn’t seem possible. It still doesn’t. I keep waiting for you to walk through the door.
I’m sorry that I’m so mad at you for not being here. I’m sure that doesn’t seem fair to you. But from the moment that dad came running around that corner in the hospital, screaming that you had died, I have been surrounded and swallowed by a pain that is so intense that it hurts to breathe. I’m afraid it’s never going to go away. And there are so many things going on right now; things that in any other family crisis I come talk about with you. And you’re gone, and I’m lost, and I am so angry at you for that. I’m sorry but I just can’t help it right now.
I do know that you would be here if you could.
I am so sorry that this happened. You deserved so many more years. And so did Charlee, and Dani, and the boys, and the rest of us. We were having a hard time yesterday, getting it together enough to let people come in and say goodbye to you. Dad cracked a joke that we should just let everyone know that we were “running on Greg Mosher time”. But the truth is we weren’t running late. By my estimation we are at least 40 or 50 years early.
I thought I had so much more time.
I miss you bro. I’ll see you again someday.
Love you forever,
Samantha