by Annie Lodge
To my big brother Rob who committed suicide in February 2014.
I’ve told everyone about you. You were half my heart, half my soul. We shared so many laughs, so many jokes that you yourself said “They shall forever be immortal."
One of the last things you said to me--I asked you if you had Skype, and you said “I’m always there.” I never thought I’d treasure those words so much.
Yesterday I cried for you (like most days) and our life, our pain, our wonderful way of laughing about the most stupid things. With all my heart, I miss our shared imagination, the stories we made up, the made-up card games, climbing trees, celebrating Monty Python videos, disguising our laughing as coughing, our simultaneous awkward smiles, singing loudly (and badly) to songs in my room, you doing my math homework after hopelessly trying to teach me, you mocking me when I talked in my sleep, you teaching me how to climb trees, asking me when I was having a crying fit – “Are you laughing, or are you crying?” (thus making me burst out laughing).
I miss our philosophical talks about God, life and the world, our made-up language that we constantly forgot, the hysterical joy we felt when we saw a swimming pool. You helped me ride my bike, I always wanted to be like you when I was small. Even when you were annoyed with me, you still smiled. I remember our singing, our dancing, our “archaeological” digging in the garden, our mud pies…
When I said I wanted to postpone something I didn’t want to do, you said “Tie your shoes for as long as possible.” You showed me how to use a computer. We understood each other without words. You taught me how to swing as high as possible, your sarcastic comments when I put make-up on (“Who are you doing that for?”) We built some fantastic sandcastles together.
No one could make me laugh like you could. I have all my humour from you (and we have it from our hilarious, crazy, absolutely insane but utterly lovable parents). Our time together was scattered, wonderful, comedically tragic, super awesome, amazing, unbelievable, and absolutely unique. I so wish I could have saved you, but you were a soul that couldn’t be classified.
My eternal helper,
My fellow rule breaker,
My take-it-or-leave-it philosophy inspiration,
The person who would dig me out of the deepest depression,
Singer, dancer, maker of humour that could have changed the world, my dearest big brother –
And most importantly, my best friend.
I hope that one day we will be invincible, impervious to heartbreak and hurt, and we’ll all sing together again. I love you so much, and I’m sure you knew it. One day when I’m old, I’ll jump on you in a bear hug again, and some day my grandchildren will be old and will meet you too, and all the people we wished we could meet will be there. Everything will be beautiful, just like we hoped it would.
My dear brother, I cannot tell you how much you mean to me. I will carry on with our humour, and one day I will make you proud. I really hope you’re up in our spaceship, waiting for us in a hilariously happy unknown planet. I hope you’re teaching the aliens about humans, like we wanted to.
I will never forget you and everything we shared “shall forever be immortal.”
Annie Lodge wrote on our forum: "Unfortunately in the past few years as Rob slipped more and more into depression, he lost contact with all of his friends. Only his close family is missing him, and there were only a handful of people at his funeral. This is to keep his memory alive, celebrate his life - and prove to him, if he is watching us now, that he was not worthless, that people care, and that he will be remembered."