See You on Venus

My brother Rob was diagnosed with cancer one May. By June he had passed away. Initially the situation was one of horror, shock, sadness and anger but as we went through the weeks and as his failing health became more evident, we also realised that anything we needed to talk about would have to be done sooner, rather than later. One afternoon, we drove to the countryside and, even though Rob was very weak, with great determination he climbed a small hill that gave us a wonderful view of the surrounding world. We sat there for hours and spoke of almost every life story we had engaged in together. We spoke of business opportunities and the future. I told him of an article I had read about how some scientists were of the opinion that the atmospheric pressure and conditions on Venus had created mountains of huge diamonds. We laughed at the idea of mining for diamonds on Venus and returning to Earth with loads of boulder-like sparklers. We spoke of going to a diamond fair and bringing in wheelbarrows full of these brilliant stones and the effect it would have on the diamond dealers present. Yes indeed, we agreed, if ever there was a business opportunity, this could be the one! When the time came to leave, we both knew that he was returning to the hospital to die, but in the sadness of the situation could not bring ourselves to speak of his pending journey. We got up from where we’d been sitting and in simultaneous, spontaneous action, hugged each other and cried like two lost souls. Words had failed us, but emotion and the true language of who we are spoke in volumes. We stood there crying and holding each other’s broken hearts; broken in the knowledge that on the face of it, we were soon to be parted, although in truth he has always remained never more than a thought away. I got to know my brother and my self that day in a way that was more beautiful than any brother-to-brother experience I can describe. It was true. It was unconditional

and, like two columns of light, we intertwined in the wonderment of showing each other just how much we cared. If any good was to come from the tragedy of losing somebody to cancer then the journey of enlightenment I experienced on that hill was a direct result of where we both found ourselves in the stories that were our lives. Out of the darkest of places can emerge the brightest of lights, leading to a knowledge and a freedom that is far more than the transient nature of anyone’s life. When I embraced my brother that day amidst tears and sadness I also embraced my self in the hope and truth that, as we see ourselves losing something, we can also see ourselves finding a truth we may have thought we had lost. I try not to say in sadness how much I miss him. I rather think how this situation gave both of us an opportunity to learn so much of the truth of who we are and the truth of life itself. I had forgotten about the details of conversation on that hill until several months after his death when I came across a card left in a place he knew I wouldn’t find for some time. The card simply read: ‘Thank you for all your help. Love Rob. P.S. See you on Venus’ Despite the fact that we were firmly in the presence of death and gripped by the reality of the inevitable Rob could see beyond his present position. He was not engaging in the futility of cancer making his life so much shorter but he choosing to focus on the where the essence of who we all are lives forever. My brother was aware that he was dying but he was even more aware of him self as a complete person. He always smiled and he always remained more than his illness and his circumstances.

We are all so much more than our circumstances.