“But I keep waiting for the night. I close my eyes and hope you’ll find me sleeping. Cause in my dreams, we can spend a little time just talking. In my dreams, we are side by side just walking. Oh, the feelings that we used to know. The places we used to go are still there in my dreams. On the front crossbar of your bike, we can go anyplace, anywhere you like. In my dreams.”
“In my Dreams”, lyrics and vocals by James Morrison again (2011)
Today on April 20, 2019, our family celebrates the 47th anniversary of our older brother Dennis’s passing who was just 2 months shy of turning 20 with a life full of possibility and hope. In many ways, that dark day — April 20, 1972 — seems like yesterday where time stands still and each one of us can recall every specific detail about that awful, rainy day and how the trajectory of our lives fundamentally changed. We’ve learned a lot since then through the prism of our own life experiences and that losses are a part of the human journey with some losses much harder to grieve and accept than others; that some losses like Dennis’s take longer to fully absorb than other losses we experience; and that some losses don’t come with an answer key, but rather remain forever unanswered with the only hope being an unyielding belief in our faith that we will see our loved one again. Losses can cover lots of human terrain, everything from the loss of a relationship; a job or even career; a home; our own health and independence; and, even the loss of a favorite pet.
Like anyone who may have lost an important person in your life at such a young age — I was 17 years old when Dennis passed away — there will always be the “what if” questions that we will never be able to answer no matter how hard we try. Would Dennis have been the great Accountant that he was studying to be at St. Joseph’s University in Philadelphia? Would Dennis have married? Where would he have settled? How many children would he have had? And, more recently now that I have become grandfather myself, would Dennis have grandchildren? I’ll never know the answers to any of these questions but I find great comfort today in imagining all the possibilities. And so, while I will never get over losing Dennis, I have found a way to get through it. Maybe it’s through the blessings of Mother time and a lifetime of experience; maybe its because I’ve been blessed to be able to share my grief and feelings of loss with my family members, my close friends, and my professional colleagues. But, by far the biggest reason I have been able to get through the loss of my brother Dennis is my faith and it’s central premise that I will see him again. (For a terrific and broader spiritual perspective on this topic, read the critically-acclaimed best-seller “When Bad Things Happen to Good People” by Rabbi Harold Kushner, first published in 1981)
A Letter from January 1972
Recently, I was going through an old box of letters my Mom had saved over the years. As I sifted through the box I came across a letter Dennis had written to me in early 1972 following the long Christmas break. He was a sophomore at St. Joe’s College in Philadelphia and loved basketball. It was one of those great conversation points and experiences that often define a relationship between brothers. I had not read the letter since receiving it in the mail back then but as I sat down to read the letter again it made me very happy. I felt reconnected all over again to an older brother who I always looked up to, always wanted to be like, and who will always be sorely missed.
Reading the letter brought back some vivid, happy memories of playing basketball together on what was known as the Kirnan basketball court in our backyard, complete with painted white lines and a spotlight for night play; memories of the 3 Kirnan brothers who relished not just playing there whenever we could but who would shovel the court after a snow storm even before we would shovel the driveway or the sidewalk; memories of talking about his 2 intramural basketball teams back at college, Big Five Basketball at the Palestra, and oh those great St. Joe’s teams. Reading the letter made me cherish even more all those games he was able to see me play in at Paramus Catholic High School and in the Ridgewood Summer League. All the memories of us keeping all sorts of statistical data like field goal and foul shooting percentages, steals, rebounds and our favorite statistic — the assist. All the stats we used to keep by playing that Roger Maris Action baseball game with the marble; reading Sport Magazine, Sports Illustrated, or the Sporting News up in that little 3rd floor bedroom we shared for 10 years; listening to the soothing voice of Bob Murphy on WOR radio broadcast a Mets game on our translator radio; or all of the wiffelball games we played in the backyard where Dennis was the Mets and I was the Cardinals, making up rules about what was a single, a double, a triple, or a home run; Little did we know back in those days that all those statistics we read about and kept track of were a harbinger of the world of data analytics and saber metrics that would come.
Dennis would never get to see me play basketball again during that 1971-72 season but reading this treasured letter reminded me of how good it makes me feel to know how much he wanted to see me play again. But my favorite part of his letter is at the end where after signing off, Dennis simply asks “How’s Matt doing in basketball?” Big brothers like Dennis always take care of their younger brothers and help show them the way in life. Although Dennis is no longer here in a physical sense, his memory and his spirit continues to touch me in ways that are both comforting and brand new. I see and feel things now about him that I couldn’t see and feel all those years ago and for that I am truly grateful and to my Mom for saving this piece of treasure that made me so happy today. I close with a beautiful song from James Morrison that will always capture the love and the memory i have of my brother Dennis. Enjoy!
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