A Letter to My Brother, 17 Years Later

Hey Seth,Seventeen years.I don’t even know how that sentence is real. Seventeen years since we said goodbye to you here and somehow, I’m still finding ways to say hello.You were my little brother—but let’s be honest, there was nothing “little” about you.6’5” of strength, softness, and that quiet presence that could steady a room without saying a word. A gentle giant in every sense.And yet…life asked so much of you.Five years.Five years of fighting something that had no business choosing you.I still think about those early days—when diagnosis turned our world upside down. When life shifted from ordinary to “how do we do this?” overnight. Being there, helping take care of you…those weren’t just hard days. They were sacred ones. Even now, I wouldn’t trade that time for anything.You didn’t just survive those years—you lived them.You found love.You married Joey.You built a life in the middle of uncertainty, right there on the acreage, surrounded by pieces of all of us.And oh…how I wish you had more time in that chapter.More than just a year.More than just a glimpse of what you deserved.I still wrestle with the timing of it all.Losing Jack…and then losing you just two months later.That kind of grief doesn’t ask permission—it just arrives, sits down, and refuses to leave.I’ve asked the questions.The “why him?”The “why then?”The “why not more time?”And if I’m being honest…I still don’t have the answers.But I do have you.Not in the way I want. Not in the way we all deserved.But in the way grief teaches us to carry love forward.We miss you, Seth.God, do we miss you.We miss your presence at family gatherings.We miss your humor, your steadiness, your way of just being there without needing attention.We miss the way you helped shape this family—how you held your place in it so naturally, like you were part of the foundation itself.Things shifted when you left.The mold changed.The rhythm of “us” was never quite the same.You left behind so much love.Joey.Our parents.Your sister Marcy, your brother Nathan.And me…your big sister, still here, still talking to you in quiet moments like this.Seventeen years later, I’ve learned something about grief.It doesn’t mean we’re moving on.It means we’re learning how to move with you—just differently.You’re in the stories we tell.The memories we circle back to.The quiet pauses when something reminds us of you out of nowhere.You’re in the way I show up now.In the way I love harder.In the way I understand how fragile and sacred this life really is.You didn’t get the years you should have had…But you left a mark that time doesn’t get to erase.And maybe that’s the closest thing to forever we get here.I still wish you were sitting at the table.I still wish we had more ordinary days.I still wish I didn’t have to write letters to reach you.But since this is what I have…I’ll keep writing.I’ll keep remembering.I’ll keep saying your name.I love you, Seth.Always have.Always will.—Your big sister 🤍 Get full access to Grace & Grit Letters - Where grace meets grief by Angie Hanson at angiehanson.substack.com/subscribe