He Didn’t Just Live… He Showed Us How To Love

March 24th, 2017 at 04:00.

It hits hard this year. I’m not sure why.

Grief has no calendar — but the body still remembers.

The soul still aches.

The heart still reaches…

My brother Kenneth Allen Thorne. Born December 13, 1956, Queens, New York.

He was too young to go. The virus took his pancreas out at 40. Just shut it down like a light switch.

Diabetes hit hard — and it was the beginning of the end. But he lived 20 more years. Fiercely. Full-out.

He just didn’t make it to that next birthday.

But he never let diabetes boss him around. That man lived on his own terms. Chocolate included!

Kenny was one of those rare ones. The kind that walk into a room and lift it.

He loved people deeply — especially children. And they loved him back just as hard.

He could make you laugh till your belly hurt. He was great at literally everything he touched.

Married later in life — stepped right into a family already made. Loved them like they were his from day one. Because that’s who he was.

And he was there for me — really there — when I moved out here on the ten acres.

My new home had issues and he showed up every week for six straight weeks.

Came down from Tennessee. Just to help. Just to be here.

To make sure everything was done right…

That’s when we got close. Like… soul-close.

We talked about everything.

Rage. Anger. Forgiveness.

Things I didn’t know he’d wrestled with — because he never showed it. He’d already made peace with it.

He said I needed to deal with mine too. And I did.

I admired him more in those six weeks than I had in decades.

He brought flowers every time he came. For Mom. For me. Always. And something chocolate — even though he didn’t need it.

But again… Kenny lived his life.

Fully. No fear. No apologies.

I didn’t go to the funeral. My spirit just couldn’t. I was so sick from the loss. But I knew… he wasn’t in that body anymore.

And one day, I’ll see him again. That’s a promise.

But until then…

I miss him. Every. Single. Day.

Some years are softer. Others slice you wide open.

This one’s sharp. So I’m here. Writing through grief.

Kenny, I love you, brother.

Forever 💗