Fifty-four years ago today, my older brother Dennis passed away suddenly and unexpectedly at the age of 19.
In early 2020, going through my Momβs personal things after her passing, I found this letter β Dennis had written it to me in February 1972, just two months before he died.
I was a junior at Paramus Catholic. He was a student at St. Josephβs University in Philadelphia. Back then, there were no mobile phones or email so receiving a letter in the mail was always welcomed.
But this one was different. It was the last letter I ever received from Dennis.
To think that in that busy moment of his life, he was thinking about me. And being the great big brother he always was, he ended the letter asking how my younger brother Matt was doing. So much love. So much my brother Dennis.
The three Kirnan brothers shared a love for all things basketball, having starred for Paramus Catholic, our cherished high school.
Every time I read that letter, I understand something about Godβs grace β how it heals us slowly, and how it refuses to let death have the final word on the love we will always have for those weβve lost.
In my bereavement work, I often speak about the Grief Box β that sacred space where we preserve the most cherished remnants of a life we loved. It might hold:
β A handwritten letter
β A photograph
β A piece of jewelry they wore
β A ticket stub from a game or concert you attended together
β An item of clothing that still carries their presence
β Memorabilia like my Dadβs medals from serving in the Marines in World War II
These keepsakes become bridges to the people we carry forward. In the words of E.E. Cummings, we take them βeverywhere we go.β
When I read Dennisβs final letter to me, I find myself playing endless games of basketball in our backyard court β 2-on-2, 3-on-3, playing in the heat, the cold, even the snow.
The spotlight Dad installed so we could play at night.
Dad smiling at us as he watched us from his lawn chair.
Mom christening the court with a bank shot β of course it went in.
Countless games of Scuttlebutt and foul shooting contests.
Each of us calling that final shot and imitating the roar of the crowd as the ball fell through the net.
To anyone navigating the loss of a loved one: keepsakes donβt just help us remember β they help us stay connected.
Yes, the relationship has changed, but it has not ended. We grieve because we loved and our love never goes away.
So if you have a letter, a photograph, an object that brings your loved one near β take it out today. Hold it. Let it do what keepsakes are meant to do.
Let it remind you that you were and continue to be loved by your loved one who is now resting in Godβs eternal embrace,
Dr. K π β€οΈ
#GrievingWithHope #SpiritualCoaching
